I know that searching for my missing eye glasses does not conform to generally accepted definitions of a “ceremony”, but it does have the aimless scent of Bar Mitzvah preparation, and the obsessional ingredients of negotiating wedding table seatings, to say nothing of wedding invitation lists, or Seder reading assignments, or when to quit the Yom Kippur fast, but for me the underlying ceremony is just getting back on the Retrospect horse and shouting “Yahoo”.
My glasses are gone, but the Retrospect survives.
My dubious claim of “ceremony” will just have to sit on my head as I type, and stop wiggling while I take breaks from the keyboard to re-probe my house for the glasses, in the usual and unusual hiding places for the second, third, and fourth times, the jacket pockets, the pants pockets, under the front seat of the car, intermingled with the bed coverings, between the couch cushions, heaven forbid in the vegetable bin in the fridge (generally deemed to be a sign of you know what), or hiding in plain view as they sometimes do (laughing at my brain blindness as I grope nearby surfaces as though with my eyes closed), and not responding to my shout out of “I quit; you win; game’s over–all-ee all-ee in free…”
The good news is that the lost glasses were/are distance glasses. I don’t need to find or replace them them right away because I don’t need them unless I drive at night and there’s headlight glare, or its sunny and there’s sunshine glare (they sport the automatic “now I’m sunglasses” feature). I have no plans to drive today or tonight, and maybe they’ll turn up tomorrow?
But how long before I call off the search? With my limited (aging) powers of re-construction I can’t pinpoint when or where they were last seen. It feels like I’ve been looking for them for days. They may be gone four (4) days now. They may have dropped onto a soggy swarth at the local golf course where I walk in the off-season, smeared with goose shit which the place is full of, so that I don’t want them back ever, no matter how they may plead for a wash-up and a second chance, or they may lie on the pavement at the parking spot where they fell out of a pocket of my winter jacket which has lots of pockets which I rarely zip (notwithstanding that glasses, and also my cell phone, my keys, and my Amex card have previously fallen out of those unzipped pockets), and crushed to smithereens as I drove over them obliviously on my way out, with a stop at the market, the gas station, and the CVS where they also might now be, or maybe they were found by a person in need of my prescription whose life is now improved?
But, aside from a bris, there may be no ceremonial ritual more compelling than the smashing of the glass at the consummation of the wedding, as a reminder of the broken sadness of the past midst the joy and hope of the present, which loosely interpreted may connect my search for my glasses to the ceremonial wisdom of the ages. My glasses are gone, but the Retrospect survives.
jonathancanterHere is what I said about myself on the back page of my 2020 humor/drama/politico novel "The Debutante (and the Bomb Factory)" (edited here, for clarity):
"Jonathan Canter Is a retIred attorney; widower; devoted father and grandfather (sounds like my obit); lifelong resident of Greater Boston; graduate of Harvard College (where he was an editor of The Harvard Lampoon); fan of waves and wolves; sporadic writer of dry and sometimes dark humor (see "Lucky Leonardo" (Sourcebooks, 2004), funny to the edge of tears); gamesman (see "A Crapshooter’s Companion"(2019), existential thriller and life manual); and part-time student of various ephemeral things."
The Deb and Lucky are available on Amazon. The Crapshooter is available by request to the author in exchange for a dinner invitation.
Ah Jon, you’ve redeemed yourself after all those times I’ve thought, “ I love your writing Jon but when are you going to get back to the damn prompt?” Now you’ve nailed a most familiar ceremony!
And BTW recently after a fruitless nighttime search, the next morning I found my reading glasses when I was emptying the dishwasher. Apparently they fell off the top of my head where I had perched them while loading the dirty dishes.
Thank you Dana Susan Lehrman for liking the story, and for sharing the story of your missing glasses found in the dishwasher. I’ve sort of given up on finding mine, but experience teaches me that while sometimes glasses stay missing, more usually they turn up , looking innocent like nothing happened, what’s the big deal; not unusually they turn up a few minutes after I’ve bought a replacement pair.
I remember missing my eyeglasses one night after coming home from dinner at our favorite local eatery.
We were back there a few nights later and when the waiter ushered us to our table I saw he had artfully placed my eyeglasses centered above the dinner plate.
Yours is an unusually happy and civilized ending to a missing eyeglasses story. I hope you tipped that nice waiter big time. And I hope you didn’t order a new pair before the old one showed up. As of this minute, 5:00 pm EST on Monday, I have lost hope of making a find, which of course is often the predicate to the glasses miraculously appearing.
