Pieces of things, either broken or unfinished, really nag at me, which explains my need to be the fixer and completer. Former President Bush, of the W variety, didn’t leave much behind that was good, but the practice of adding an ‘r’ to a word to make it a noun might just be his legacy. As in, “I’m a decider, not an avoider.” It’s a very handy thing when you can’t think of the exact word you’re looking for, a plus in a pinch, but not in a President.
The nagging broken thing I’m referring to is a lamp I’ve had many years. It’s a brass table lamp, I believe the style would be called hurricane, with the broken part being the glass globe that sits atop the base. Without saying who accidentally knocked it over, it’s important to acknowledge that Husband was very sorry. Since the globe’s dimensions were not standard, no lamp store had a replacement, and the base was stored away for a number of years.
Until I was in an antique shop a couple of weeks ago and spotted the exact globe needed, even prettier than the one that broke. Taking a guess it would fit, I plunked down $20 and spirited it home to meet its base. You could tell it was love at first sight. A perfect fit. While Husband watched TV in the next room, I dashed over to one of the two outlets in the room I was in and plugged in my new fixture. There was a snapping noise, followed by the lamp’s bulb going POP! and the other lights in the room going off. Shit. What a time for an outlet to burn out, just when I needed it.
I unplugged the lamp, put in a new bulb, and carried it across the room to the other outlet. I plugged it in, the bulb went POP, a burnt smell filled the air, and the TV Husband was watching next door went silent. In fact, the whole upstairs went dark. Husband’s silhouette suddenly filled the doorway in a posture that didn’t appear happy. Because he’s a social worker, he doesn’t get mad right away. He kind of warms up to it with some therapeutic questions first.
HUSBAND: What’s going on?
OSV: There’s something wrong with both the outlets in here.
HUSBAND: The outlets? What’s different in this room than before? Do you think maybe it’s the lamp?
OSV: Possibly.
HUSBAND: I’m not happy.
OSV: You’re not? Think how it feels to be the idiot who plugged a deranged lamp into both walls.
Husband descended the stairs to check the fuse box in the basement, and came back with the news that we needed an electrician. The other news was that the exertion of going up and down the stairs had not released sufficient endorphins in his brain to create a state of happiness.
The final tally for the electrician coming to the house, my taking the lamp out to be rewired, purchasing a stand to display it on, and the lucky find in the antique shop that started it all, came to about $200. We couldn’t have gotten more marital bang for the buck if we’d gone to Vegas.
Daughter’s Featured Fotos scream It’s A Crowded House
full of fun
chinatown
collection at MoMA
out to the curb