Why I'm not like a unicorn

It's funny how, as you get older, things that never caused problems, suddenly cause problems.

Like your eyes.

Most people who know me have never even seen me with glasses on. I've been lucky; I was only slightly near-sighted and only needed to wear glasses for viewing things at a distance. I don't drive, so that's one instance that I didn't need to wear them. Mostly just when I'm at the theater and want a clearer version of what's happening on stage. During my childhood I never had glasses at all, and it was only in my mid-20s when I was watching an opera telecast and had trouble reading the subtitles did I finally see an eye doctor. For a while I'd get a new pair every two years (it was covered by insurance at work) and once or twice had to have a slightly stronger prescription. After changing jobs and not having eyeglass coverage I went about ten years using the same glasses.

But now I have a nice civil service job with nice health benefits so I figured I'd treat myself to a comprehensive eye exam. I had been noticing a little trouble focusing on words close up and suspected I might be a candidate for reading glasses. I went to the SUNY College of Optometry in Manhattan and got a real thorough going-over. I was in that place for almost three hours. I was in the hands of a pleasant young woman who had a tag that said "Intern" and just before we went to the exam room a young man asked if he could shadow her. She asked if I was agreeable and I thought "the more, the merrier!". So I sat in the exam chair for the next hour as we alternated having her peer at my eyes through various devices and my looking at letters projected on the wall and trying to make them out as they changed sizes, shapes, and fuzziness. I've been having a bit of dental work lately (another benefit of the aging process) and this was definitely more fun and much less painful. Periodically, she would scoot out of the room to confer with her supervisor. At first I was slightly uneasy; did she see symptoms of something serious: signs of a brain tumor...incipient blindness... and want to find out how to break it to me? But after a while it seemed like it was just part of her training process and her repetitions of "very good...very good!" as I distinguished an "S" from a "5" were reassuring. The culmination of this phase was the administration of dilating eyedrops into my eyes and then being sent back to the waiting room to allow twenty-five minutes for the drops to do their job.

Forty-five minutes later, she returned to fetch me for the next phase. I was taken to a different room for more peering into my eyes. And then the supervisor himself appeared. A middle-aged man (probably younger than me, though!) he was a jolly sort who probably was a lot of fun as a teacher. They compared findings and he referred to class lectures to demonstrate points to her. I felt honored to be a part of the learning process. He seemed very impressed with my lenses, saying they were in very good condition, though pointing out his four-year-old son had better lenses. But mine were very good for my age. I wasn't sure how to take that part, but decided to accept it as a compliment (no point being competitive with a four-year-old I'd never even met). No signs of glaucoma; no beginnings of cataracts. He asked about my family history and I said my father had cataracts removed when he was around eighty. He seemed pleased with this and said I should live long enough to have cataracts. A strange blessing to bestow!

Then we came to my main problem: dry eye disease (yes; it's a disease!) and a plan of attack. He discussed the pros and cons of using antibiotic drops (they can run about $60 a bottle; that's a big con) but thought we'd try other types of drops first. Artificial tears and an oil-based emollient (Hail , Soothe XP...divine emollient! That's a reference to the chorus "Hail poetry from "Pirates of Penzance") during the day and Lacrilube, an ointment, at night. Not everybody likes putting that stuff in their eyes at bedtime, but if I'm game it should go a long way to making my eyeballs as dewy moist as any four-year old's.

So as we age, we don't just need to use lotion on our hands and moisturizer on our faces, but emollients in our eyes. At least, us women. Apparently it's a by-product of dropping estrogen levels as we enter the peri- and post-menopausal phases. The senior doctor said that men with dry eyes were like unicorns. He had never seen one.

The new Yankee Stadium

Okay; it's my fault they lost. The Yankees were leading 3-0 until I started to leave. Just before I left the Angels suddenly get a run. During the course of my subway ride home, the Angels get three more runs. Another extra-inning marathon, but this time the Yankees lost.

