Let there be light

The distress call was clear – “Mom needs a new lamp”

and the followup – “her lamp broke I will replace it”

then – “they don’t make it any more”

finally – “can you bring out your old lamp on Saturday”

And mom herself “I think I need both of you”

I shifted into Fix for Mom mode. That’s my primary role these days. I’m not just a daughter, I’m second in command of her quality of life.

Saturday was clear and sunny. I found my “old lamp” in the garage – it was missing a shade and a lightbulb, but it could be rehabbed. Loaded it into the SUV and set out. It was a clear November morning – the best season of all in Los Angeles. The San Gabriel Mountains rose to north and the road was clear. Got up to a steady 70 mph and hit cruise control. Looked like this was gonna be an easy run. I should have curbed my thoughts – the traffic gremlins were put on alert.

I sailed along the 134–>210 freeway and as I approached Glendora well ahead of schedule I felt an itch. There was time so I took a detour and stopped at Tuesday Morning to see if I could find a new replacement lamp. I enjoyed a pleasant 20 minutes browsing and buying things I didn’t need but did not find the item in question. As I paid for my purchases I asked….they showed me a small stash…and I triumphantly carried out a brand spanking new floor lamp with the “natural daylight” bulb.

I felt good. I felt GREAT. Loaded that baby into the vehicle, snapped a victory photo and shared it on social media. I was the bomb.

Fate never hesitates to pop your balloon when it’s riding high on pride. I decided not to retrace my steps to the freeway but to forge a new path. Without a map. I passed “Compromise Lane” (has to be a story there) and found a freeway on ramp but it was in the middle of an interchange and headed in the wrong direction. I exited, reversed course, drove by instinct….and missed it again. Pulled a U-turn and tried to find the right road. Turned around in a parking lot and 20 minutes later made it onto the 57 south. My balloon trailed sadly in my wake.

My time advantage had vanished and I called to change my ETA. Exited the 71 at the wrong place. Got back on the freeway and back on track. My mood was flattening out.
A brief return of good fortune when I located parking. Hauled the lamp to the third floor, pulled it out of the box and started assembly. I did not read the directions because I didn’t have my specs and the apartment was dim. I inserted part A into part B and moved right along.

There were two working floor lamps in the room, and Mom was in her usual chair, reading, so I wondered why a new light was needed. But I was committed to my Fix for Mom mission so I tamped down my doubts as I connected the components.

I made light conversation while I tried to get the base attached to the pole. Mom was fretting about her ability to use the lamp because her favorite on/off device wouldn’t work with it. I demonstrated the rocker switch (no twisting, no pulling) and she insisted she only wanted a light with an on/off cord. Feeling like Anne Sullivan, I placed her hand on the switch and showed her that a gentle press would turn it on. Another would turn it off. On. Off. I was confident she could manage this. She was not.

Time was wasting and I knew her blood sugars were dropping. It looked like I would need those directions after all so I put everything down and announced that we would finish it after lunch.

We collected reinforcements on the way to the restaurant. The city was having a parade, which hosed the traffic but we made it. The blood sugar crisis was avoided. Things seemed to be back on track.

But, delays. We had to swing back to my sister’s house for a forgotten item. Then back to base to finish the mission. Parking was difficult so I had them go ahead. I caught up at the elevator in time to hear Mom asking if she could just use the light she had and keep the new light as a backup. My sister asked her why we were doing this exercise if she had a lamp that already worked. Silence.

My sister sees better than I do, so she did the heavy mechanics and we wrestled the new lamp into place. It has a long flexible neck so mom can adjust the height and angle. Lo and behold, she was able to reach the on/off switch. Operation New Lamp was completed. In summary:

–The reading lamp was broken at the base and was wobbly but still worked

–It’s not made any more

–The new lamp was bright but didn’t work with the light switch for the old lamp which was perceived as a problem

–The perfectly good floor lamp across the room would not do for reading

–It was designated for the housekeeper

–The reading lamp with the wobbly base and preferred on/off switch took its place and put on a timer so it would turn on automatically

–The timer was suspect because it wasn’t going on/off at the correct time despite the end of DST

–Meanwhile a different lamp was delivered to my sister’s house as a backup for Mom

–My old lamp is still in my vehicle

–We now have three superfluous floor lamps and I have two extra light timers

But there were other problems.

The timer for the old lamp wasn’t working correctly – the light went on mid-afternoon and turned off before bedtime. No one could figure out the digital timer. We dug out an analog timer and set it for standard time since the clocks would be switching back. I stuffed the new timer into my purse to get it off the premises. “Take the old one too!” my mom urged. I added it to my pile.

Meanwhile my sister started clearing out the kitchen – stale food, empty plastic water bottles, empty shopping bags. We opened a new 12-pack of water and twisted off the lids for easy access. I set out the fall holiday decorations and put the Halloween items away. My sister found an unopened 12 pack of water and shook her head.

We prepared to take our leave, but first:

“You need to call the eye doctor about your eye” my sister said.

“I will, but I have an appointment in February and it can wait.”

“No, your vision is changing so you need to let him know and see if he wants you to come in”

“Did you know that my new insurance pays for glasses and frames which is great!”

“So you’ll call him tomorrow?”

Oh I can’t call him tomorrow. I see the chiropractor in the morning”

(me) “What about the afternoon?”

“I have things to do in the afternoon”

“like what?”

“Things.”

“Call him Tuesday?” my sister coaxed

“I’m not sure….”

“I don’t want excuses, I want you to say you’ll call him”

(me, sotto voce) “can’t you call him?”

