Singlehandedly raising the average patron age at Piercing Pagoda by at least 25 years, we have...

...your Catholic Librarian, at your service.

Sooooooo, I'm not exactly what you would call an adventurous person. ;-) But every once in a while, I like to mix it up and pretend that I wouldn't spend the rest of my life holed away in a hermitage wearing sackcloth and ashes (so long as I had WIFI and could still communicate with everyone via social media) if I could. Occasionally, I get bold. Or, at least my version of Introvert Bold. And so, over the weekend, it occurred to me that I'd like to get my ears pierced.

Granted, my ears are ALREADY pierced. I had a main lobe piercing done when I was about 8 years old, the way everybody did back in the 80's: at the mall, sitting in a chair in the window at our closest Claire's boutique store, with 2 teenage girls pointing piercing guns at my ears. Yes, that's the way they did it back then, both ears at the same time! I guess it helped with little girls deciding they didn't really want the second ear pierced after getting a load of the first one. :0

And it wasn't that bad. I remember a few tears, but on the whole I braved it pretty well, and I loved having pierced ears. The piercing held up well, too. Before I was a performer, I'd go months without wearing earrings, and my holes have never closed. I never really thought much about it until this weekend. A friend got her nose pierced, and it looks BEAUTIFUL, and I'm all: "maybe I should get a solidarity piercing?!" Because that's what friends do. ;-)

The idea gained steam as the weekend wore on, and like the true librarian that I am, I buried my nose in a little research. It seems that many people, when they get, you know, OLDER, tend to skirt away from the Claire's piercing gun and instead go to a tattoo and piercing shop, where there are experienced piercers on staff. Indeed, a tattoo place did sound infinitely more appealing to me than navigating the prom and Sweet 16 displays at Claire's, until I read that at a tattoo shop they use a needle to pierce your body part. Excuse me while I continue to live in denial, but NO THANK YOU. I choose to pretend that the piercing gun merely has a cupid's arrow inside of it, and not an actual needle.

*shudders*

I only wanted a second ear piercing. A piercing gun sounded just fine to me, even if it does have some drawbacks. I braced myself to be accosted by spinning racks of rhinestones and Justin Bieber posters at Claire's. Then I remembered Piercing Pagoda. A staple kiosk at malls everywhere, they offer more piercing services than Claire's, and I felt somewhat less conspicuous going there. Granted, I'm certain that their usual clientele is much *somewhat* younger than myself. But it seemed less teeny bopperish. AND they use an old fashioned piercing gun. And by old fashioned I mean newer and not nearly as scary as the 80's version. :0

Yesterday, I left work a tad early to head to the mall and Piercing Pagoda. The girl who was working wasn't a teenager, which I considered a bonus. PLUS, she had all sorts of awesome piercings and thus seemed super experienced. 😰 She was very pleasant and helped me pick out simple piercing earrings. Then she got ready while I sat in The Chair and contemplated whether this was all part of a midlife crisis for really boring people. Before I could determine an answer, she was ready, and carefully did some measurements. Soon, she was all set to go and so was I. They no longer do both ears at the same time (big surprise :0) so I was ready for it to feel like I was getting a vaccination. Except in my ear.

But really? It didn't feel like that. It didn't hurt AT ALL. :0 I'm certain other piercings do (that would be those that I can't even think about lest I faint dead away), but ear lobes are much less tear worthy than when I was 8. She did the second ear, and I was good to go, my cute little pink studs a badge of midlife honor. And here they are:

Not everyday that you get EAR PICTURES here at Life of a Catholic Librarian, but there you have it! I have to say: I LOVE THEM. I'm so glad that I got it done! So now every morning and evening I'm busily applying this little solution she gave me and twirling my earrings so that they'll heal properly. Yes, I do feel a little old to be doing such things, but you know what the good thing is about reaching a certain milestone age?

You don't care anymore. 😂

I love my little pink studs. They make me feel young and sassy. ;-) All right, this isn't typically how we close out a post, but here we go: do you have any piercings (that you feel comfortable talking about :0)? Are you hankering to get anymore? I'd love to hear from you!

Adventures in Ophthalmology, take 2!