On the bright side, I did get a chance to see the new stadium. I work at the Bronx Supreme Courthouse, two blocks from both Yankee Stadiums and had not been to the new one yet. One of my co-workers spread the word that they were letting people in free that afternoon to watch the playoff game. The fact that the teams were 3000 miles away was merely a minor drawback. The game was being shown on the giant screen over the outfield and fans were allowed to sit in the usually pricey seats to watch the oversized, two-dimensional version of the game. It was strange to see the field uninhabited, but the fans were as enthusiastic as if their favorites were there in person, cheering homers by Jeter, A-Rod, and Damon.

Julie, my co-worker said she wanted to leave by 6:00 so I went along. We got a good look-see around the shiny new stadium and sat for a while in seats halfway back from right behind home plate. That area, as well as the pitching mound were covered by tarps and none of the bases were on the field. Most of the food concessions were open and doing terrific business, as was the souvenir shop. Some day I'd like to watch a game there with the teams actually on the field.

foot in mouth epidemic

What is going on lately? Is there some weird astrological configuration causing a disconnect between people's brains and mouths? It's the ongoing epidemic of foot in mouth disease:

1. The "you lie!" congressman... first it was town halls, now it's happening in joint sessions of Congress. Someone in the audience disagrees with a speaker and they feel free to shout out at them. As Craig Ferguson said, it's not the Jerry Springer Show...it's Congress!

2. I only have the vaguest idea of who Kanye West is, but the story of his actions at whatever that award show is, was pretty shocking. Over the many years of many award shows I've seen, the basic tenet of behavior has always been being a good sport. But interrupting someone's acceptance speech to declare that one of the losing nominees was more deserving of the award is another new one.

3. Serena Williams' blow-up at the US Open. Nothing new to those who remember John McEnroe is his heyday. Just another example of the epidemic.

In truth, I could go on much further; but behold; I have said enough.

You may allow your attention to wander.

revisiting old friends

Periodically I like to re-read books by my favorite authors. I'll do a Jane Austen cycle, a Betty Smith cycle, a Heinlein cycle. Right now I'm becoming reacquainted with Helene Hanff. Best known (if known at all) for 84 Charing Cross Road, a collection of letters between Hanff and a London bookshop. A spunky, struggling New York based writer, she had a love of antiquarian books and wrote cheeky letters, trying to puncture the shopkeepers' proper British reserve. This book has inspired a very small, but very devoted cult following. It was made into TV, stage, and film versions, with actors such as Anne Bancroft, Anthony Hopkins and Judi Dench in various roles.

Hanff had a lifelong yearning to visit London, but financial considerations prevented her until "84" was published. That visit yielded another book: Duchess of Bloomsbury Street, about her whirlwind trip to London, where she was wined and dined by fans of the book, including playwright Mark Connolly and entertainer Joyce Grenfell.

But Hanff's greatest passion was her hometown of New York. In 1976 she was contracted to write text for a collection of photos of New York. But her text was not your typical picture book set of captions. Her text became the story of her tour of New York, seeing the sights that were to be pictured in the book. As a typical native, she had never visited most of the "must see" tourist attractions: the Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, Grant's Tomb, etc. And poignantly, the World Trade Center. The story of her misadventures as she traipsed about town, with her friend Patsy, in tow makes for delightful reading. The book, entitled Apple of My Eye was published in the US in hardcover, complete with accompanying photos. Ironically, when it was published in the UK, the pictures were omitted. A small paperback, the story of her research for a book of photos.... and they left out the photos!

more perspective

At some point, I don't know when, there are now more people in the world that are younger than me. This year there is now a president who is younger than me. The president was always a father figure; the first one I remember was Kennedy and until Clinton every president was old enough to be my father. We've had two presidents born in the 1940s, none from the 1950s and now one born in 1961. I'm now part of the older generation.

The touchstone memory for everyone used to be the JFK assassination. "Where were you?" or "What were you doing when..." Now there are more people alive who hadn't even been born yet. But we have another touchstone now: 9/11. Before I was born it was Pearl Harbor.

