fixing my light

A lovely ginger jar lamp that belonged to my parents went on the fritz last night. A variety of bulbs demonstrated that there was a wiring problem, and when I checked the wire closely, it gave me the willies to see how old and raggedy it was. I thought of passing it to an electrician friend at Laura's school, knowing this would be a no-brainer for him.

Then I thought otherwise. Feeling this was somehow a metaphor in the making, I went to the hardware store to get new guts for the lamp. I needed some help from a kindly store employee, who handed me the wire and the lightbulb fixture, saying, "Remember. Ribbed side of the wire goes to the silver screw." I drove home repeating out loud, "silver ribs, silver ribs."

I took apart the lamp with eyes squinting in concentration, memorizing the order of the various bolts and wires. The entire world is made for right-handed people, from the angle of butter knives to the righty-tighty of screws (which spins the wire away from the screw if you attach it the way one wants to as a left-handed person). Adapting as always, I attached the ribbed side of the wire to the silver screw, the plain side to the brass screw. Three times. Only a trained electrician will be able to detect the error visible in this first photo, a matter of the order of the parts strung onto the wire. Spatial relations are a challenge for me sometimes. I have to do it wrong, apparently a couple of times, before I can really grasp that the wire needs to be threaded through everything in reverse order.

I was glad to exercise a sense of agency about this old lamp. I enjoy the trial and error, then the satisfaction, of fixing things, and people who know me well indulge me in my need to do little projects like this. Let me set up the phone! Let me tighten the door knob! Let me get the hair out of the drain. Let me tighten the legs on the table.

What's the metaphor in today's project? I felt good about fixing my light. I even visualized my ribs as healthy, shiny, silver. When you're fighting cancer, I tell you -- you step on metaphors everywhere you go.