Hate my innovative eyeglasses….

“You kidding me – only THREE words?”

That’s the title and six words story for speed readers and busy writers. Let your imagination carry you away. See 2008 reviews on 5 women’s fiction novels.

Expounding…..eye strain and reading glasses.

UPDATED – The eyeglasses were returned and remade, not once but three times.  The final return now awaits a refund.  But my eyes stopped hurting and turning red.  Even a second prescription reading did not show that I needed any changes though.

But — this is all about the progressive eyeglasses.

Customer opinionated rant ahead.

Ever noticed a person reading and their head is loose? They wobble on their chair like reacting to quick-shooting sensations?

I thought it was a muscular disease. I have been there and back.  I empathized. But perhaps I am at the bottom of it. Stay with me now.progressive multifocal lenses vision

Three weeks ago I ordered new bifocals. They told me about a new-fangled reading glasses combo. Progressive mutli-focals. These have a bifocal definition on the bottom of the lens for the arm-length distance computer screen or store shelf. The half-lens above is for driving, watching birds, seeing individual snowflakes in the garden.

I loved both those focals, loved them.

Then it was time to read.

This is where the reading corridor is used, the tiny hourglass shape in the center of the entire lens.

large print books reading eyestrainI am an author. I read all day. Books. Computer screen a foot from my face with bifocals on to see clearly. Much eyestrain. A real neck cramp, but I do it. That is why I was excited about the new-fangled reading hourglass in the center of my new multifocal glasses. Just in time for the twenty book reading spree research before my next novel on Lindsay, Gooee, and Heather Laurel’s story behind Jesus and the Essenes. omgoodness! I was so happy.

Open book to read. There is no focus. All blurred.

What did they tell me? You gotta point your nose at what you want to see.


Fifteen minutes of pointing my nose like a Brittany spaniel and I figure it out.

I am able to see three words in large text. Five words in small text. All I can read at a time in new-fangled lenses. The rest is distorted, not just blurred. Distorted. Page is like a wave of paper if I don’t move my head. I say to me, these are good for reading with Amazon Kindle books or my ebooks for Blackberry. Not book books.amazon-kindle-books-spirituality

I call optometrist’s office. They again mention this might take a few weeks to adjust. I don’t have a few weeks. I am cramming. Well, come back tomorrow and maybe the lenses can be tilted.

I try all day to do it right anyway. Had been so excited, you know. Headaches, neck ache, nausea would fade with new glasses. Now I am tense. Neck pain. Now I walk like Johnny Dep on Pirates of the Caribbean. Feel drunk too. And carsick.

Tomorrow comes. Office manager explains that she is on her fifth pair of new-fangled before finding an improved, less distorted patent that works for her. She put me in THE ONE that works for her to spare me.

Me: I am not spared. Show me again what it is like to read in these things.

And she reads down the page of a book, head shaking all the way.

hate-my-new-eyeglassesMe: So you are not kidding. I will only be able to read three words on one line at a time with these. I cannot rotate my eyes alone to read the line above or line below. I have to move my head up and down. And I have to move my head left and right to see the left of the line and the right. Reading a wide-page will be rocking fun. Whee, large print novels, fun!

She: Yes, that’s the way they are. Like we told you, they take getting used to. You have to point your nose at what you want to read.

Me: Point your nose at it! What that means to me is point your nose at the BOOK! Point your nose at the cereal box. Point your nose at the up-close computer monitor. Not the three words you want to read.

She: Point your nose at the words.

Me: I just want to be certain we aren’t missing something here. I will never be able to read more than three to five words on one line again without shaking my head side-to-side as I propel my head up and down over the page for as long as I shall live? Right?

She: Ninety-eight percent of our patients order the progressive lenses. They adjust and like them.

Me: That’s bull. No one likes this.

She: There are several manufacturers. These have been around twenty-five years. They are much improved.

Me: I cannot imagine. Some things are better off left unimproved and this was obviously one.

