Right. Several things to say:

Went to the eye-doctor’s yesterday. He said, and I more or less quote: I hate to mention the ‘a’ word, but you are at the prime of it for this. By ‘this’ he means presbyopia. By that I mean: reading glasses. And, for the days when I’m not in contact lenses, vari-focals.

Dig it.

Yesterday I also went to the hair-dresser’s. To gently,  um, cover the, um, grey. At the prime age for it, you understand.

Also yesterday (after the hairdresser’s!) I was talking about reading glasses (as you do), and someone I barely know said, but you’re not past 40 yet, are you?

Flattered, but ultimately — confused. 


And also yesterday: writing group. Wonderful. Such great work, so exciting. Craig reminded me of one of my all-time favourite stories, indeed probably the first literary story I ever read. And what a story: Secret Snow, Silent Snow by Conrad Aiken. If you don’t know it, read it. 

Just thinking about that story, the memory of the rush of how very remarkable it is — plus Nancy’s amazing cheesecake — I felt five years younger.

Today in the half hour between another laureate school assembly and a dissertation student, I got myself some funky blue glasses. Hey, I can live with it. I’ve decided to live with everything, as long as I never lose art.