This is my first Christmas/Holiday season at my clinic, and my feeling is reinforced that of the three clinics I have worked at, this present one is the best of the three. Because of the nature of the diseases, there is a sense of community at my clinic. Patients come in with gifts of candy or cards for the staff. Patients who are just getting by financially will give us homemade cards (made out of our own Nursing Request forms), or kind words. There are the social outcasts, too, who come in angry or depressed or drunk, and I know they've come in mostly because it's the safest place for them to be. That part isn't always pleasant, but it is part of the reality of the season, and at least I am a small part of the solution.

Several months ago (at least September, but possibly further back - I don't remember), I saw a pair of reading glasses on Phillip's reception desk. I put them on, just for fun. The prescription was perfect. (I know that my next eye exam is going to result in bifocals.) Phillip told me that someone had found those glasses, turned them in to him, and that a "lost glasses" email had been sent out so long ago, that I might as well take them. I did just that - but to ease my conscience, added that if someone does inquire about them, I'd gladly give them back.

The new reading glasses were wonderful. They worked better than reading books and magazines without my regular glasses on - and a whole lot better than with them on. They were just right for reading from the computer at home. They went with me to the ocean, and I used them for writing in the cabin's journal. I started taking them to work, and although they weren't practical for the front desk, where I frequently have to look out across the waiting room, they came in handy for reading at lunch.

I was wearing them yesterday when I sat in the hospital lobby at lunch, reading Weaveworld. I walked home after work, as usual, making a brief stop at the corner market to buy milk, and when I got to the front door of our apartment building, I first noticed that the inside pocket of my raincoat had come unzipped - and my reading glasses were no longer in it.

There was no sense in retracing my steps for a mile and a half. It seemed unlikely (and therefore reassuring) that I wouldn't have noticed something as big as the hard plastic case falling out of my coat and onto my feet. No, it was more likely that the case (with the glasses inside) had fallen out of my raincoat at work - either when I hung the raincoat up or when I put it on to leave.

As soon as I got to work this morning, I checked around the coat rack, and behind the front desk. They weren't there. Those nice reading glasses had been lost somewhere along my walk home, or in the hospital lobby. They were gone forever.

I tried to remain philosophical about it. Those reading glasses were, after all, a found object, and now they were someone else's found object. (I remembered a time that I went to the state fair. Along the way, I stopped at an ATM for cash. Then I used one of the twenty dollar bills to buy a donut. When I got to the bus stop, I discovered that I'd accidently paid for the donut with two twenty dollar bills stuck together. Rather than miss the bus, and the fair, by going back to the donut shop, I chose to accept the lost money as experience. I boarded the bus, and when I sat down, I found a twenty dollar bill on the floor.) Still, it was a loss. I missed those reading glasses.

Later on this morning, I opened my backpack to get a packet of oatmeal, and there was the plastic case with my reading glasses in them.

Yesterday, on our drive to Tacoma, the song "Here Comes Santa Claus" came on the radio. Phillip asked me, "Isn't this sung by that guy who used to own this station?" "No," I answered, "This is Tex Ritter." Phillip didn't know who that was. "He was a singing cowboy," I explained, "He starred in Westerns, and also had a career as a musician - like Roy Rogers."

The DJ announced that it was sung by Gene Autry, who used to own the radio station. "Oh well, at least he was a singing cowboy, too," I shrugged it off. It bothered me a little, though. Gene Autry's Christmas album was one of the records I grew up with. I usually know music better than that.

I'd forgotten about that incident until today, until Phillip emailed me the question: "Who sang 'What's New Pussycat?'" I knew right away that the answer was Tom Jones. Or was it? Was it, in fact, Engelbert Humperdinck? I did a quick search on Google. It was Tom Jones. Still, the doubt had been there. I usually know music better than that.

On the drive back from Tacoma this evening, Phillip asked me if today is Saturday or Sunday. It took me a few moments of memory reconstruction to come up with the answer. It's been an eventful, yet laid back, kind of weekend.

Today was a nice, mellow day with Debbie, June, Salena, and Beemer. It was centered around our annual Christmas ornament exchange, and included brunch at Olive Garden, board games, and general sitting around talking. That's the way the holidays should be, I believe.