I further assured the office they needed to be more specific with their patients about what their noses needed to point at. Three words means three words. That no one wanted to live like this and I would not. That the 30-day return policy with no refund on the new-fangled lenses was not acceptable. That I wanted bifocals, so re-measure me anyway. Right, you read it right. My insurance company paid $145, I paid $105 for the new-fangled progressive-type multi-focals at a discount. But I sent them back for regular bifocals and will not be refunded. They are doing me a favor for giving me the thirty-day option to adjust and return. Their deception on an inadequate product, I pay. They? The techs, office manager, optometrist, lens manufacturers, and patent holders get paid. Do you want to guess where these patents were developed? I’m not saying it.

I am reading with bifocalsNow I ask you, the readers, oh, and the writers of books — we who have our head in words all the live long day. What do you suppose we will look like when we are ten or twenty years into this new-fangled phase of living in our new-fangled reading lenses? Our heads shaking loose on our necks whether we are reading or not. Our entire bodies with this swivel-bob motion. Going…. Uummmmm…… where is that word again? What line was I on? Like… like… well like wobbly elderly people who sometimes lose their stability and have earned that wobble. Only we will be thirty and fifty years old and wonder why.

Now the newer version – the multizone bifocal – is supposed to be superior, studies say.

Read the rest of this entry »


What is spirituality to you?

I just read this very open-hearted question on Amazon and had to engage.spirituality is simple

I had to answer because I have been feeling a personal loss through my “the holidays are less than relevant” anxiety this year. So I remember –

For me, spirituality is when I close my eyes and I feel the warmth on my head that tells me I am being taken care of, that my path is good for me.

Spirituality, for me, is seeing clues on my journey, such as key numbers, that are a sign I am close to my purpose or path. I think there is a reason the child’s game, ‘You’re getting warmer,’ is one of the first we learn.

Spirituality is witnessing the miracles all around. May these never cease to bring us wonder. Miracles bring us closer to the Mystery of the Divine.

Spirituality is not knowing a coincidence.  It is understanding that every event in life is a tapestry.

Spirituality challenges the goodness in me to shine, and kicks my butt through conscience, in the here and now, when I am dull.

But mostly, I like the warmth that feels like radiant heat within my heart and power and laughter in my center.  Feelings that come when I am doing what makes me happiest, like writing essays to make people smile (read Gracie: The Christmas Lady bug on first post of this site – live link here).  Spirituality is the feeling of developing a lovely webpage, and birthing a novel, and holding a pet skunk against my heart, and feeding the squirrels and birds before dawn on a snowy morning. This simple spirituality feels really really good.

Essa Adams a.k.a. Thayne Hudson

A Breath Floats By: An Illusion for the Soul

spiritual fiction / visionary / paranormal realism

Skunk Medicine memoirs

Women’s Fiction Blog on WordPress

ESSA Books

~The quilt on the wall

December 16, 2008

Seasonal pausetree

You may momentarily wonder, as you visit, is Women’s Fiction a blog as in a journal?  Or is Women’s Fiction a short story forum within a blog?


Women’s Fiction will cover a range of life concerns from beliefs to gardening, body image to political (i.e. caring for the people) and relationships to animal rights.

A tapestry of women’s voices are being pieced for the quilt on the wall. This will be a rich wool-backing, whereas the creative side of short stories will dance and illuminate.

Why the pregnant pause?

Actually, I prefer the term peri-menopausal pause.  Seriously though – the holidays are all around us now, but I don’t hear them this year.  Something is amiss in the world, oh what can that be?

I continue to represent what I feel with Gracie, the tiny fake ladybug that needed me. For today, for me, this is as real as it gets.

The little fake ladybug sleeping in an envelope in my desk drawer. Yes, oh yes, she’s in my drawer. Her sister, Phoebe, seems to be down in the wall.

What was also real for me was to reach out, wanting to share a story that flowed from me. Wanting for someone, anyone, to smile while there is so much amiss. My ultimate offering.

I am a person of words, could write until dawn passes and comes again.

But no one has time to read, especially now when it seems like the world could cave in. When we need to ignore that for a time because there are so many holiday preparations. Reading is for January.

