I walked to the rec center, thinking I would find a little relief from the chill while looking up information on the facility. A mom was walking away from the building as I approached. The two- or maybe three-year-old had unknowingly dropped one of her mittens as I passed, and I picked it up and brought it back to her.

She stopped as she saw I was approaching her. “Oh, hello!” she said. I laughed at her grown-up sounding greeting.

“Hi sweet one! Is this your glove?” I held out the fuzzy polka-dotted pink mitten.

She knew immediately. “Oh yes. That is my glove.” Matter-of-factly, she took the mitten from me and walked back to her mom. I kept smiling at how grown-up she seemed.

As I got closer to the door of the rec center, I discovered it was closed. President’s Day. Who knew?

The mom and two girls were still meandering around in the open grassy space of the park as I passed them again. Mom was helping the littlest one put her pink mittens back on as the older sister of about six busied herself with walking in a very careful, straight line.

“Where are your gloves, sweetheart?” Mom asked the older daughter.

“I didn’t bring them,” she answered quickly.

The mom paused, judging how to react. “Alright. Well, don’t ask me where your gloves are when your hands start to get cold.”

The little girl kept her sights on the straight-line she was still walking. “When my hands get cold, I won’t ask where my gloves are. I’ll KNOW where my pockets are.”

I laughed aloud and looked over my shoulder at the mom, still knelt down with the youngest. “She’s resourceful,” I giggled.

Perspectives change. Just like those of us who grew up needing glasses, what you see and perceive is different than those around you, and you learn to shift and change to meet the demands of your ever-changing sight. While some might see the necessity of a pair of warm mittens, you may be content to just put your hands in your pocket. Either way, you both see a need for warmth. I imagine this little girl might be the kid who would rather move closer to the chalkboard than wear her glasses. She has that sense of resourcefulness.

Me? I’d prefer to wear my mittens and keep my glasses on.

I was nine and in fourth grade when I got my first pair of glasses. Prior to that, my teacher could not get me close enough to the chalkboard, and as a nerdy-wanna-know-it-all, it was imperative that I be able to read everything she wrote or drew.

The day before I picked up my glasses, I told all of my friends at school that I had a huge surprise for them the next day. As I walked into my classroom, I felt like a changed person. I could see everyone so clearly! I imagined no one would even recognize me, seeing as how I felt like a grown-up in my brand new specs. No one really seemed to care, I realized, as the girl who sat next to me said, “What’s this big surprise you were talking about yesterday?”

“I got glasses!” I said, beaming with excitement.

She slumped in her chair. “Oh, that’s it? I thought you were bringing some of your mom’s cookies or something.”

Even though no one else seemed to care, I wore my glasses everyday. From the first day I put them on, I never forgot to bring them to school as some of my peers did. I have never understood that. Not being able to see when you have the means with which to see?! Still to this day, it drives me crazy when I have a friend who squints and peers while we drive up into the mountains – especially when I KNOW they have a pair of glasses that they left at home.

For some, it is a matter of finding the perfect pair of glasses. Something they feel comfortable and confident in. For me, I have just always wanted to be able to see.

In a post-parental-insurance-coverage-type situation, I find myself experiencing the first tinge of worry about getting to a doctor. Luckily, any major health concerns I had prior to the age twenty-five cut-off point were taken care of in the latter half of twenty-four. However, after spending a number of hours at the computer recently, I am discovering that it may be way past time to get thee to an ophthalmologist.

I am down to my last pair of disposable contacts – you know, the kind that you are supposed to change every two-to-four weeks. I think that would mean that these ones should have been disposed of sometime in August of last year. I know it isn’t the healthiest decision, but when you are on a budget (and forgot to get more prior to the insurance-run-out) it seems most practical.

These contacts are at the point now that they just simply are not comfortable. Even now, as I type on my laptop, I made inadvertent surprised! faces, unknowingly roll my eyes like a twelve year old and blink twenty times more than necessary – all in an effort to keep them from drying up directly on my little eyeballs. I luckily can switch into my glasses for comfort’s sake – but my eyesight has worsened since the last time I had that prescription upgraded.

I consider myself blessed, though. I have my health and I have a pair of glasses (and a waning pair of contacts). When I get a new pair of glasses (and a job that has health insurance), I will donate my glasses to help out the next person in line who cannot afford to maintain their visual health. There are organizations that collect gently used frames for all sorts of causes – from local to international, giving the gift of sight and vision is a truly appreciated donation. Who knows what you are missing if you don’t open your eyes to see.

Do some manufacturers still make them? Yes. Do some pharmacies still sell them? Yes. However because we truly are concerned about the health of your eyes and long term vision we encourage you to visit your M.D.

If you wear a +3.00 or less but find on occasion you need a little boost, consider using a magnifying glass. Even those of us with the best vision need a little help in certain situations.

My yoga teacher just returned from a long tour of India. She left India nearly three weeks ago and she is only just now beginning to feel as though she has landed. Just today, she shared with me some little gifts – and I am currently adorned and bejeweled in the bangliest bracelets, jingly anklets, shining prayer beads and sweetest silk. As I sit on my big couch, laptop perched in front of me, I feel only slightly odd. It is as though I am a time traveler, wearing worn out jeans and brand new silk.

I once lived in Ireland for a semester in college. I loved it all – from sing-a-longs in pubs to quiet prayers in ancient church ruins. The worst part of the trip was coming home. The reverse-culture-shock of it all is a million times more difficult than the original culture shock of a new environment. I remember coming home to the excited embrace of my family and friends, all shouting, “Welcome home!” and it took everything I had to fake a smile and pretend like I was happy to be home.

