When you are plagued by bad eyesight, many activities must be approached with care. Nowhere is such a handicap more bothersome than when driving a car, I can assure you.
  I am what is euphemistically described as "nearsighted," although I often think "nearly sighted" would be a more truthful term. In addition, I find that I lose most of my depth perception at dusk, so I'm sure all you drivers out there can sympathize with my difficulties in getting from place to place.
  Driving to Duncan last week to cover a meeting of the regional district board, with my visibility also hampered by drizzle and fog, I found myself offering a silent prayer of thanks for the orange reflectors that are placed so conveniently on the center line at intervals along the highway.
  I understand that these Iifesavers are there for the safety of all of us through the efforts of the local chamber of commerce and the highways crew.
  I'm sure neither group expected any praise for the job, but every time I see those little reflectors winking in my headlights through the pouring rain, I remember them. With heartfelt thanks.

  Meanwhile, on a related subject, I think the teenagers of Lake Cowichan should drop a note of thanks to the Kiwanis Club. Drive through town any evening, and you'll see small groups of young people making good use of the benches the club has placed at several spots on the main street.
  They were originally intended for those of us old types who get a little tired after spending all that money shopping, but, come closing time, they seem to have become the in spot to catch up on all the latest high school gossip.
  I'm sure the builders don't mind. After all, they are a "service" club.

  I have this funny habit of "noticing" oddities My friends have likened my mind to a junkyard, because of all the debris tossed together there, but it does make for interesting conversation.
  Clambering out of my car yesterday -- and, believe me, it's not easy to get out of a vehicle that's nearly on the ground, while wearing a tight skirt and high heels -- I looked at the tires of the truck next to me.
  I realize that when it comes to tires, these days, the name is everything. I have frequently chuckled at the remarkably macho names given to some of them, but my morning find yesterday was out of the ordinary ...
  "Gumbo Monster Mudder" was the moniker emblazoned on the sidewalls. Wow, there's a name that tells its own story. Talk about truth in advertising.
  The only problem with them will occur when the truck owner tries to sell his vehicle.
  How can he ever describe it as "only driven to church on Sundays?"
                                                                                                                      Oct. 31, 1984