So I say briefly to you tonight in an intensely un-politically-correct outpouring….

Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas… and all the other happy and merry stuff that goes with this season. I hope you and your family smile often.


ESSA Books

Remember to enter the book give-away after you read Gracie: The Christmas Ladybug

All humor aside….no really….

Gracie's sister is running from plastic to window. 'Help me help me.'

Gracie's sister is running from plastic to window. 'Help me help me.'

The life principle of this winter story is respect in marriage.

Relationships aside, Gracie is about respect for nature and balance with our God-given environment. 

ENTER THE CONTEST FOR A NOVEL — Read Gracie – The Freezing Fake Ladybug. Our January Contest Feature Story to win a novel.

First the marriage.

I read all creative writing to hubby. He at least smiles. Yes, I warned him.

Before I ever hit the punchline, first me then his window of plastic film started to get the I-know-what-you-did-to-my-airlock look.

Holiday spirit, zip. He ripped off a foot of duct tape. The hole is an inch, geez.

Phoebe, little sister of Gracie the fake ladybug.

Phoebe, little sister of Gracie the fake ladybug.

Humour aside, his especially, Gracie’s sister is in there now. I can’t go in after her. Huh-uh.

The FAKE Ladybug in My Window

Christmas short story by the Women’s Fiction blog.

Feel good holiday humor, really….

Fake ladybugs are not to be confused with holiday ornaments either.

Fake ladybugs are not to be confused with holiday ornaments either.

Did it move just now? The fake ladybug in my office window behind the plastic film? The thing is right in line with my view of the winter snow garden. Really bugging me.

One of those fake ladybugs.  An imported Asian lady beetle, orange-red with nineteen black dots on its back. The kind that bites hard.  Pees in your mouth this liquorish poison that makes you wail and spit for ten minutes.

How do they get in your mouth? They drink from water glasses. Crawl into salads, mixing with slivered carrots and tomatoes quite nicely.

See how they would fit right in?

See how they would fit right in?






My office has wonderful walls of windows, so we purchased an EdenPure Heater like the one on Paul Harvey, just to keep me warm.  I love mine more than Paul loves his. Then hubby bought me a radiant Heat Dish.   Now our pets sleep in baskets by me where I spin them like rotisserie chickens.

Ask the ladybugs.  Winters are rough in the Great Lakes region. So he applied lovely plastic film to the windows to give them one more layer of insulation. Since I refuse to use drapes or blinds because I don’t want to lose my view of the winter garden, the film is a compromise.

The problem with this bug-thing staring in at me is that hubby is very protective of the film. The technique is in the airlock. So he spends the rest of the winter accusing me of pushing stacks of books, the lamp shade, and my purse into the film which does leave dents. I cannot deny evidence.

One must understand the dynamics of our relationship, of him bringing me sustenance while I create my prose in the office. Autumn onward, I would don gloves, many sweaters with hoods, scarves, jackets, then coats and boots, frozen fingers typing numbly.

Stubborn me with my walls of vintage windows on my vintage office-porch I would not change for the world, freezing to death.

fotolia_1964785_xs-up-cottage-gardenWhat a lovely winter garden though. Birds, wildlife, a tiny lacy cedar tree tipped in ice beads dancing beneath the grey skeleton of the high bush cranberry. I love my trees. My blue wind chimes.

Hubby loves me. So he contours the film, trims the edges within a sixteenth of an inch from the two-sided tape so I never know it is there. Then he uses hair dryer heat to coax the film to completely disappear as it spreads tighter and tighter.

Who would mess with the airlock? Not me. I’m not even touching it.

But the poor fake ladybug got caught between the windows and the plastic film.

Day before yesterday, the bug was lively. Being the coldest day of the year, I felt sorry for it, doubting its survival for more than a few more hours.  I know, I am a heartless fake ladybug hater. That evening when I turned out the lights, I do not remember noticing Fake Ladybug. She had probably frozen to death quite painlessly… right?

She? Yes, she. All ladybugs are feminine in fairytales.

