The things you’ll see at the edge of the sea
While I’d never claim to be an expert on the whole of human nature, I can confidently declare that I am an expert on the nature of a single human: I know my wife better than anyone else on this planet. After 36 years together, I can easily and accurately predict her behavior in a myriad of circumstances. It’s not rocket science. Certain actions yield the same reaction over and over again. Take the following circumstance.
Last weekend, as we frolicked with friends on the sandy, windswept, mayfly-carcass-strewn shore of Lake Erie, we encountered an older couple carefully plodding along with eyes trained intensely on the sand at their feet. I knew I wouldn’t have to wait long to learn what they were up to because Kristin would soon be all up in their business getting the scoop.
Turns out the pair enjoyed spending lakeside days combing the beach for sea glass — the remnants of broken bottles tumbled smooth by the endless churn of sand and surf. I’m sure Kristin reeled in more details about the pair during their brief conversation — their names, hometown, years together, names of their children, favor flavor of salad dressing — because, well, that’s just how she rolls. Simple, consistent, predictable behavior.
Recently, a new insurance policy at work afforded us a vision benefit, and while I’m all about the opportunity to have a check-up, I know myself better than to commit to an expensive pair of eyeglasses as they would be lost in a heartbeat and I’d be right back to the dollar store readers I’ve worn for years. Kristin actually wears the same magnification, so it’s made things easy around our place—walk into a room, grab the nearest pair of glasses, sit down and read the newspaper. When she announced that she was planning on getting a pair of prescription, “progressive lens” at a cost of several hundred dollars, my prediction was quick and simple.
“First you will hate them, then you will lose them,” I said.
“I don’t care what you say,” she said. “The optometrist showed me these incredible lenses that get stronger at the bottom and softer on the sides and top so I won’t have to keep putting on and taking off glasses all day long.”
“Given that, I’d like to amend my prediction,” I said. “You won’t lose them, because you’ll hate them so much you won’t even wear them.”
Predictably, on the day she took possession of the new specs Kristin wore them around the house for a few minutes, declared them horrible, then plopped them down on her drawing table suggesting (for the sake of saving face) that she’d get back to them after our weekend at the lake. I knew better.
Had she not left her new lenses laying at home a fate far different from a future spent moldering on a dusty shelf would have most definitely claimed them. To wit, as Kristin barefooted at the edge of the surf she spotted a large crayfish making its way through the shallows. With a fast grab she hoisted the creature into the air for a quick, claws-a-blazing photo before dropping him back to the waves.
A few moments later, as she reached for her glasses to view that very photo, she discovered the cheap readers she’d worn to the beach had dropped from the top of her head into the foamy sea as she’d maneuvered for the crayfish. They were gone for good.
“At least your loss might be someone else’s gain,” I said as we gave up the search. “If that old couple happens back by their apt to stumble upon some “see” glass!”
Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.