One afternoon last week I was down at the beach.
It actually looks a lot worse than this. And more wood–of all sizes–shows up every day. I need Banjo Man and the Funny Grandson to help with this project.
Anyway, I was down at the beach doing some raking and tossing wood into a burn pile when I decided to call Banjo Man and tell him all about it. I sat down on a log and proceeded to chat until I realized I was sitting on something that didn’t feel like wood.
I’d sat on my sunglasses. Prescription sunglasses. Not that the sun was out, but they were tucked in the pocket of my raincoat just in case something bright and yellow broke through the clouds.
That night I tried to glue them, but I have no glue skills. How I got through elementary school without good glue techniques I’ll never know, but the Gorilla Glue didn’t dry fast enough and was a mess. I went to the hardware store the next morning and bought Super Glue. That worked, but there was more smearing and I came dangerously close to gluing three fingers together.
In the end, blue electrical tape was a big help.
But the upside to this was that it forced me to make an eye appointment, something I’d been putting off for, uh, a few years despite knowing I needed new glasses. And the optometrist of choice, Dr. Julie, had a cancellation the next day. How lucky was that? I had to buy three new pairs of glasses, but I was long overdue.
To celebrate I went to Pizza Hut and ordered a little personal pan pizza to take home with me. And while I was waiting I started reading a wonderful new book, THE LOST HUSBAND, by Katherine Center.
It really was a fantastic afternoon. Happiness is a slice of pepperoni pizza and a good book.