Yesterday was more spring-like. Fake Ladybug was not flying around but she was still there, behind the plastic, mulling how to escape her winter wonderland aquarium. Then she disappeared for several hours. Before I turned off the lights, I checked for Fakie and she was not between the windows, not in cracks as far as I could see.

Fakie? Yes, Fakie. Just as Gracie is a cutesy name for Grace. Fakie. Using ‘ladybug’ in her name is too good for her.

Gracie, still as a nailhead on the iced windowsill.

Gracie, still as a nailhead on the iced windowsill.

Today I come in here to work, five essays exploding in my mind. There is Fakie, still as a nailhead on the white windowsill, staring at me through the plastic film. Eh.

I’m trying to work. And she is either dead or dying.

To my defense, these fake ladybugs can live through the winter. They hide in our insulated homes – all of us – between the drywall and outside wall, then come out in droves in the spring.

Summers they spend in alfalfa fields and when that is harvested, they fly into communities like yours to bite you and your children, stick in your fresh deck stain, pee on your windows, until they settle down and crawl into your house to stink and hibernate – those that are not rolled into the bales to be fed to the poor cows. I wonder if the cows can taste that poisonous vile they spray. Uck.

To my defense, some environmentalist from some agricultural improvement agency decided the United States farmers would be better off with these cold-weather resistant Asian lady beetles instead of old tried-and-true, gentle North American ladybugs who die off in the winter, it seems, and were a bit more sluggish in cold summers ( huh? ) when they were supposed to be eating aphids, I guess, and they say our native ladybugs were not as aggressive on the aphids.

Please. Have you ever seen the close-up images of what North American ladybugs do to a smorgasbord of aphids?

To my defense, once upon a time I always scooped them up to take them outside and make a nice plot of leaves and stones for them to live under far from the house, just like I do for the mice.

To my defense, I used to take my hanging lamps apart to get the fake ladybugs out before they fried their little feet on the bulbs. And when they fry they stink too.

Then one day, hubby got out the shop vac. Who would win? Me, the defender, or him, the warrior?

But too many times the nasty creatures got in my salad.

Sagie, I should have video taped him after he ate the fake ladybug.

Sagie, I should have video taped him after he ate the fake ladybug.

Once my pet skunk  tried to eat one and vomited around the house ten times over, me following with paper towels and the vinegar spray bottle while he squeaked and spit and gagged all over the hardwood floors. You laugh, but it could well be your dogs and cats eating them.

Oh!! Then I drank one of those poisonous devil bugs, so drank ipecac as a chaser to get it out of me.

I let hubby shop vac a gallon of them a week from there on out.

I couldn’t watch, couldn’t stand to hear their little screams as they were suctioned at high power into blackness like a tornado before one is in the center. Could not imagine their little faces when they were left in the stillness of the contractor strength garbage bag he dumped them into everyday.

But within a few weeks of hubby shop vacuuming fake Asian ladybugs, we had no more. And spring after spring our droves were lessened until we gave a sigh.

But now I am staring at Gracie…. I mean Fakie. And I think she was in a different position a few minutes ago. She could still be alive in there.

Not to be confused with iced berries.

Not to be confused with iced berries.

But where would I keep her? What could I possibly do with her? A pet? Humor me. But fake ladybugs are not pet material.

Reminds me of when my daughter kept a slew of horned tomato worms from my garden for pets. But that is another story. Or is it? She, too, named them. Wouldn’t let me toss them in the coffee can of turpentine. Yes, that is what old-time gardeners did with tomato worms, we didn’t want to squish them… it was too gross. Couldn’t let them loose in the woods… they would fly back as a moth and recycle. Tough I should have because they reincarnate as good moths that pollinate vegetable plants.  But what is more vicious to tomato plants than horned worms, I ask?  as I transgress…..

So how do I explain the hole in the plastic film to hubby? Took him hours to contour the film to the window so I would forget it was there.

