They served a purpose and I knew that the person who'd handed them down to me had spent a lot of money on them. She was notorious for her good taste. So... I kept them for years, used them, changed the shades on them even to try and make them into something that seemed to be closer to my own, but still, they were not mine, never what I wanted or chose.
At a garage sale the other morning, I did something that seemed very small, but looking back now at the empty nightstand, I see that it was rather monumental. I left my 9 year old son in charge of the bustling sale briefly. I literally bolted up the stairs in our house and with total spontaneity I grabbed the lamps from beside my bed. I sold the pair, the three hundred dollar set of lighting fixtures, to some chap who spoke no English what-so-ever for ten bucks and I left the bulbs in. Why not let there be light?
I missed them for about 2 seconds last night, when I wanted to fold a heap of wash fresh from the dryer on my empty bed and secretly catch up on the dreaded New Jersey Housewives show, the one I'm embarrassed to admit I watch on occasion. Two things I love to do; fold warm laundry and watch bad gossip about deranged women from the state where I grew up, turned into three things I love...
1) fold warm laundry
2) watch bad TV
3) spend my evening basking in the glow of candle light.
I may never replace the lamps and I realize that I may never again find myself in the situation which lead to my having little to no say in what illuminated my life....
There are other ways to let light in.
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