This lamp was one of many of my side projects. I found the original child’s lamp at a thrift store. It was the one with the ornate and fascinating lampshade that I donated back to the store before leaving. I stripped it to pieces, took off the rough edges, and painted it a nice crazy pink color, reassembled it, and installed a Happy Light bulb in it. If you look closely at the lamp, you’ll see I left the pacifier on the end of the pull chain. I intended to put a firecracker bulb in it, similar to the one I left at my old house. A kind friend gave me one of the bulbs and knew that I would love to experiment with it.
Apps control these bulbs; when you play music, the bulb pulsates, oscillates, and changes color, intensity, and tempo with the music. When I have it on with the LED strips above my kitchen, it probably looks like rainbow lightning from the outside.
You can buy a minimalist lamp base and a bulb like this for less than $20, if such a thing interests you. Everyone should have one for visitors, especially when you’re ready for them to leave. Tell them, “I don’t like night lights. I sleep with this…” And then hit them with the polychromatic seizure-inducing light show. Tell your Aunt Hazel I said, “You’re welcome.”
I wish I could have a place filled with 140 colors, all of them competing. I love sleek minimalist design and color, too; it speaks to me.
But color? It makes me feel like the world matches the inside of me.
I’m calculating whether I can unscrew all the vertical banister rails of my landing and paint them red. “It was that way when I got here,” MIGHT be believable, right? It does amuse me to think about just going wild in this apartment and painting everything. I was promised that the apartment would be completely repainted before I moved in; it wasn’t. I could blame it on the handyman. The likelihood of him still being employed by the landlords gets increasingly smaller as time passes. 🙂
Knowing I took something old and rejuvenated with my energy tickles me, too.
I do hope they appreciate the body outline I’ve created on the floor between the kitchen and living bedroom.
I have more tiles drying outside. One of them is fluorescent green, otherwise known as the alien puke color. It’s lovely.
One of these days, calamity will knock at my door. It’s inevitable.
But not today.
I’m grateful.
I didn’t know how to include this story in my earlier post. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to try. Like my countless pranks, I don’t want to take a picture of them or reveal them.
I saw her in the parking lot, standing next to her car. The frustration and anxiety were written plainly on her face. Her passenger-side front tire was flat.
I parked and said, “Hello, my name is X, and I’m here to help.” I know it sounds tilted; it was amusing to me as I said it. I’m actively looking for karma opportunities; I never fail to find them if I look carefully because life is so full of surprises.
“I can’t get my boyfriend or sister to answer the phone.” She sounded a little defeated. Most of us have been there before. “I have groceries in the trunk, getting hot.”
“Okay.” I showed her my work badge. “My name really is X. Here’s where I work. Do you need to get home with the groceries, or do you need the flat fixed?”
“That’s kind. It’s okay.” She said it with enough half-enthusiasm so that even a dim bulb like me could see she was saying it out of politeness.
“It’s not okay. I’m going to get my portable inflator from the so-called trunk of my car and air up your tire first, okay?” I didn’t wait for her to reply.
I connected my inflator to her cigarette lighter socket, pulled the cord around, knelt, and began airing the tire up. I ran my fingers around the tire. A screw of some sort protruded from the rubber. “You have a screw in your tire.”
I inflated the tire to 35 psi. “How far is home for you?”
“Three miles,” she said.
“I’m going to show you how to use this inflator, okay?” I gave her a 30-second demonstration. “Take this with you,” I told her, handing her the inflator. “I doubt your car has a sensor to alert you that it’s going flat. I think it is a slow leak and you didn’t notice when you left your house. If you have any doubts, stop if traffic takes too long and check it. Otherwise, drive straight home.”
“I can’t take your inflator. That’s too much.” She smiled.
“Too much is getting caught off guard. You need one of these in your car.”
She smiled. “How do I return the inflator to you?”
“This is not the sort of thing you return! Take it and keep it in every car you own. Flats are nobody’s fault. Do you have enough money to get the flat fixed permanently? If not, it’s okay to say so.” I looked directly at her to let her know that I knew all too well what it’s like to be without options.
She stepped forward. I assumed to shake my hand. Instead, she hugged me.
I made my escape. This sort of thing can bring me to tears if I dwell on it.
It’s not the first inflator I’ve given somebody who has needed it.
I hope it won’t be the last.
$25 is a small price to pay to spread the gospel of inflators and paying it forward.
We’re all going to have flats. Metaphorically and literally.
I wrote a heart-wrenching post and story today. This isn’t it. 🙂
After writing yesterday about coincidences, a couple of big ones popped up, like fish jumping out of the water and into the boat. It’s a bit mesmerizing, seeing unrelated things – and people’s stories – merge and overlap. A couple of these surprise coincidences were related to people having connections that I previously didn’t know about. Another was finding out that people had an entirely hidden life. (Or so they thought. People always know. And once people die, their stories become liquid and slide out of people’s mouths with greater ease.)
For those who take the time to share their stories, it is appreciated. Seriously. As with pictures, I love that people trust me with their tales and (often) invisible biographies. It adds a lot of value to my life. More so now than ever.