I can’t stand it. I can tape the hole with clear duct tape. If you don’t know it yet, clear duct tape and plastic wireties really are a woman’s best friend. If you take nothing from this blog, that is what I bestow on you and your life from here on out. May you be blessed with an abundance of clear duct tape and your plastic wireties be all sizes and colours.

Fakie is so still.

I just took out the tiny knife I use for graphics. Sliced a tiny opening, like surgery on Grey’s Anatomy. Put the end of the knife through the narrow hole to pull Fakie out.

And she took off running the other way.

I sliced the hole larger to stop her, but she has quite a bit of life left even if she gave up flying.

I wanted to slice the entire bottom edge of the film along the sill to stop her. I wanted to. But that would be a lot of explaining to do.

I know you wanted me to save her. But get a grip, will you. This is not Tinker Bell. We’re talking Fakie, the fake Asian lady beetle that pees in your mouth when you try to eat her, bites you when you mow the lawn, stinks up the insulation between your walls. Has no natural predators in North America. Apparently not even the freezing winters of the Great Lakes.

So just get a grip.

Gracie freezing in the shade.

Gracie freezing in the shade.

There she is. Hiding around the corner of the window, a little alcove only Fakie can fit into. I feel bad now. At least before I bothered her, Fakie was sunning herself on the windowsill. Now she is plastered to a piece of metal in the shade.

Okay, I need advice here. What would you do? And don’t tell me to spray bug poison through the hole to put her out of her misery. Really, what would you do?

Hours later… Fakie is on the move…. waddles past the slice in the film, to the other side of my window. I try to pull the plastic loose on the other side of the window but hubby has it down to a science, there is no place for leverage without cutting in.

Wait, Fakie comes back by the hole. Thinking fast, I stick the curved end of my bifocals through and scoop her out the hole. She falls on her back on my open journal. Did I mention they spray that noxious poison too and stink up your stuff and hands and when you are trying to get them out of your hair, they spray so you need to shampoo three times? I forgot they do this. My journal, windowsill and bifocals now need washed.

Fakie is playing dead. I forgot they do this too. With no natural predators, one would think that they would not need to play dead here in North America. Do you suppose it will take a few more generations, or could they be thousands of years here before they lose the natural instinct to play dead? I do know they will become even more cold resistant. Good to know for managing winter happy aphids in the winter garden here in the Great Lakes region.

What to do with her? I never did decide. No, I’m not keeping her in a jar until Spring. Get a grip.

I let her fall onto a soft tissue, then tuck her into an old envelope from my office trash basket, fold the envelope securely so she will not get out. Put her into the trash right on top so I can think about what to do with her. Don’t worry, I won’t leave her there. She wanted to hibernate in peace and warmth anyway. While I think where she will hibernate, I will write my next essay.

Obnoxious little fake ladybug.

Read Gracie’s Freezing Little Sister next. Oh yes, and hubby’s response to the airlock issue.


WIN A BOOK EACH MONTH — Please, use comments to tell me what part of Gracie was fictional. From those guessing correctly, one will be chosen to win the book of their choice. Either A Breath Floats By or Skunk Medicine.  Use the poll on upper right for possible answers. Then write your answer in the comments area for this post / story.  Good luck to you.


a-breath-floats-by-big-title-13jpg-180x260Essa Adams is the author of a spiritual fiction romance novel.   A Breath Floats By: An Illusion for the Soul. Penname Thayne Hudson.  Yes, attitude and all, she is a writer of spirituality, really. Excerpts and Chapter One are at ESSA Books.



skunk-medicine-small2She also writes essays on her pet skunks and other fur children, both in blogs and her book, Skunk Medicine: There’s A Skunk In the House! and Other Tail-raising Stories. Pet skunks and Newfoundland dog excerpts are at ESSA Books.



a_kv_113371This blog is entitled ” Women’s Fiction ” because it is about life as a woman. ‘Write what you know.’  ‘Make sure you have suffered enough first.’ Even though most of each story is my nonfiction contribution to life, there is always a part that’s not very true at all.   May you smile with me. Essa


© Copyright December 2008.

Contact author for details on permission to reprint.

ESSA Books