You punched my shoulder, a gleam in your eye. We could do that, you know. I didn’t answer. C’mon, you laughed, don’t be a putz. You pulled down the shade and turned up the music. Before I could protest, you slipped off your shoes while Bob Sieger’s Night Moves filled the room. Twisting to the harmony in your stockings you dragged me out of my wheelchair and hoisted me to my feet. I wobbled, grabbing you around the waist to keep from falling. The room spun around me as I held you tight. I smiled. May I have this dance?

6/23/22

I saw wildfire today – flames reaching up through black smoke. I saw it from our front porch.

The angry, dark red flames came toward me, from below our house, which didn’t bode well. And as the whop whop sound of helicopters circled, dipped, and dropped retardant we decided to pack. We knew warnings and evacuation orders can happen at a moment’s notice and we didn’t want to find ourselves grabbing precious belongings in a last-minute panic.

We’ve never had to evacuate, even after 25 years of weekends and vacations living in a forest at our vacation cabin. There had been plenty of close calls, even ash fall, but we never saw wildfire.

When the smoke plume thankfully turned gray and faded with the onshore breeze, we decided to stay packed overnight, knowing how embers can remain hot for days if undetected.

How close does a fire have to get before it’s too close? When we considered buying the house, a house that sits atop a hill at the end of a cul-de-sac, I thought we would sell and leave if we ever saw wildfire. Had the time come? Had my fear of having no way out if a fire roared up our street become something more than an abstract thought?

We’re not living in a forest. Our town’s fire department seems to be well equipped and responsive. They show off their gleaming, bright red trucks and smiling crews whenever the town celebrates an event. And we have fire hydrants nearby.

Yet, we read how wildfires have turned into something different from what they once were. With the power to create their own weather, a fire storm, to feed an insatiable, unstoppable force. And how the fire season is changing as the climate changes, becoming dryer, windier and longer every year.

Is our town prepared to meet these new challenges? Will bright red trucks and smiling crews be enough if our street becomes a funnel for advancing flames and black smoke? We remember seeing the houses in the Oakland hills pop off in bursts of flame one after another that October evening in 1991. We watched from our front porch.

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After most of a lifetime being near sighted, I’m suddenly far sighted.

The change came about through a pact with ophthalmology. “We’ll remove your cataracts and install an artificial lens in each eye,” the doctor said. “You have to choose how you want to see for the rest of your life; near or far.”

The doctor recommended far sightedness. “Better for driving and generally getting around,” she said. “It’s what most people choose. For everything closeup, readers are cheap compared to getting prescription distance lenses and you don’t have to worry about expensive prescription sunglasses.”

Made sense to me. My new 20/20 distant vision turned out as sharp and brilliant as promised and I celebrated my return to a focused world, until I picked up a book.

This doesn’t work! I exclaimed to myself, squinting at pages of blurry lines and photos of unidentifiable faces.

“I said you would need readers, remember?” My optometrist soothed my worried mind. “We’ll fix you right up with a prescription. Now, look at these letters. Which is clearer; this. . . Or this.” After many repetitions she handed me my ticket to read. “Take this prescription to CVS and buy a pair of readers.”

That worked fine until I stared at my computer screen. “This still isn’t working!” I exclaimed again.

“Oh yeah,” soothed the optometrist a second time. “We can give you another prescription or we can fit you with graduated lenses that will correct for both computer and book reading for more money. You can also get bifocals. They’re cheaper, but less effective.”

My vision was getting complicated. “So,” I replied. “I either get expensive prescription lenses anyway or I carry around two pairs of readers?”

“That’s right.” My perky optometrist smiled like she was doing me a big favor. “We recommend you get different colors so you can tell them apart.”

I’ve come to realize I spend a lot more time looking close up than I ever did gazing at distant sights. I’ve also learned I’m too absent minded to keep track of just one pair of each prescription.

Welcome to my house full of glasses. Watch your step.

By the way, have I told you about my hearing aids?