Six or seven hours ago my morning was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a car driving on the street with a flat tire. Sure enough, a few minutes later, an SUV (Ute) crested the wash and drove slowly past my place and turned onto the dirt road, where it came to a stop.

Now, some six to eight hours later, it's still there and the only change is that my dogs have stopped barking at it. The right rear tire's sidewall is split open all the way around, so a patch isn't a viable solution.

As much as I gripe about my existence at times, I have to remember to be grateful, too. I'd like to think that for the past several years, at least, losing a tire would only be a five minute annoyance. Other than some thirty years ago, I've always carried a spare tire and a spare, and the only time I didn't was with my first Jeep, the used literal life guard Jeep, that had no place to carry one.

That Jeep, of course, did have a flat tire once, and I remember being stranded on the side of the freeway in the early morning, probably on my way to work, but it may have been later in the day on some weekend.

I don't remember exactly when in our relationship it happened, but I walked off the freeway to a phone booth (!), called my girlfriend (or fiancee, or wife), and pleaded for help. I remember sitting next to the stricken Jeep until she came to get me, feeling completely worthless and close to tears. She told me later that she laughed at the sight ("Poor (boy). You looked so miserable sitting there with your wheel."

I imagine I directed her to tire place I knew about, got the tire changed, drove back to the Jeep, and put it back on.

The point being I've been in a position where a quick fix wasn't available, but mostly just pulled over, used the jack, put the spare tire back on, and drove on my way in a matter of minutes a little dirtier but none the worse for wear. This poor guy, whose SUV is stuck near my front yard, is experiencing a ruined day and while I almost take it for granted, it's much better to be able to be prepared. It's a luxury that I need to be grateful for.

This story about my eye goes back awhile, and I have no idea how it ends.

In the early years of this century I was working, producing web content, for a guy whose cousin was an eye doctor. My right eye was bad, had developed a cataract, and its vision was like looking through wax paper. All that I knew about cataracts at that time was that my dad had had one and his was very noticeable, very white, and obviously obscured the pupil of the eye that he was blind in, anyway.

I couldn't see mine, but the doctor told me I had one and that he could rid of it.

I don't know exactly why I went to him since my cataract had been developing for awhile, and I'd recently lost my job and had no insurance. Maybe it's because Elliot, the guy I worked for, told me his cousin  could give me a good deal and I'd been making noises about going down to Mexico to have it done.

I don't remember his name, but Elliot's cousin had a nice, clean, spacious office (including a surgery downstairs), and drove a Porsche Cayenne.

I don't remember ever haggling over the cost or if I did, indeed, get a good deal. It cost $3,000 dollars and my sister had to drive me there and back. Well, technically she only had to drive me back but since neither of us were going to leave our car in Inglewood, one of us drove there so that she could see where it was.

The morning of the surgery I remember using an eyebrow pencil to draw arrows on my face pointing at the eye that was to be worked on because I'd heard stories on the news of people having their wrong limbs amputated and things like that and was taking no chances.

I got the procedure done and it went smoothly as far as I could tell and I was soon back home and took off the bandage that had been put over my eye. Also, the doctor gave me some dark glasses to wear, the same ones he said he used, and that didn't look all that funky and no doubt protected my eyes from everything they needed protection from.

The first thing I remember noticing was how bright everything was. Not that it was clearer or anything, but it was sure brighter, even at night.

For the next month or so I kept going back and he kept measuring my vision and it reached 20-20, at least in that eye, and I remember being pretty damn happy. I also remember complaining about my peripheral vision in that eye being seemingly blocked, but he did some tests and said everything was fine.

And that was that.

Some six or seven years later, however, that eye was useless as far as seeing out of it was concerned, and I went to an optometrist at a nearby mall to see what the hell was going on and he told me that in 25% of the cases, something I though of as bubbles form behind the artificial lens, and I guessed I was one of the lucky fourth of people.

He said it could be treated and gave me the name of what was going on, and I remember looking it up on the internet where I learned about the 1/4 of people and what I called the bubbles. Since I'd been questioning the wisdom of getting the earlier eye surgery at all, I decided to not do anything about it (my usual reaction to things) and just learned to live with it.

By the time I moved up here, I think vision had mostly returned to that eye so I wasn't thinking about it at all any more, but as part of my health insurance they wanted me to have annual eye exams so last year I went to an (the?) eye doctor near where I live. He is neither a very friendly, or personable, or particularly quick doctor, but he's the one my insurance sends me to so...

Last year he reminded me about the bubbles and said they could be removed by LASER, but nothing more came of that. This year, when I went back, he said a cataract was developing in my other eye (the left one), which I think I already knew and talked again about the LASER treatment for my right eye and told me to call in for an appointment.

I did, but a few weeks went by without hearing back, and I figured he may have requested something but that the insurance denied it, and my vision was okay so I didn't press the issue. Then, about the time I'd forgotten all about it, his office called and set up an appointment for the LASER treatment.

So, yesterday I went in at 10:00 and he began the treatment right before noon. It seems he hasn't gotten quicker over the years, but I was able to watch the end of Men in Black and the start of Ghostbusters in his waiting room on the combo TV and VCR player. Yes, it had a tube.

I was seated in a chair, my head held in position with a strap, and spent no more than a few minutes staring at red lights while he aimed the LASER, clicked it, and I could see what looked like smoke showing up on the periphery of my vision. Then, he said it was over, told some technician that he'd done sixty-one one point threes, and I was good to go.

I've got an appointment to go back next week, to check the progress, I assume, and last night and this morning I noticed my vision is a little bit brighter and maybe even a little clearer!

I have no idea if he's going to do any more work with the LASER, if he did everything he was going to do with that, or half, or just started, but I wasn't hurt and I can see clearly, so as far as I'm concerned I'm good to go.

--The End--