To this day, there are things that will send me back to my stay across the Atlantic. It could be a familiar jig, the smell of a Guinness or hearing an Irish accent in a movie – but all of which have a 50/50 chance of setting me into tears from happy memories and a desire to visit again.

It makes me wonder, every time I lift my wrist to check for the bindhi on my forehead and I hear my new bangles chime if that sound does the same thing to my teacher, still recovering from her reverse-culture-shock.

I walked into work on Tuesday with the new black ink cartridge in hand. I had been waiting for what seemed like an eternity to finally get hold of the right cartridge for the printer at work and finally be able to print out a number of documents.

I opened the little front door and awaited the printer to obediently make some little mechanical noises. But nothing happened. I looked at the little screen on the front of the printer. No words. No lights.

Oh great, I thought. It is freaking broken. Of course it is. I kept cursing inwardly, wondering why, oh why, did this have to be so difficult? I sat down on the floor in front of the printer and pulled it out from its little cave beneath the desk. Crawling amidst forgotten tangles of cords that lead from this to that, I began to carefully attempt tracing the cords from the back of the printer, taking into consideration that perhaps the machine had come unplugged.

It was like a cornfield maze, not knowing what cord went to what and a number of them just simply disappearing off behind trails of more cords. It was tedious and starting to hurt my knees, kneeling in exploration like that. I pulled the printer off of my lap and kept myself from slamming it back onto its little stand.

I stared at its blank expression. Then I saw the one thing I had not taken into consideration – the POWER button. Power button pressed, a hum of recognition from the printer, and the piece that holds the ink cartridges shot over to the right. I put the new cartridge in, closed the front door and allowed the printer to align itself.

I suppose perhaps I make things a little more complicated than they need to be. Perhaps I have a tendency for the overdramatic.

"All of your gifts are themed," she explained, stacking them neatly under the tree.  She picked up a smaller cube and shook it at me.  "Well, except this one.  But everything else goes together."  I stared in awe at the preparation.  A theme?!

In my kitchen, I have a great deal of hand-knitted washrags. They are square and half a foot wide. It’s actually probably safe to say that everyone in my family owns at least two of the same washrags. They were each handcrafted by my great-grandmother Dorothea.

Dorothea handcrafted many family heirlooms still proudly displayed in many of our homes. She was a brilliant quilter, knitter and seamstress. As her vision deteriorated in the latter years of her life, her love of creating never faded.

I remember when I was young going to Hobby Lobby with my grandma and Dorothea. We would go up and down the aisles of endless varieties of yarn and my grandma would describe each of the colors to Dorothea.

Back at Dorothea’s house, one of the rooms was filled with all of these yarns. My grandma would group them together according to dye lot and Dorothea would mark them with a giant sign, written in Sharpie, big enough for her failing eyes to read. Dorothea would sit in her chair and knit away at these endless washrags.

The story I’ve always been told was that during one of the World Wars, Dorothea would sit in the dark in preparation for blackouts, and knit in the dark. When she eventually did lose her sight, the practice she had in the dark ensured she still remembered how to knit a simple square.

It has always been a reminder to me that as you grow older, some things fade – but the things you truly love are already ingrained so deeply into the pattern of your own existence that it’s impossible to forget.

***In the event your vision begins to fade at near and your tasks are not so deeply ingrained reading glasses are a great assist.

I recently had the opportunity to watch a compilation of old film footage from family videos in the 1940s.  It was strange to see moving images of great-grand-him and great-great-aunt-her whom I have only ever seen in still photographs.

Most of the characters in the silent footage had a grand array of aprons and hats but were sans-glasses.  However, the glasses that were sported by a couple folks made it much easier to pick them out of a crowd through the rest of the video. What a long way eyeglass fashion has come – from thick, horn-rimmed frames with less options to anything you could possibly want to wear on your face.

In the mean time, it makes me wonder if there were fewer folks wearing glasses in these videos because their vision was better or because they could not afford glasses. A small Midwestern town like the one they where they were living in Illinois may have not had a lot of options for eye care professionals. And if the ones who were wearing a pair were wearing that particular style because they liked it or because it was the only one available to them.

There are very few people who do not have to don a pair of eyeglasses at some point these days. And for the most part, eyewear is reasonably affordable and accessible. There are glasses for distance vision, dricing, computer glasses and reading glasses. And don't forget the all important staple of today, sunglasses. Heck, you don’t even have to live with corrective contact lenses or eyeglasses if you don’t want – there’s always laser surgery if you would prefer(though for the record we are not fans).

But the glasses worn by family nearly seventy years ago is one of the reasons I recognize them as I do.

Skinny Specs

You have tried every diet you’ve ever heard of. Once you ate grapefruit and ground beef for an entire month. You’re also no stranger to cabbage soup. You have the slimming haircut, the contouring makeup and the flattering accessories. You know every trick for dressing to appear 5 pounds lighter. You have two closets in one. The left wall houses one size, the right wall houses a smaller size. You aim to dress from the right side, but it doesn’t always happen.

No one realizes you think about your weight every minute of the day. You try to sound nonchalant when friends discuss weight-loss tips, even mentioning a few of your own. You gladly accept any piece of birthday cake that comes your way, thinking you’ll draw more attention to yourself if you refuse it. Not that you would. The truth is, you love to eat, but who doesn’t?

Through all this dieting, the only aspect of your appearance that you’ve remained consistently happy with is your Slender Eyes reading glasses.

These compact specs are made with a Monel alloy frame and anti-scratch lenses. The tips of the temples and the nose pads are silicone to ensure a comfortable fit. They’re available in the shiniest of finishes, including gold, platinum and silver. They come in a protective case that measures only 7mm in thickness, so they can slip in your purse or pocket with ease. Their slim lines and compact frame make for superbly simple specs.

You’re just happy to find something on you that’s slender.