Eyeglasses and Somoa Bars

For the last couple years or so my vision has been becoming less and less accurate at far distances. I have put off pursuing the issue because, well... I'm cheap and I knew even with insurance, that the frames would cost something. So I have been living life experiencing, most vibrantly, only that within a 6ft radius of the world around me. Where this has usually hindered me the most is in social settings and while driving. For example when attending some military ceremony where all of the men are dressed exactly identical. This could present a problem even if I wasn't half blind and near sighted.

So, here I am in the middle of some massive banquet hall, teetering on heels and trying to act comfortable when I realize, my husband is no longer by my side. My eyes dart around the room but only see a blur of Blue, White and buzzed hair. Any one of these vague forms could be my husband. I begin the tedious mission of non-chalantly mingling with complete strangers in an effort to determine if one if them is the man I have promised to love, in sickness and in health. The whole time imagining what I'd give for a simple pair of glasses. However, such trials are so easily forgotten. For as soon as Adam comes up behind me as I'm straining to scrutinize a dark haired Marine across the room, I sigh in relief, cling to his arm and dismiss the idea of eyeglasses all together.

That is until I am behind the wheel of a car. Perhaps cruising down the interstate at 75mph. I realize the highway is splitting in two different directions and I have to decide quickly which direction I want to go. If only I could make out the letters and numbers on those big green signs! As they pass over my windshield I define the lettering and swerve to stay in the correct lane. That was close. I nearly went to Pittsburgh... again.

Well, no longer do I fear separating more than six feet from my husband in a social setting! No longer do I have to get Adam to read the subtitles of the latest Action Flick involving a mercenary who only speaks Russian! No longer do I have to pay $8 for a toll road fee that, if I had not wound up in Pittsburgh, should have only cost me $3.50! No longer do I have to pay the $4.50 in toll road fees to get me back to where I should have turned off! No longer must I suffer from near sighted-ness! And it only cost me $69! (The shop was having a sale and some of there frames where only ninety-nine cents after the purchase of lenses.) I of course did not venture further than the ninety-nine cent rack.


In other news: Samoa Bars...

I found this recipe online, and fell in love immediately. I, like just about every other person on the planet, love girl scout cookies and Samoas are one of my favorites. As there was barbecue get together Sunday night, I decided to make them that day to bring for the guests.

I started three hours ahead before the barbecue, just to make sure there was plenty of time. This recipe promised easy success and delicious results. Needless to say, my Samoa bars did not look like their Samoa bars.

Everything was going quite well, though it was one of the more time consuming recipes I have attempted recently. But the shortcake cookie layer was baked to perfection and cooling on the side. My coconut was toasted (which was a first for me) and also cooling and I was in the process of melting caramel squares, butter and milk.

Things continued to look promising as I mixed the toasted coconut and melted caramel and pressed its gooey perfection atop the cooled cookie layer, smiling with satisfaction. Next came the chocolate base and finishing drizzle across the top. Over two and a half hours into the process and I could feel my anxiety rising as time was running out. But I also felt with relief that the end was near. How hard could it be to dunk 30 bars in melted chocolate and drizzle the rest on top?

I began cutting the bars with my sharpest knife only to find the caramel/coconut layer did not create a very adhesive bond with the cookie layer and that the cookie layer was extremely crumbly. Undeterred (too much) I persevered.

It was 6pm now and the barbecue had already begun.

I melted the chocolate and dunked the first bar into its dark, satiny smoothness. Immediately the cookie base crumbled off into the chocolate, leaving very little cookie and even less chocolate where it was supposed to be. I tried again, carefully scooping the bar into the chocolate. It looked a mess but it was good enough. On to the next!

Thirty bars later, my heart was in my throat, more cookie was in the chocolate than chocolate and the bars looked like they had been in a mud slinging fight and lost. Crumbled, sad, misshapen fragments of what was intended, my bars sat lopsided on wax paper, crudely slapped with chocolate where it was willing to stick.

I stared at them, depressed and wondering if I should even take them to the barbecue we were now late for. The chocolate was not hardening and I definitely couldn't take them still dripping and gooey. Deflated, I finally scooped them up on to a clean sheet of wax paper I had placed on a tray and readied to go.

How disappointing it was as they sat on my lap during the short car ride. Not that the time and effort put into my poor, disheveled bars wasn't bad enough, Adam continued to glance over from the driver's seat, smile and confess that the lumps of chocolate on top resembled his childhood pet raccoon's trails of poop. What made it worse was that I knew he was right. I had been thinking something similar since I had finished.

I swore to never make them again. From now on I'm leaving Samoas to the Girl Scouts.