As promised, today's post is devoted to my adventures Monday afternoon at the eye doctor, an installment in a special series about aging young women in America. :0 I wrote about my appointment last year, and I thought it would be fun to make this a yearly event since it seems to bring out the humorous part of something that we all dread but that *will* happen to all of us - noticing the physical effects of getting older. Last year, I left feeling like I may need a walker to get out to my car, it was so depressing, and I'm pleased to report that this year went much better. Let us discuss!

I arrived just as the snowstorm was kicking up, and so I was feeling kind of rushed and punchy. A good start, no?! I wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible so that I could get home. I rushed through my paperwork and anxiously read my Kindle while I waited to be called back, already detailing in my mind how I would refuse the eye drops this time since I do want to be able to drive home, and you know, arrive in one piece.

#CantankerousTiffany

I'm called back and I hurriedly sit down for the initial "stuff." Review of personal medical history, reading of chart. I do as best I can, but I do have one very weak eye due to a birth defect in my macula muscle, hence my yearly forays to the ophthalmologist.

"How old are you?"

Ugh.

"38."

"Really? You don't look 38."

I LOVE THIS NURSE. I may bring her a gift next year. I may knit her something.

That done, the nurse turns to me:

"This doctor doesn't do drops, so we don't have to worry about those."

*angels sing*

 "But now it's time for the pressure gauge."

*communal groan*

I *can't stand* the pressure gauge, wherein you're supposed to "relax" while a steel instrument is shoved up against your eyeball, but I did what I could.

"Ok, let's move over here for the clicker test."

A test? I perk up. I am an overachiever and aim to do well on any and all tests.

"Ok, You'll need to look through here, and we'll test your right eye, then the left. Every time you see a squiggle move on the screen you press this clicker."

A clicker? I have power. This gets better and better.

"Start...NOW."

*squiggle moves across screen*

*WHAM!*

"Was that another one? I think..."

*CLICK!!!*

I was a little bit of an eager beaver, but I gave that clicker a workout and I'm pretty sure I got 100% correct.

*gold star*

"Here's the doctor. He'll take it from here."

We then move on to the...

"Is A clearer, or B? A? Ok. A...or C? About the same? Hum. C or...D? Anything? They can't be the same, let's look again. Here's C...Then D!"

...part of the exam.

Verdict?

"Well, your prescription went up a bit, but not bad. Your vision is 20/20 in your right eye, and 20/30 in the left."

Now see? There was no Doomsday predictions of failing vision and buzzards coming to peck my eyeballs out the instant I turn 40. I like this guy.

I'm ushered to an optician named Sandy to procure my new glasses. Sandy is clearly worried about the storm outside and isn't in too great of a mood, but I give her a pass because I too am worried about the storm.

"Do you want bifocal lenses or just reading ones?"

"Oh." Thankfully the "B" word had gone as yet unmentioned. "Well, can you tell me about the bifocals?"

I joke about them, but someday I really will need them. I can't keep taking my glasses off to segue between my computer screen and a human face forever. She spends about 10 minutes telling me minutiae about bifocals lenses.

"Ok, thanks. I'm not ready. Let's just do reading."

Sandy does not look amused.

"All right. The frames covered by your insurance are over there on that rack."

I head over, thrilled that I can actually SEE the frames to choose this year, and immediately hone in on two that are identical aside from the color. I really like the shape and thickness. One pair is brown with blue on the side, and the other pair is black with pink. I model both for Sandy.

"I really like this pair, but what about...this one? You know, A, or...B!"

Sandy does not seem to think that this is nearly as funny as I do, but she does gamely play along and examines both frames on my face. She says she likes both of them.

#nothelpful

I go back and forth in the mirror while Sandy's son texts her with foreboding highway closures. Finally, I pick one.

"Ok! These ones!"

"Ok great. They'll be ready in 2 weeks."

Clearly, Sandy is ready to move on from my visit. And I'll unveil my new frames, and their color, two weeks hence!

So, this year was better. I didn't leave nearly as traumatized and needing liquor the way I did last year. I will seek out this particular ophthalmologist again. Anybody else have adventures in aging? Leave me a comment!

All right, tomorrow I have a book review to post on an Amish compilation I read over the holiday break. It was *lovely* and fun, and if you are at all interested in Amish fiction or in trying it, please do check back tomorrow!