The 20th century fades further into the past.

anniversary of a new beginning

Last week I marked the fifth anniversary of the end of my career in classical music publicity. Today was the fifth anniversary of the start of my career in the New York State Court System. Career-wise it's been the best five years of my life. I've had two promotions already and am on the list for the next step up: the exalted rank of Senior Court Clerk. The Fairy Queen in Iolanthe would approve, as promotion is by competitive examination and test taking is something I've always done well at. I was a bit nervous that day five years ago, embarking on a new career in civil service, as I'd heard some nightmare stories from people who'd worked in other branches. Maybe I've been exceptionally lucky, but so far I have only met with courtesy and respect from supervisors and co-workers. Unlike at my previous jobs. It's also been a series of changes, as opposed to my stints of nine years and seventeen years in the same place. I spent one year at my first post at New York Civil Court in the title of "Court Office Assistant/Keyboarding". I didn't really do much typing there; mostly pulling files and a little data entry. It was also a pleasant change to have an office full of people to interact with instead of spending the entire day alone with one often cranky elderly woman. After the first year I moved up to "Senior Court Office Assistant" (note the absence of keyboarding in this title). At first I found myself at Queens Criminal Court through a sneaky bit of bait-and-switch. I interviewed at Criminal Court and told there were openings in Manhattan and Brooklyn; they couldn't tell me where I would be assigned before accepting. As either location would have been fine with me, I accepted, only to find, on reporting, that I was being sent to Queens. I was rather cross at this development, but I was able to apply for transfer and fortunately an opening at County Clerk in Manhattan came through within two months.

I spent a lovely year and a half in the Juror Division at County Clerk, processing questionnaires from prospective jurors. Got a few celebrities, including Alec Baldwin, who responded rather rudely, writing "Idiot!" on his response. Another person who was a British resident alien was annoyed at having to mail back questionnaires every few years with proof of non-citizenship. He quoted the lyrics to "He is an Englishman" which I sang to the other staff members in my department.

Another exam, another high score, another promotion, to the title "Court Assistant" (which is much better than "Court OFFICE Assistant"). And another exile to a remote location. At the interview for Civil Court they said the openings were in Manhattan, Brooklyn and the Bronx. And again they could not (or would not) say where I would be assigned before I accepted. I decided to take a chance, hoping that the fact my former boss in Manhattan was one of the interviewers would have him choose me. Turns out the choice was made by HIS superior, who decided where to send out the six new hires. So I wound up in the Bronx, much to my initial disappointment, but it has turned out to be a very nice place to work. My supervisor is about the nicest boss I've ever had, who appreciates my abilities and been a kindly mentor as I learned the in's and out's of court procedures.

Last year was the Court Clerk exam. This involved several months worth of classes and many hours studying Civil, Criminal and Family Court regulations. Managed to pass with a respectable grade and am #178 on the statewide list. So far they've reached about the first 100, so I should be expecting to move up within a year. So it looks like I'm settling in till retirement. I'm very grateful to have found my niche. A secure job is much appreciated these days and people are suing each other at an ever-increasing rate.

just maintain a true perspective...

It's funny how perceptions can shift as perspectives change. The other day I wrote about my renewed appreciation for Judy Garland's talents. Originally I admired her with the undiscerning appreciation of a child; now as a mature adult with a wide experience of watching and listening to many different performers my admiration has more weight behind it.

Re-reading favorite books or re-watching old TV shows and movies can also yield either fuller appreciation or unhappily, disillusionment with one's youthful favorites. I am pleased that my favorite authors have been able to withstand the test of reacquaintance and I still savor reading through Jane Austen and Betty Smith. Old sitcoms don't always wear well though. A few years ago a cable channel was running episodes of My Mother the Car, a show I loved at age seven. I think I particularly enjoyed singing along with the theme song; the lyrics appeared at the bottom of the screen with a bouncing ball leading the way. Surprisingly, forty years later I found the show just silly and not very clever.