“I’ll call him.”

“On Tuesday?”

“Yes, on Tuesday”

I returned my sister to her home and we applied alcohol to our nerves. As I hit the road home I congratulated myself on mission accomplished. We had two new action items: the failing eyesight and how to pay for a new medication which is not generic and is hella expensive. But the lamp was installed.

On Sunday she thanked us and told us the new timer wasn’t working correctly.
On Monday she said the new lamp was wonderful and she could see really well.
No word on the Tuesday phone call.

Thursday update – doctor has been called but the light timer is still a problem. There have been daily reports. Not my mission, thank goodness!

Acting out

That cat got on my last nerve this week! I’ve been trying to meet him halfway – more play time, more treats, more focused attention – and yesterday he was a Hoover in a fur jacket, sucking up all my attention and then some.

I broke out the “cat dancer” and ran him around the house. I encouraged him to jump and catch and let him carry it off to his lair. I tried to pet him, but he didn’t want pets. He purred loudly and with excitement when I roughly massaged his sides and tweaked his tail. He leaped over the dog multiple times, just because he could.

He…jumped onto the kitchen counter and took a bite out of a rattan mat

…found a crinkly piece of plastic and tried to eat it

…ignored the “authorized” piece of plastic, found a small plastic bag with a button in it, and batted it around the house

…zoomed around the dog, raced through the dining room and flipped a rug

…lay down on the anti slip rug mat and nonchalantly cleaned himself

…jumped on the kitchen table and knocked newspapers off

..stuck a curious paw into my water glass

…jumped on the coffee table and pawed at my husband’s laptop then grabbed the cord to the backup device and tried to carry it off

..aggressively tried to steal hard boiled egg from my hand when I was trying to eat

…unsucessfuly attempted to scale the top of our new bedroom dressers from the floor and fell with a thud

I gave myself a time out.

It was an exhausting day. He plumb wore me out.

I made further unsuccessful attempts to redirect this wild adolescent energy and there was another time out.

Finally, when the evening wound down, I gave him a nice dish of moist food and tried to get him to retire for the night. I had to enlist help and we tried bribery, force, and finally brought out the squirt guns to wrangle him to bed.

My last nerve.

This morning I fixed a bowl of kibble and added bonito flakes. I kept doors closed so he wouldn’t race out of his room to continue his reign of terror. I opened his bedroom door and was greeted with a curious face and a cat eager to check out breakfast. I sat with him while he cherry picked the good stuff out of the bowl and let him investigate the hall and closed door that kept him confined.

Finally I got on his bed and he joined me. He was happy and purry and welcomed my touch. He flopped onto my hand and nuzzled my thigh. I gave him love and pats and soft words while he absorbed it all as if it were his due. We left on a loving note. Thank goodness!

It struck me that too often this is my behavior with God. I get busy. I get overstimulated. I double down on the things that are disturbing my peace. I do whatever I want, when I want it. And then I go to church once a week and praise and worship surround me, I am overwhelmed with gratitude and love and I vow to do better once I walk out that door.

I am so grateful for His everlasting forgiveness and patience.

But if I want to mature and step fully into my Christianity, I need to do better. I can’t act out all week and expect others to forgive my bad behavior. It’s not all about me and the world doesn’t have the capacity for forgiveness and redemption that God does.

He sees me. He knows me. He loves me. I don’t need to act out in the world to get his attention. His is a deep well of love, forgiveness and challenge. Every moment is a choice to obey or not. I hope I’m beyond testing his love for me. My faith is stronger than that.

The Palomino Jogger

There is a gorgeous-hunk-of-meat man jogging proudly through the Sepulveda basin. It’s a hot summer day and his sculpted tan body glistens with sweat. His golden hair flows as he easily runs up a slight hill and descends onto the running path. He is a glorious Palomino and it’s impossible not to stare. I see him most days, around 5:30 pm. I wonder who he is.

It’s the early 90’s – spandex, aerobics, steroids – and I idly wonder how he maintains his physique. I enjoy the view. I don’t think he’d mind – he’s wearing extremely brief running shorts and his gait is beautiful. I have totally objectified him.

The summer dissolves into a baking hot fall and still he runs. In winter he wears a thin shirt and those shorts – if it’s damp the shirt molds to his perfectly cut chest. Those legs – who is this man?

I think he must be a professional bodybuilder and I think he lives in the neighborhood. I’m pretty sure that maintaining his physique is his #1 job. What does he do and why? I invent a backstory – impossible not to – he is Mr. World and he oils his body for maximum display. He takes steroids because that’s what you do in his industry. When I don’t see him, it’s because he is competing – Switzerland, Brazil, Australia – I imagine he travels all over the world, first class, and drinks water and juice to stay hydrated. Those veins won’t pop if he’s dry. I wonder how long his reign will last?

And then I don’t see him for a while and my imagination goes elsewhere. Until one day, as I wait for the light to change, I see him. My golden man struggles to get up the hill. His lope has turned into a jog and he hangs his head. His gleaming blond hair is stringy. He is no longer king, but he is still out here. I admire his determination to keep fit.

As the years pass, he slows more. He wears t-shirts and terry headbands to protect his eyes from sweat. His body curls and it looks like he’s in pain. He shuffles down the street. I think that he’s paying the price for years of steroids and overtraining. I hope he saved his earnings and has a paid for home to live in.

He passed us last night. Despite the heat, he wore a watchcap, t shirt, hoody and shorts. His skin is leathery and his grey hair lies lank about his face. Still he trots – setting one foot before the other. He keeps his body moving…that’s his job now.