On Monday, I got glasses. (See icon.) Seemed like a good time for it; I went my first forty years without, and can go the next forty with. (At 80, I can replace them with vat-grown night-vision eyes with neon purple irises.) My distance vision had been squintily blurry for a while; now it's like someone has Windexed the world. "Sorcery!" I quietly mumble, but only because I am accustomed to my unaugmented perspective being correct. A sudden improvement seems uncanny, like the world has been sharpened, not my vision.
Tonight, adfamiliares took me out for a stunning meal at Oleana, a Middle Eastern place in Cambridge. We split a chick pea terrine, a stuffed burrata, a canoe-shaped pastry ("pide") filled with creamed nettles and mint, greens with toum (a garlic sauce), and quail kebabs. For dessert, two amazing plates: one with a rich chocolate kanayif (sort of a bird's-nest pastry), sheep's milk sorbet, and a chocolate "crème bruléette"; the other with an unbelievably light caramel-drizzled bread pudding and mulberries in honey. I swooned.
Tomorrow, we bike to a sheepshearing festival. That's the sort of thing old people do, right?