So many lamps

The division of labor in our household opened my eyes to the undeniable truth that we own a lot of lamps.

Like a 19th Century London lamplighter, I make the rounds of our main floor each morning in the predawn hours turning on our lamps. They create a warm, Thomas Kinkade glow that gives our domicile a coffee-sipping coziness belying the activity and complexity emanating from within.

It only takes a minute or so to turn on all 12 of the lamps in the living room, study, foyer, dining room and kitchen, but I couldn’t help but notice the proliferation when my usual morning pattern of lamplighting failed to ignite all of the lamps. In violation of efficiency, I was forced to backtrack to turn on a lamp I had never noticed before. I am a creature of habit, so you can imagine how disruptive the new lamp situation has been in my life. Please add me to your prayer list.

The change was so subtle at first I didn’t notice. My Darling Beloved began Operation Lamplighting by replacing our existing lamps in the assigned battlestations with new lamps. This didn’t pose a problem. They were in the same places as I was stopping before on my rounds, so I honestly didn’t really see that the lamp itself was new.

When a lamp popped up in a new space, I became suspicious. I spied an unlit lamp when I sat down at my desk after morning rounds. I didn’t remember seeing that lamp before. A few days later, it happened again. First, one, then two, and then three new lamps were added. I may be a little slow and you can easily slip a new lamp or two in on me without me taking notice, but when you add three or more, my keen power of observation clicks in and I start to ask some questions. Such as…

Was that lamp there yesterday?

What is the family budget for lamps?

Are lamps more cost effective than other forms of illumination?

Do I even like all these lamps?

Is this little one worth bringing up?

I am a simple, uncomplicated man who has apparently aged out of the time when you turned on the light switch when you needed to see, and a single fixture, mounted in the ceiling of the room provided all the light. I have been informed by the teen still living fulltime in my home that I am never, ever to turn on the “Big Light” in any room at any time. I made that mistake one day, and he instantly recoiled like Gizmo in “Gremlins” shouting “BRIGHT LIGHT! BRIGHT LIGHT!”

Before my Darling Beloved began sneaking new lamps into the house, she bought a really cool fixture for the study, the room I probably spend the most time in after my bedroom. It’s the room that inspires my creativity that I share with you, dear readers (click, like and subscribe to New South Essays today!)

What I have learned about this amazing ceiling mounted light, is that apparently it is never to be actually turned on or else my family members’ eyeballs will melt. Off, the light is beautiful. On and actually providing light and fulfilling its purpose, it is a deadly weapon.

We have so many lamps now that Carla has taken to putting them in places not near an electrical outlet. In olden times, this would have prevented the placement of a lamp in that space, but nowadays we have newfangled battery powered light bulbs. You can just pop one in and switch it on. The lamp really is merely a decorative holder. When the bulb begins to dim, you just plug the lamp in and it recharges. So weird. The main downside to this technology occurs when Carla charges multiple bulbs at the same time. I can’t cross the living room without running a ropes course dexterity test gauntlet of crisscrossing electrical cords.

The lamp situation doesn’t just affect my morning routine. It has changed my bedtime ritual as well. If you turn a lamp on in the morning, it must be turned off at night. So now I shuffle around the main floor after taking out the dogs and turn off all the lamps. Honestly, there are some mornings when I get up and discover I forgot to turn off one of the new lamps. It just stayed on all night long. And we all know that as a Dad my greatest enemy next to the refrigerator being left open is a light left on in an unoccupied room.

The struggle is real, people. I am truly experiencing a level of mental anguish I never expected when I chose to spend my life with someone who makes spaces beautiful and inviting. But I’m on to her now. She has my attention. We’re at threat level Alpha. I am vigilantly patrolling our home, looking for new lamps.

And when I find one, I will dutifully switch it on; admire its soft, warm glow; sip my coffee and think deep thoughts about household lighting.