A day of love and appreciation

Well, despite my prevailing Negative Birthday Energy, I had a very nice birthday. It was a Monday, I was not off for President's Day, and my work day was quite 'blah' with an English Composition class to teach and other lesson plans to prepare. That notwithstanding, the day really exceeded my expectations.

I got lots of nice birthday wishes on Facebook, and my knitting group brought me heart cookies, homemade chocolate, and a crocheted bracelet with purple beads to match my amethyst birthstone. When I arrived home, laden with goodies, Mike and the kids had a bottle of Frangelico waiting (I just love the rope tied around the bottle's waist, and who doesn't love spiked coffee?) and some specialty tea. My parents came over later and brought me some lotion and body wash from The Body Shop. Later, Mike and I watched Poltergeist on TCM (I will grant, not exactly a traditional birthday choice, but it worked) and I worked on my Lady Edith shawl. It was lovely.

My long week of teaching continues, but I'm persevering. I wish I could think of something funny to say, but the creek runs dry. That's what happens when your daughter decides to STOP SLEEPING AGAIN. Any remaining brain cells are immediately pressed into service for basic survival skills. Humor is tossed to the wayside.

Here's hoping for a good Wednesday.

What is today?

A Lenten weekday. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

Sigh. Yes, it's my birthday. I hate to be a bad sport, but I have come to dread my birthdays a bit ever since I turned 35. I'm just honestly not looking forward to the next 5 year milestone, which will be in 2 years for me now. That year, my birthday falls on Ash Wednesday. Seems appropriate, no? :)

Oh well, with time comes acceptance. It just freaks me out when I realize that I can *remember* my own parents being the age that I am now, and my grandparents being the age that my parents are now. I guess we all just wish that some things could always stay the same, and that those we loved wouldn't age and ultimately leave us. Man, what a Birthday Downer I am.

In good news, we had a very nice weekend, and Anne has been sleeping better. I hope that she now does not start waking up every 20 minutes just because I mentioned something. I went to a craft show on Saturday with my mother-in-law and the kids and had a great time. I found a wonderful new local handmade soap supplier. I also bought a sewn table runner for our dining room buffet in spring colors, plus some baked goods for the kids. Yesterday, we went to the zoo and both kids loved it. Anne was...I just don't think I've ever seen her so happy. She kissed the mice through the glass partition and offered them a drink from her sippy cup. She was squealing and ebullient the whole time. Aside from the unfortunate incident involving a stinky diaper in the zoo eatery all went perfectly.

Oh! And I received a new rosary bracelet for my birthday:

I love it. :) I'm wearing it today. I also got a copy of The Bishop's Wife and some cute new clothes. Mike and I are going to dinner this weekend. I still haven't chosen a restaurant. You'd think I was plotting world peace with the concentration I'm taking to pick a birthday restaurant.

So, things are good. I have a bit of a long week at work, but I'll persevere.

A February welcome...

Many cite February as their least favorite month of the year. I've never minded February, mostly because my birthday is this month. I will grant, I no longer look forward to my birthday the way I used to since each year seems to mean that my visits to various doctors will get more and more depressing. But I've determined that obsessing over age simply isn't worth it. Life is short, we've always known this. If you worry too much, you can't enjoy the time that you do have. So I press on.

I will say one very big announcement about this particular February 1st:

MY COPY OF DOWNTON ABBEY SEASON 3 IS AT MY LOCAL POST OFFICE.

Clearly, Amazon loves me and wants to please me. They also shipped Anne's potty and the Valentines books I picked out for both kids today.

*glows*

I'm super excited for a Downton Abbey weekend, broken up by really good Super Bowl snacks. And a lot of Downton Abbey inspired knitting. I've begun yet another shawl (an early start on the Lenten shawl knit-along) to donate to the Theme Tray auction at Hank's school, so I've been working on that. Oh, and a pair of Valentine's socks for me, the yarn is smashing. I finished Henry's Finding Nemo socks:

Aren't they precious? I'm happy with the way they turned out. And since he still has small feet, I have a bunch of this yarn left to make at least one more pair of socks.

I envision a happy weekend ahead.

Actual conversation heard outside my office door

I swear it, this really happened, at approximately 9:30 am this morning right outside my office door:

"Hey Susan, how are you?"

"Well, all right, but I was just at my eye doctor, and according to her I'm getting really old and falling to pieces."

