A few years ago, my vision
worsened. My eyesight was blurry and I found it hard to see when I drove at night, and my ophthalmologist said I had
to deal with my cataracts. I’d resisted this advice previously because,
although I am quite brave about things that take place below the neck, I hate
the idea of anything being done to my eyes. In nightmares, the thought of
needles being put in my eyes is at the top of my torture list.
But it was time. What made it
easier to face the surgery was the positive experience of many of my
contemporaries. And, in particular, old friend told me that what was wonderful
was not just the clarity of vision but the brilliance of colours. “It’s as
though your eyes had been covered by brown sludge,” he said, “and then it’s
removed and everything brightens.” That sounded good.
I kept those thoughts with me
as I gritted my teeth and faced the scalpel and found, a few days after the
surgery, that he was right. What had looked like a brownish-blue bowl would now
have to be called cerulean. It was that bright! A scarf that I’d thought of as mauve
was actually closer to magenta. A brown shirt had become tangerine. Surgery had
coloured my world!
However, it hasn’t made me as
clear sighted as I’d like to be. I still see the world through the eyes of
someone who’s been looking at it for almost seventy-seven years. These are old
eyes, and they see things through a film of custom and habit.
When I was young, I knew my
parents didn’t live in my world. They didn’t like the music, magazines, movies
or books I found so exciting. They didn’t appreciate the way the fifties and
sixties had changed everything. They saw an erosion of the values they’d held,
and the things that delighted me just depressed them.
Looking back now, I begin to
understand how it was for them. I know that nostalgia is an unreliable emotion
that produces a good deal of falsehood but it’s hard not to look back. It’s
difficult for me to see things without a lens of disappointment and I fear for
the future. I can cope with social media, but I don’t like it. I admire the
savvy of the young, but I can’t imagine that anything good can come of internet
dating. I’ve never thought I was a prude, but I now find much of today’s world
vulgar.
It’s my old eyes. I wish I
could see things freshly. I need a
procedure that will remove that sludgy film of experience that is limiting my
vision. I guess a lot of us old folk do.
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ReplyDeleteI think the diminishment of our sight is a good thing in one respect: we are spared looking upon the ravages of time that we might see were we younger. Thus do our mirrors become merely reference points that confirm we have arms, legs, a face of sorts and not a detailed inventory of our decay. I remember seeing older male teachers who had come to school sporting patches of bristles they had missed while shaving because, of course, they could not see them. For that reason, I am always particularly zealous when I take to the razor, simply out a vain desire not to look too geriatric, but I will say that looking into one of those magnifying mirrors is not for the faint of heart.
ReplyDeleteThanks for persevering with it Terence!
DeleteI have been thinking along the same lines (your last couple).
ReplyDeleteIt took me so long to get approval to comment here I have forgotten what I wanted to rant about.
Thanks! I look forward to getting approval to real your blog as well, Ken.
ReplyDeleteI sent my asking for you to have access to TheArk so you might get an email from the administrator/Captain of the ship.
ReplyDeleteDon’t panic