Before I begin with the real story of this week, let me say, once and for all, in a final answer to all the letters, emails and phone calls I’ve received this week from fans in Albion, Winthrop, Winslow, Camden, Skowhegan, Fairfield, Freeport, Yarmouth and Wayne, I did not know Harvey Weinstein, nor did he make any advances to me.

Just because I have a Hollywood background, it doesn’t mean I was close to all the big producers and directors. If I had been, I wouldn’t be here now. I’d be a retired film star, known around the world — including the above towns — now living in an Actors’ Assisted Living Residence in Malibu with a view of all the whale-watching boats out at sea.

Well, there was the one occasion where I avoided an embarrassing moment by being fleet of foot, clever and glib. It wasn’t a grope, but a simple slide of his manicured hand at the hors d’oeuvre table.

I can only say that he was a very big film and television star who probably counted many of you as his fans. More details, but still without naming names, will appear in my memoir, “Everyone’s Dead But Me: A Memoir Like a Movie,” to be published in the spring by North Country Press. I hope.

Now, on to the problem at hand. By the time you read this, part of my left eye, which I’ve had since birth, will have been replaced in what is called cataract replacement, or something like that.

The second eye, the sparkling one you love and that I’ve used to wink at beautiful women for the better part of my life, will undergo the same procedure two weeks hence.

Most of you have had this done and are well ahead of me on the details, and I don’t want to hear them until I’m through with it.

However, I could use some advice on how to handle the “keep your head above your heart part” explained in the important cautions section. This maneuver is, I understand, designed to avoid pressure on the affected eye lest the new part fall out on the kitchen floor to be eaten by Jack.

I’ve never been very good about avoiding matters involving my head and heart.

Had I learned early on, say in the eighth grade, to use my head in matters of the heart, I might have avoided countless incidents along the way. Sorry, Rosemary, it’s not about you.

And Joya, Moira, Mary Jane, Ruby, Barbara and Rhoda, you sisters of the second-floor dressing room at the New York City Center Ballet, it was an honest mistake. I got the dates mixed up.

Let’s get back to the problem at hand. I’ve been practicing the daily movements I’m going to have to take care with after each procedure, and I’m not doing well.

For example, putting on my boxers, socks and shoes in the morning. I’ve been doing these things for years without giving them a thought. But as you know, they require looking down.

Take the boxers, for example. I recently bought several new pairs of Ralph Lauren boxers, and the fly opening is fashionably small. To make matters worse, it has three tiny buttons. Who needs tiny buttons on boxers? You just need an opening — a nice wide opening. At a certain age, time is of the essence. You don’t have time to look down carefully to get it right.

Socks. In the course of an ordinary day, pulling on a sock is a trivial matter; but it requires, of course, looking down.

The same with shoes. I can’t go around with slippers on or to Shaw’s in my bare feet. I need to tie strings.

She, who is somehow still busy after retirement (She has joined a women’s synchronized swimming class), has volunteered to do the shoes and socks thing, but says the boxer stuff is up to me.

You have all seen me through the knee affair, and I know you’ll see me through this. I’m comforted by the assurance of a local priest that he will offer prayers for my recovery. Meanwhile, I’m off to TJ Maxx for new boxers.

J.P. Devine is a Waterville writer.

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