!

"Oh ugh, I was there recently too. And you know what she told me? She said I needed BIFOCALS! She actually used the word BIFOCALS! And I said, 'Bifocals? I don't think I need those.' And you know what she said? 'How old are you?'"

!

"And I said 'it's right there in my chart, I'm not saying it out loud!' And she said 'Well, you've reached that magic age that starts with a 4...'"

!

"Well, mine told me that I have cataracts in both eyes. I don't need to do anything right now, but in a few years I'm going to have to deal with it. Boy, I just felt terrible when I left, like I'm getting ancient or something and am just going to keel over at any time!"

Clearly, we are all under attack right now from evil eye doctors.

I think I'm going to need to order some yarn to make myself feel better.

"You're falling apart": An uplifting tale of life after age 35...

Ugh.

Yes, as if to add insult to last month's mammogram (everything's fine, I am just apparently old enough now to warrant a baseline mammogram given that I'm "so close to 40!") I had an appointment with my eye doctor yesterday that was nothing short of anxiety-inducing. Let us chronicle.

I always hated hearing about the doom and gloom that awaits us all beginning at age 35, and that experience has only intensified with each passing year. I will grant, I have noticed some changes that have started in the past year or two, coinciding precisely with when I turned 35.

*glares*

The skin on my hands is a little thinner, I have a few more lines around my eyes when I smile. But I don't mind those things (well, I could live without the thinning skin, but I don't mind the facial lines). I think it's much more attractive to age gracefully than to put yourself through the nightmare of plastic surgery that so many Hollywood actresses feel compelled to do these days. And have you seen some of them? I feel so sorry for them. We're all going to get older, it's just a fact. I know we all wish that we could freeze what we looked like at age 25 and look that way forever, but that ain't happenin'. So the choices are to live with it (and apply Olay liberally each night, ask me how I know this) or to have surgery, and I don't know about you, but the former looks a heck of a lot better. Not to mention cheaper.

But I digress. I made an appointment with the eye doctor because it's been a few years since I've been there, and I know that I need to keep up with my eyes. I was born with a birth defect in my macula, and I had a lot of trouble with my vision as a child. I had a very good opthalmologist back then, and my vision improved a lot by time I was an adult. I now only wear glasses for reading, and my distance vision is quite good. But genetics aren't on my side, plus I work in front of a computer all day, and I otherwise engage in lots of activities (reading, knitting) that strain my eyes. My appointment was yesterday afternoon.

I arrive, Kindle in hand for what I was sure would be a lengthy stay in the waiting room. I read one paragraph.

"Tiffany!"

I actually wished that they had been running behind. But alas.

I'm taken into a preliminary room with a nurse who asks me lots of eye questions. Then she asks if it's ok for them to dilate my eyes.

Ugh, I forgot about that.

Well, I mean, I GUESS, since otherwise they can't really do anything with me. I submit to the drops.

God only knows what she put in there. There was a series of at least 4 different things. My eyes immediately feel watery and crappy. Then she tells me that she's going to measure my eye pressure, or some such thing. She proceeds to stick, I swear it, A ROD, millimeters from my poor eyeball, and she pushes back my my eyelids to make it bulge even more.

"Try to relax."

Oh really? I'll take that under advisement.

I couldn't help it, I was instinctively pushing back *away* from the rod in my eyeball. Have you ever heard anything more ridiculous than to RELAX while such a thing is going on?

Then came the the inevitable letter reading quizzes, clicking upon seeing flashes exam, and the ever popular "which is better?" segment.

"A or B?"

"Um, I guess A."

"Ok. A or....C!"

*silence*

"They look about the same."

"Really? How about A or D?"

"D." I suppose.

"Ok. Now, 1 or...2!"

The verdict?

"Well, you're falling apart."

A real uplifter for the new year, no?

" It happens to all of us after age 35. Our lenses lose flexibility. This decline will continue until you're about 60. Then it will level out. That's the good news."

That's good news?

"Your distance vision has actually improved."

Well see, THAT is good news.

"But your reading vision has reduced. You're going to need a new prescription for your reading glasses, and a light bifocal is a consideration."

SHE DID NOT JUST USE THE B-WORD!!!

"The bad news is that no matter what, your vision will only continue to worsen as you get older. Ten years from now it will be so much worse than it is right now."

