dim bulb

Early a couple mornings ago I lay awake listening to the key turn noisily downstairs in the infuriatingly fussy front door (like picking the lock to your own place) as the boys’ mother slipped out of the house in foggy predawn darkness above the valley and her crunchy footsteps in the gravel were replaced by a metaphorical light bulb in my head flickering to life and with a mixture of relief and incredulity it dawned on me a wedge was finally available to begin writing again on WordPress.  You see, the prior evening a real light bulb exploded in the dining room and that’s what’s called turning a lemon into an a-ha! moment and I know the device is corny but I’ve gotta go with it as this particularly long, fallow period in the archive has tormented me so.

At any rate, the ceilings in the downstairs of the old house are ten feet high and as the fixture in question was inside of a large, inverted pendant, a little monkey business with the space-time continuum will reveal shrapnel from the bulb spinning light-speed around the bowl at supersonic orbit before topping the rim whereupon inertially depleted the whole mess ejects airborne far less hazardously (it got everywhere, though).  So it was I crawled about all fours underneath the dining table in search of glittering, jigsawed shards and this enterprise was dramatically complexified by our lack of recent housekeeping owing to a case of pinkeye, big brother’s school camping trip up to Orcas Island last week (hang the sleeping bag out and fight the October moldies) and a long weekend on the coast. Crumbs representing every food group, ossified and petrified over a period of several years into more convenient vacuumable crystalline form, reflected sparkles of light from my headlamp which similarly resembled….. razor-sharp glass. Sigh. Anyone knows vacuuming glass is an ill-advised shortcut of last resort so waddling with elbows and knees on the floor like an arthritic Corgi, periodically splaying about in despair like some kind of human lint brush, can you imagine the futility? I’m not some kind of stoic.  Adam was supposed to be brushing his teeth and putting on pajamas instead of standing in the doorway a comfortable distance, supervising me here and there to old cracker crumbs and sesame seeds. He pointed out several pieces of large glass but got fed up and walked over in exasperation, “nooooooo, right heeeeerrre!”. He’s such a good boy, haha! Mutually therapeutic chuckling and guffawing reminisces followed about Lucy the Pug and how she used to keep the floor so darn clean but we had to keep a lid on it. God knows how Oliver Fern slept through the explosion and we weren’t about to disturb his beauty rest.

In other happenings, this week it was legendary Jimmy Hendrix’s aunt’s turn-of-the-century house around the corner getting new siding and today the abatement fellows began removing the old asbestos and the process seemed dubiously suspect if I’m to tell the truth, another toxic calling card of the Great Rapacious Emerald City Real Estate Gold Rush I thought was supposed to be petering out.  Yesterday, Adam reported he missed all of social studies because of earthquake drills and this morning Oliver Fern had his first routine eye exam- a jet fighter pilot career is still on the table (he has been practicing in X-Plane and you’d be surprised). In the photography department, I’ve got a firmware update to do on the Fuji. A goal of mine is to fall in with a photography club this winter because shooting at night seems to arouse more suspicion than it used to and the boys just can’t stay up that late (and it’s not as though they can stand off to the side reading a book in the dark).

postscript: I wrote this last Friday. Wow. I’m certainly picking up where I left off with hard-to-read, florid stream of consciousness. Still, it’s good to be back at the old Model Seven spraying fountains of messy gold sparks into the air as it were!

13 thoughts on “dim bulb

  1. Hooray!! It’s so wonderful to see your post pop up in my reader!! The image of you waddling with elbows and knees on the floor like an arthritic Corgi while Adam yells unhelpfully vague directions sure brought a smile — even if I was concerned about your accidentally impaling a pinkie on one of those wayward shards of glass. And did you ever figure out what made the lightbulb explode? You know, so you can avoid ever having to do this again. (Unless you adopt a pug who also consumes glass, I suppose, although you’d still have the problem of glass-studded pinkies when you cleaned up her “stinkbombs” in the yard.) As for photography: Isn’t it sad that it’s becoming a suspect activity? How wonderful that you’ve joined a club that will at least provide some cover in numbers, though, and also some encouragement to break out the Fuji. I’ll be so eager to see whatever work you care to post! I’ll stop there for now, except to say WELCOME BACK.

    • Heide, my suspicions tell me the light bulb was an old-fashioned dud. It’s not especially uncommon (I won’t bore you with the details as I can’t pretend to be some kind of light bulb expert because my specialty is limited to screwing them in without electrocuting myself and that certainly requires no unique talents). A cursory inspection revealed no funniness with the fixture but all the same I’m holding that spot in the pendant vacant until an investigation of the wiring through the ceiling reveals no extra-strange business. You see, many years ago all of the electrical systems were redone by the house’s then-owner’s ex-husband who needed the money to pay down a crushing debt and it’s possible he had either unresolved relationship issues or shockingly little aptitude for major home repair because anything in the house involving wires or circuits resembles a plate of halfway-cooked spaghetti smooshed into a jumbo carton of matches with shredded black electrical tape.

      Thanks for the welcome back! I really appreciate it!

      • My goodness. The previous owner’s do-it-yourself efforts sound horrifying! I don’t want to be alarmist, but please FLEE THE PREMISES IMMEDIATELY. Actually, your description reminds me a bit of our old house, before it flooded: There were switches everywhere that did nothing at all. And a doorbell too that never worked, until one day it started ringing and we couldn’t get it to stop. Esteban hit it off the wall with a hammer, and that was the end of that. So I can relate a bit to your suspicions and trepidation. Hope you’ll be able to at least make sure that one circuit is ok, though.

  2. And it’s good to have you back, Jason! Please don’t arouse your neighbors’ suspicions. Those Next Door online neighborhood groups are full of posts about strange people roaming, standing and lurking on our streets. Oh my.😉

    • Hi Louise, my fellow mossy wet-sider! Do you know, a couple of weeks ago on a sparkly late afternoon we walked up and down Lincoln Park and I wished I lived in West Seattle? That always happens when we go there. As for those nighttime photography jaunts, I do my best to observe basic decorum such as not wearing ram horns or exploiting shortcuts through backyards. Speaking specifically of Next Door, it continues to amaze me there’s no shortage whatsoever of perhaps otherwise fine (and not so fine) folk willing to debase themselves on the internet. I will admit to enjoying the occasional browse through the “daily digest” in search of interesting, free junk like old highway maps and back issues of Scientific American.

  3. Well, I’m a new reader, and you do seem to have an aversion to punctuation! But nevertheless, your writing is very poetic and colourful and interesting. I’ll just take a deeper breath at the start of each sentence. : )

    • Thanks for visiting, Dan. Your feedback is appreciated and duly noted by this bungling mangler of the English language. I’m looking forward to perusing your own journal in more depth. This morning I had the chance to read one of your thoughtful, nuanced essays about photography. Great stuff.

  4. Hey T-Fir! glad to see a post from you, been a while. And I enjoyed this one a lot, picked up a lot of nice language and phrases, like an arthritic Corgi lint brush on ossified crumbs, as the saying goes.

    • Robert, hello. I’m so pleased to hear from you! That breezy combination of scholarship and wit in your essays is one of the little pleasures I’ve really missed about WordPress. I’m going to enjoy catching up with your writings that I’ve fallen behind on. You’ve shared some beautiful images, too. Hope the change to Milwaukee environs and scenery is going all right for you.

      • Ha, (Mr. Blarney Stone). Might be tough shaking that moniker. 😉 Hopefully you can check out some of the other stories too – thanks for stopping by.

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