I marvel at other people’s collections. I’m fascinated by their ability to choose one point of focus and create a unified collection around it. When I think about starting a collection of something, I change my mind too often. Today I like this, tomorrow that.

My friend Warren has an unimaginable magnet collection. Enough to cover multiple refrigerators. And the amazing thing is, he didn’t buy any of the magnets. The first magnet was a gift to his dad (a doctor) from his secretary (more here). And a tradition was born. After dad retired, he passed along the collection to Warren. Now Warren encourages new additions to the collection. I like adding to someone else’s collection.

Warren recently decided to join in the Post a Day challenge, highlighting one of his thousands of magnets each day at Magnetboard. The blog went live today, with this entry from the Newseum. Until I can decide on what will be in my own collection, I’ll vicariously collect though Warren (and maybe even contribute a magnet or two).

It pleases me to no end when someone presents me with a witty pun or clever play on words.

I recently sent my aunt and uncle a thangka painting I obtained on one of my recent trips to Nepal. Thangkas are detailed artworks, generally painted by monks, and depict either a mandala or a scene from the life of Buddha. They tend to be incredibly intricate, with animals and people often painted with a single hair brush. A small thangka may take months to create. I love the detail of a thangka, as well as the colors, which tend to be deep jewel colors highlighted by gold.

I wasn’t sure if they would like the painting. Picking out art for someone else can be tricky. I know that my aunt and uncle and I are similar in many respects, but would we have the same artistic sense? Would they see the beauty in the piece I had selected?

I received a lovely email from my aunt this morning, with the subject line

“Wow!! Thangka you so much!”

That subject line was her gift to me; I haven’t stopped smiling since.

I had forgotten how much I enjoy, no, I love, The Sound of Music. Over the Christmas holidays, it came on tv and I sat there, mesmerized once again, by Maria and the von Trapp family.

I enjoy it for so many reasons:

• the songs are familiar, and bring a smile to my face as I sing along. Isn’t it glorious to sing along to “Doe, a dear, a female deer. Ray, a drop of golden sun…”?
• It’s a quintessential love story – between Maria and the Captain, between Liesl and Rolf, between Maria and the children and vice versa.
• It’s a story of survival and beliefs in one’s ideals.
• And it’s a story that celebrates music.

My favorite scene is the one where the Captain hosts a formal dinner party. Maria is on the veranda, teaching the children an Austrian folk dance, when the Captain intervenes. The Captain and Maria dance together, and as he twirls her they stare into each other’s eyes,  falling in love. I know it’s predictable, and it’s cliche, but it’s still one of my favorites.

One day in fifth grade, I arrived to school and couldn’t see anything. My world had suddenly become a blur. The previous day, I had sat at my desk at the back of the classroom, watching the teacher at the blackboard, and all was fine. The next day, no matter how close I got to the blackboard, I couldn’t make out any of the writing on it. That afternoon, I went to the optometrist. For several days afterward, I walked around in an impressionist-style world full of soft edges, until my glasses arrived.

That lasted for 22 years, during which I went through numerous pairs of glasses and contact lenses. Over the years, my vision became worse and worse, to the point where if I wasn’t wearing my glasses or contact lenses, I couldn’t make out shapes, only areas of color. One day I suddenly thought to myself, “If I were kidnapped and my kidnappers took away my glasses, or my contact lenses dried up, then I would have virtually no chance of survival. Even if I were to escape, I probably wouldn’t survive.”

I investigated Lasik surgery and discovered I was a fair candidate. The doctor warned me before the surgery that because my eyesight was so deteriorated, he couldn’t promise that I would have 20/20 vision after the surgery. He also said that once I turned 40, my eyesight would probably degenerate and I would need glasses again. Even with those caveats, I felt the surgery would be worth it.

I woke up the day after the surgery with 20/15 vision. I was ecstatic. I walked around, just staring at things. My favorite thing to do was wake up, keep my eyes shut, then open them quickly, and see how far I could focus on something. I could swim. I could camp. I could see. I could see!

That lasted for almost ten years. Ten, glorious, sight-ful years. Recently, however, I noticed that things were beginning to become slightly blurry. I could still see, but there’s not the crispness that there was before. So I got glasses (again). I’m not quite in the habit of wearing them. So every now and then, I’ll be watching a movie, or walking at night, and remember I have glasses. And it’s such a treat to put them on and have everything be clear once again.

My trip back to San Francisco began at the Savannah airport. All was going smoothly until I was about to exit the TSA security line. One of the agents pulled my backpack and said they needed to run additional tests on it. He asked me not to touch it until he was done. As I was standing there, a woman grabbed her shoes and purse from the conveyor belt (after they had been scanned) and started running towards a gate. She may have had good reason to do so, but the Savannah TSA agents did not like it. They liked it even less when they directed her to stop and she kept running.

Guess what happens in a situation like this?

Total lockdown. An extra six or seven agents appeared out of nowhere. They stopped everything. No conveyor belts moved, no one was allowed to enter or exit the TSA area. I felt as though I were in travel purgatory. A couple of agents found the woman and brought her back to the security area. They then re-scanned her shoes, belt, and purse, bomb-tested several items in her purse, and gave her a pat-down. For about 15 minutes she was the center of attention of all of the TSA agents.

As I watched this, I wondered, “Is this really necessary?” When brought back, the woman apologized over and over. It sounded as though she had gotten separated from her daughter and was running to the gate to find her. Her items had already gone through the scanner when she took them off the conveyor belt. The only difference between her and the other travelers was the speed with which she exited the security area.

My takeaway – no sudden movements when surrounded by TSA agents.