I flicked on the closet light switch.
Nothing.
I switched it off and then back on because, well, that is what I do when technology doesn’t respond as I expect: try it again.
Still no light.
I gave up trying after the fourth or fifth time because I remembered, there in the darkness, one definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
Fine.
I accepted the hard truth of the situation: I have no light, so I will need to replace the bulbs.
The closet light fixture takes two of those long fluorescent lights. Pretty sure we don’t have any spares in the house, so I will need to go buy replacements. I remember the floodlight by the garage has been out for a while, so I should probably pick up one of those while I’m at it. I will need the bulb specifications so I guess I should get a ladder and get started.
I’ll need a flashlight so I can see to fix the problem. This thought of bringing in light to repair the light strikes me as funny, thoughtful, sort of like a Zen riddle. Maybe, “enlightened” would be an appropriate adjective to use in this particular case.
I originally went to the closet because I was trying to be proactive. We were asked to wear spring colors for Sunday’s bell choir performance, and I wanted to be ahead of the situation, for once. Church time is nearly 24 hours away, and for me, that is thinking ahead. But now I will need to burn some precious hours on closet light replacement. “Still, not that much of a problem,” I optimistically told myself.
The older I get, the less comfortable I am climbing on ladders, but I dutifully toted a small stepladder up the stairs and, once again, lit up the closet space with my flashlight. I gently wrestled the two useless glass tubes out of the fixture. Once safely down, I took a picture of the information printed on them.
We had made arrangements to go with Grandson Atticus to the Indiana State Museum. That was still the plan so I figured we could stop by a hardware store either going to or coming from Indianapolis. Well, as is usually the case, unexpected events happened during our excursion into civilization — traffic jams, road construction, detours and by the time the two of us headed south after the museum, we both were tired and eager to get home. “How about I go out tomorrow after church and get the lights?” I offered. Becky thought that would be a good solution.
So, early Sunday morning Becky was in the dark closet crawling on her hands and knees with a flashlight looking for shoes to wear to church. I caught myself absentmindedly flipping the useless light switch several times the during course of the weekend. Old habits are hard to break. Eventually, we both were ready to leave for church, and not a moment too soon. I headed back out to civilization after church, got the bulbs, came home, climbed the ladder and, suddenly the miracle and blessing of modern lighting returned. Things worked out as they always do in the great scheme of things. I believe this to be true.
We moderns — even those of us who claim to eschew many of the trappings of modern civilization — still rely on an almost uncountable number of daily small conveniences. Small miracles, if you will. And when some little thing goes awry, we are often thrown for a loop.
I realize I want my life to be predictable, safe and easy. But it’s the unexpectedness, the surprises of the day-to-day, the challenges that make me realize these are the real gifts.
Norman Knight, a retired Clark-Pleasant Middle School teacher, writes this weekly column for the Daily Journal. Send comments to [email protected].
