Is your glass half empty or full?
My glasses: empty. Sunglasses, that is. That's what I thought when I arrived in San Francisco, stepping into the bright, bright sunlight. I instinctively reached for my sunglasses inside my shoulder bag. Except they were missing. I did find my paper napkin collection and my fleece hat, AKA Cozy Cozy.
I must have lost my glasses in the BART station, I thought, when I pulled out my sun hat. That happened on the train a few years ago. I had pulled my hat out of the bag, flinging my sunglasses to who knows where. Once I discovered them missing, I did not go to the police, but instead mourned quietly (May they rest in peace).
I raced back into the dark of the train station, paced up and down the platform, and retraced my steps, studying the escalator for possible clues. No sunglasses to be seen. I wondered whether someone had found them and turned them in. "Nope," said the tall man in the small booth. Or whether someone had found them and thought, "Finders keepers, losers weepers." I shuddered. That thought was too much to bear.
A few weeks ago, I had gone on a mad chase through Berkeley when I couldn't find my sunglasses in my bag. On that particular day, I was using my waist pack to carry my swim gear to/fro the pool. I had come out onto the street, unzipped my bag, pulled out my hat and sunnies, zipped my bag, walked to the library, unzipped my bag, placed my sunnies inside, storing them until I came out and then I unzipped my bag, took out my sunnies and put them on, until I stopped in a store and took them off. After awhile, I ambled toward home, until I realized I was not wearing my sunglasses. I unzipped my bag. My sunglasses were not resting on top of my swimsuit nor were they tucked inside my red flip flops. "My sunglasses are missing!" I exclaimed. I raced back to the store. No sunglasses. Then to the performer I had listened to earlier. Not there, either. Where could they be? They couldn't just walk off. Or could they?
Then I put my hand inside my pocket and touched the earpieces. I should have known my glasses would be in my pocket, since several years ago I lost a different pair in the exact same place. I have tried, over the years, to reform. I know, I know. I must try harder.
Yesterday, when my sunglasses disappeared, I remembered my experience of two weeks ago. Feeling quite clever, I checked my pockets. No glasses. I also rechecked my bag a few more times, refusing to give up hope. I pulled out a plastic spoon, more napkins, my water bottle, and touched the soft fleece of my hat. Poor Cozy Cozy. It was trembling. No doubt still traumatized from its incident last year when, on my birthday, I had let the hat out of the bag, holding it on my lap in the car as my Non-Marital Spouse and I drove through Sonoma. We stopped on a dark country road to look at the stars. When I opened the door to get out, Cozy Cozy fell onto the highway without my noticing. It was especially tragic when we drove off. Tragic for both of us. Although the good news is we did find it again, Cozy Cozy remains forever scarred. It hates being left behind and any mention of missing objects sends it into conniptions.
Like any good detective, I reflected on my day's activities. Before leaving the house, I had picked up my hats, removed my sunglasses from their special shelf, and put all the items into my shoulder bag. As I went outside, I pulled out my sun hat and glasses and put them on. I was sure of it. Walking home, I thought wistfully of my spare pair of sunnies. Wouldn't they be pleased to know I needed them? They would be grateful for the opportunity to rest on my nose. I opened the door to my house. The first thing to catch my eye was a familiar sight, indeed. "You're here! You're here!" I picked up my glasses from their special shelf, kissing each plastic, polarized lens.
Finding my missing glasses has given my a new perspective on life.
My glasses: full.
Causes Eva Schlesinger Supports
Center For Young Women's Development
Alameda County Library Foundation