OK, fess up. Which one of you guys stole June and July?
It’s gone. Kaput. Vanished into thin air.
Maybe it’s best. After all, I did get attacked by a Mimus polyglottos. How was I supposed to know that when I reached down to prune the lower branches of my chartreuse Tiger Eyes sumac that her nest was there? Both mom and dad northern mockingbirds simultaneously dive-bombed me until I picked up a stick and waved it around like a lightsaber.
I’m sure anyone driving by may have thought I had gone mad, but in my mind I was methodically defending my life using a spinning left and right block — and I’m fairly certain the “Star Wars” music was playing in the background. I am happy to report that I came out of this dangerous attack unscathed — and the birds are also fine.
As if that wasn’t enough drama for the summer, I found myself totally blind for 24 hours a few weeks ago. It happened after spending a lovely day blissfully wandering through Mettawa Manor — the private gardens of anchorman Bill Kurtis and Donna La Pietra, with their 1927 Tudor revival home surrounded by 65 acres of prairie and native woodlands just north of Chicago.
If my very last vision was their fenced potager with espaliered apple trees, intermingled with colors of lollipop colored geums and gorgeous tomato plants — I suppose I could be content. Especially when we had the opportunity to ride through the prairie with Bill Kurtis driving the extended golf cart, listening intently to his soothing “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me” radio/TV voice, pointing out compass plants and red switch and Indian grass.
Since it was an overnight bus trip, after popping my contacts in the morning, I did notice that things were blurry. I ditched my overnight bag underneath the bus compartment, and being the smart gal that I am, I figured I’d just switch out contacts when we stopped, which was downtown Chicago to tour the lovely Lurie Gardens and Maggie Daley Park. Did I fail to tell you that I broke both stems off my glasses a few days before I left?
So … at this point I did not grab my contacts before walking away from the bus and my vision began to get cloudier until I finally took them out, because daughter No. 1 was with me and could drive home after we arrived back in Indy.
Basically my nice optometrist, who also happens to be my brother-in-law, suggested that my contacts still contained the chemical cleaner and while on my eyes reacted with the skin over my cornea for the seven hours I had them on. So when I took them out basically I ripped the outer layer of my eye off, leaving a rather painful and light-sensitive hole. (No contacts and the use of antibiotics for 8 days).
What I did not know was when my No. 3 daughter drove blind Miss Daisy to Dr. Mangas in Columbus to determine why I couldn’t see or open my eyes — said daughter took pictures of me and posted them Instagram. Yes, you can still ground a 20-year–old daughter who can’t fully pay her college tuition herself.
Moral of the story: (1) Learn how to use a stick as a lightsaber, (2) Fix your glasses immediately upon breakage and (3) Leave your contacts in the chemical cleaner for over 6 hours, like it says on the box, and never, ever trust your daughter.