Having gone through that same ceremony of the misplaced glasses, I totally empathize. Many times, they were on my head, but other times tossed down in a spot in which I didn’t need them at that moment. My husband wonders why I can’t put them (and my phone) in a designated place. What fun would that be?
Laurie,
I know there are people in the world who always know where their phone is, where their glasses are, where everything else is, but unfortunately that ain’t me. My organizational systems are disfunctional and with age and ebbing mindfulness are getting disfunctionaler. I plan to sit myself down and have a good talk, and try to have a good laugh, and if I’m lucky my glasses will take pity and find me.
Jon, you have written another delightful story in your habitual way of approaching the prompt from an unusual angle. I love it! I haven’t worn glasses since they invented contact lenses (and more recently since my cataract surgery), but the story of looking for the glasses that are on top of your head is a classic. I also love the picture of the glasses being worn by the enormous stuffed bear! So glad you are still writing.
Suzy,
I am pleased that the Retro is back on its tracks and chugging ahead, and to receive a comment from yourself, always astute, and responsive in kind, and mentioning the propriety of fidelity to the prompt but accepting of diversity (I think).
It seems the contact lens revolution by-passed my doorway, and my single eye cataract surgery triaged on account of an old squash racket smack left me w continuing reliance on eye glasses, and I think given my reluctance to change habits and patterns or otherwise yield to advances and predations of the future seem to condemn me to an imperfect life of wandering the earth in search of lost glasses.
You really had me smiling with this one—in recognition and appreciation. The “now I’m sunglasses” and other amusing turns of phrase for the fruitless searches were great. And the artichoke lamp photo—lovely. Always a great ride for a story, thanks.
Ahh, Khati, how happy am I to hear your mellifluous and complimentary voice again, at the tail end of this winter of doldrums, hopping back on the ride.
The artichoke lamp is from the first edition series, a collector’s vegetable but costly to maintain as I could only get a replacement bulb 💡 from a rare (exotic?) bulb dealer who had me over a barrel.
Sorry to be reminded about the goose shit! I’ve been in so many parks and green spaces where it (and the creators of it) abound. But happily I am not encountering them in my current habitat.
Aside from that unpleasantly well crafted reference, I enjoyed your piece and can unfortunately identify with it. I imagine you’ve heard this wonderful Tom Rush song? But maybe some other readers have not. https://www.google.com/search?q=tom+rush+song+about+forgetting+things&rlz=1C5CHFA_enUS863US863&oq=tom+rush+song+about+forgetting+things&aqs=chrome..69i57.7613j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:8b7bb8f6,vid:9yN-6PbqAPM
Dale,
I just listened to the Tom Rush song and loved it, found it hilarious, a sweet talking blues, smoothing the edge of the sharp memory of forgetting the memory.
As to the goose shit, at least it’s bio-degradable. The geese used to fly non-stop south for the winter, but their memory reflex got tampered with and now they encamp hereabouts and are not my friends.
Jon
This one totally cracked me up, Jon. Since I wear my glasses most of the time, and keep my readers by the computer, I no longer go through your ceremony, but I love how you’ve described it.
I will tell you of a time, long ago, when I couldn’t find my glasses, though they were on the bed next to me. Long ago, I had a precursor to Lasik, called PRK, which did take care of my near-sightedness. Just no one ever told me that I also had astigmatism (and of course, also needed reading glasses, so wear graduated bifocals, but at certain distances see fairly well, and the lenses are no longer very thick; sigh). But before that surgery I couldn’t see the nose in front of my face. I wore contact lenses most of the time, which of course, I took out at night. My glass frames (early 1970s) were diamond-shaped wire frames. I put them on my bed once, as I plucked my eyebrows. And I COULD NOT find them again, though I knew they were right next to me, but my vision was so poor and the frames so thin, that I had to feel around, like groping in the dark, until I stumbled upon them.
I hope you stumble upon your glasses too.
The classic denouement is to step on one’s glasses while looking for them, and hearing the telltale crunch. I may research whether there is a tiny glasses tracking gizmo, analogous to the Find My Phone feature, but of course in my case that would be closing the barn door after the barn animals left the farm.
I’ve been missing a pair since the trip to NJ for Christmas. Luckily they are my spare pair. They may turn up yet, hopefully along with the pair of fleece pants that also have been missing since that trip. I didn’t use either item!
Dave, today I finally threw in the towel on my search and called my friendly optometrist, whom I have called many times before, for a prescription refill. I expected the gone glasses would miraculously evanescence as soon as my call ended, but maybe not until the credit card charge posts. I am glad that your loss in NJ of your glasses and pants was a manageable loss.