Curiosity 93: Leap Day

It's been a week.

Back issues, starting last Thursday—an entire week. (I am just this evening coming out from under the blanket of discomfort, if not outright pain. I do not suffer well.)

Cataract surgery, yesterday. And today: it's a miracle! I can see! I've shoved my old red- and blue-framed prescription spectacles (one for reading, the other for distance) aside for a brand-new CVS-purchased pair of +1.50 readers. Turquoise framed. For the price of the old glasses I can probably buy six or eight new pair, all manner of styles, to scatter about the house and even the car.

The cataract surgery itself left several impressions (I was a little drugged):

• surfing, and my doctor commenting that a lot more time is spent paddling than actually on the wave
• the wheezy, not entirely in-tune, rising melody repeated over and over by the ultrasound machine...
• ...that was used to "disperse the cloudiness" of the cataract, before the new lens was inserted
• and throughout much of it (it was a short procedure: 15 minutes) Jim Croce in the background, singing "Time in a Bottle"

(Though I'm beginning to wonder if the back issues weren't due to the surgery. A little nervous, a little tense, perhaps? And now that it's all over, everything back to normal?)

This morning, still with the post-operative eye shield in place (Aaarrrrgggghhhh), to avoid sitting—which my back did not appreciate—I went for an early walk, with the dog, to the Frog Pond. I met a young man near our little redwood grove, shooting a video with an anamorphic lens, which allowed a 16x9 ratio; he said he had an interview that afternoon. I wished him luck. I do hope he had a good interview It was a sweet encounter.

Just a couple of blocks from my house, I ran into another fellow, who was turning up a nearby street to the staircase that leads to the highway and, across that, to the other side of our little town. (It's a funny little town.) He admired Milo—as everyone does—and we chatted. I asked his name, and he said it was Mark, but everyone calls him Voodoo—at which he pulled up his sweatshirt to reveal the tattoo: Voodoo Chile, emblazoned up his left side. He got it in the army. He asked if my eye was okay, and I told him my story, said the shield was coming off in an hour. He was wearing superhero red shoes. Another sweet encounter.

That hour later, after seeing my darling doctor (he really is: he's funny and kind), while waiting to present my paperwork and schedule another appointment, I felt drawn to the woman before me, doing her own scheduling—some cancer treatment of her own, her husband's colonoscopy, sticking points.

We all have stuff that we have to deal with. Some of it's serious. I've felt annoyed this week by my back, and anxious because of the surgery, but really? I'm fine. I'm lucky. If anything, this week taught me to feel more for all the people who are dealing with serious stuff: illness, poverty, fears and needs of all sorts.

I don't have an image to go with all this. So I'll end with one of a surfer. Why not? We're all surfing our own waves. And yet, all those waves are part of the same ocean.