I made a huge pot of homemade chili yesterday. The apartment smells fantastic for once. 🙂 I’ll avoid the obvious joke here.
Yesterday and today, I painted several long floor tiles. Yesterday’s were cobalt metallic blue; today’s are deep, bright red. Instead of lacquering the deplorable countertops, I’m placing a series of tiles across some of the sections. I’m using felt on the bottom if such things interest you.
These also allow me to put hot pans all over the place, even if I’m not cooking. It’s essential to keep people guessing.
I also installed a hallway light where one didn’t previously exist. I was so spoiled at my last house. Because I planned, I had extensive photos of the house being built, including all the plumbing, wiring, and extraneous studs and braces in the walls. I have to be extra careful, like a barbarian, in this old apartment.
Though I won’t go into details, some of my overconfidence and previous exposure to violence finally worked on my behalf. I took a risk and confronted someone who needed a reminder of what constitutes civilized behavior. Shockingly, something in my eyes or deadpan delivery got through to him. I don’t know about y’all, but a whispered intention carries much more power than a shouted one. It is one of the few things that my Dad’s meanness resulted in a payoff for me. I don’t invoke it often. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t foresee a trainwreck if I didn’t risk it. It was a small victory and will add a little peace to a few people’s lives. There’s no need for me to understand the person’s cruelty. Sometimes I forget that. It just needs to stop, and there are times when playing it safe sometimes makes it less so.
My backings and kits to make my own brooches arrived. I’m sure all of you have thought, “X really needs a lot more brooches.” Realistically, it’s cheaper to convert pendants and other items into brooches than it is to buy brooches. And it might be fun. I’ll let you know after I’ve stabbed myself sixteen times. Or tried soldering, only to melt my fingertips. Fortunately, I have insurance for my failures. It doesn’t hurt to have a jewelry expert handy when I have several dumb questions.
In another project, I learned that you can use vodka instead of perfumer’s alcohol when making your own eau de toilette or eau de cologne. In other news, perfumer’s alcohol is a real thing. Unlike perfumer’s alcohol, at least you can drink the vodka if you botch an attempt at making your own eau du toilette. The confounding aspect of this project is that I haven’t worn any cologne or scent since the Jurassic Era.
I got a surprise gift of Ghiradelli Sea Salt Soiree dark chocolates. I’ve been craving chocolate lately. They’re small enough I can’t overdo it. Well, I shouldn’t say “can’t.”
My weird set of stainless steel rainbow bowls arrived today. They are ridiculous. And I love them.
I got an extended free trial of Walmart +, which includes home delivery. I realized how much time and effort I was expending shopping and lugging groceries. Until you’ve carried 22 34-oz diet tonic water bottles and 30+ cans of fruits and vegetables, you don’t realize how much exercise this is. My first order didn’t include any refrigerated items. The next one will.
Fingers crossed and elbows oiled! (That’s one of my phrases, a reminder to be hopeful but be willing to get to work.)
Tomorrow is the anniversary of my wife Deanne’s death. I’m not one to memorialize as much on the “day of.” I’d rather have nostalgic moments pop into my head unbidden. Memories can be like beloved books; on the shelf, waiting. Being divorced has pushed me to take a more complex look at the phases of my life; her death put a sharp boundary and divide in my life. I’m reminded that I survived the turmoil. Part of my secret was not to wait for life to come to find me again. Despite all my trouble, most of my own making, I wonder.
At this moment, I REALLY needed a joke, so I pulled one of the 700+ I have done from my draft folder…
A friend of mine had a breakup with his girlfriend.
I looked at a picture of her. She’s a pretty woman with light hair.
I told him, “I guarantee that I can describe your frustration with the relationship and with how she is toward you – and probably make you laugh in the process.
The world is more interconnected than I’d imagine, even though I think about this often.
I received a text today: “X, the brooches are 1/2 off. You ought to come and add to your collection.”
Not having a-n-y idea who the text was from, I resisted the urge to reply. Before making it home, I imagined that it could only be one of two places, so I pulled into the flea market parking lot and went inside.
I limited myself to four, although they were affordable.
When I went to pay for them, I didn’t mention the text.
“Hello, X,” the cashier said.
The cashier remembered me, noting I didn’t have a brooch on my shirt today. (I’d forgotten it, along with several other things, even though I had the items next to the door.) I still had on my work badge. It is difficult to overlook the single large “X” on it.
“You can’t beat half off of something you’d buy for full price,” she added.
I told her that I was about to embark on making my own and deciding whether to get soldering tools or use felt and glue. With enough creativity, just about anything can be converted to a brooch or clip.
“But I will still stop by and see what catches my eye. It’s mainly color, of all kinds.”
When I got home, I laughed, realizing that one of today’s projects was painting some long floor tiles cobalt metallic blue. They, of course, aren’t going on the floor. What kind of foolishness would that be? 🙂
Part of my laugh was that it didn’t occur to me to ask who sent the text, or if I had encountered multiple coincidences by picking that particular flea market.
The mystery remains.
And I love that this is true.
P.S. Grammatically speaking, both ‘broach’ and ‘brooch’ are correct for these pieces of jewelry.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 