Let's just keep the good news pouring in, shall we?

"I think we can skip the bifocials for now, but you'll notice a significant difference in your new glasses. Do you have any questions?"

*sniffle*

What's next, being addressed with the word "geezer" or "fogey" being tossed about?

I went out to survey my glasses options and chose a small wire-rimmed pair that are cute. I think they were brown. This process would have been easier had I been able to actually SEE clearly.

"When do the drops wear off?"

"3-5 hours."

Fantastic.

I go out and get in my car. I don't know about you, but I do think that *seeing* is an important quality in a driver. I could see things in the distance, but I couldn't read a thing close-up.

I carefully head home. Hark! What is that up there on the right?

THE LIQUOR STORE.

Pit stop everybody!

Clearly, after this appointment, and since I won't be able to read for hours, I need a glass of Chardonnay. I go inside.

Instead of trying to really pick anything out (you do need to read in order to do that) I grabbed a bottle of something that appeared to be white wine from a display right next to the register. I hand it to the cashier.

"Can I see your i.d. please?"

Wait. You can hear it, can't you?

*ANGELS SING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*

Shazzam!!! I may be a woman rapidly approaching middle age with declining eyesight and apparently ancient lady parts, but damn it, I STILL GOT IT!!

Get out the walker, we have a grandma in here!

I'm feeling very posty today, so you'll be hearing from me a lot. It was one of those weekends.

I just got back from my ob/gyn, and I'm all full of emotion, so I figured, hey? Why not take advantage for some lively posts.

I know this shouldn't have caught me off guard, but it totally did. I'm 35. Right, already know this. I'll be barely 36 when I deliver Baby CL. In my mind, this is no big deal. I understand that my risks of delivering a baby with Down's Syndrome or Spina Bifada have increased with my age. This does not disturb me in the least. Do I want this to happen? No, of course not. But if it does, I'm confident that somehow we'll be able to deal with it, with God's help. And frankly, I don't feel any more worried about this than I did when I was pregnant with Hank, when I was 30 years old. This can happen to anybody at any time. Thus, I don't appreciate being treated like a pregnant ticking time bomb.

I love my obstetrics practice, I really do. They're all very kind, very warm, and very competent. Today I saw one of the nurse practitioners, who is super, SUPER nice, and she ran through the regular first appointment hoops with me. Everything was great, although it was too early to try and find the baby's hearbeat with the Doppler. Next time. Then came the bomb.

Because I'm now 35, I'm now required (within this practice, at least) to visit their associated perinatologist, in other words, the high-risk ob. This entails a late first trimester nuchal fold scan (an ultrasound), a second trimester ultrasound, and possibly an amniocentesis, via this other office. Right away, this got my hackles up.

I firmly do not want an amniocentesis. I don't think there is anything morally wrong with them for couples that would like the information they provide, I just don't feel that in my particular case, the small risk of miscarriage that accompanies this test is worth any reassurance I could get from it. She told me that I don't have to have the amnio, but by law, they have to offer it to me. Fine, I GUESS.

I reluctantly took the referral for the perinatologist, because I didn't feel like I had a choice. She told me to call right away for the nuchal fold scan, since they do that at 11-14 weeks, and I'm already 10 weeks. Since that's totally non-invasive, I don't object to it per se, I just don't think that I particularly need it.

I'm also supposed to have my 18 week ultrasound with this perinatologist, which I'd rather not do since they don't allow you to bring your younger children with you, and I really wanted to share that with Hank. She also advised scheduling the amniocentesis even if I'm not sure that I want it, so that it'll be there if I change my mind. Not so crazy about that piece of advice.

All in all, I left feeling kind of overwhelmed and caught off-guard. I know that this isn't the underlying intent, but I can't help but feel that these new technologies give pregnancy (especially at older maternal ages) a feeling of FEAR. Like I should be afraid. I'm not afraid, and why should I have to feel so?

I'm just a little emotional right now; I know that I'll get over it. My nuchal fold scan is scheduled for two weeks from now, and I guess I'll just hang tight until then and see how this perinatologist thing pans out. I'll reserve my cranky feelings until then, because that's only fair.

But for the time being, I'm cranky. Guess that fits pretty well into the old lady thing, huh?