Rolling in her grave, or, a light at the end of the tunnel

Mom, you would be so ashamed of me.  No, would have been so ashamed of me – today, you are, no doubt, beaming with pride.  Today, Bruce and I replaced 17 light bulbs in 6 rooms.  And that’s counting the chandelier, with it’s ten bulbs, as 1, and not counting the lights that were still good, but had to be changed out to match the new ones.  If you count all those (and, since each one required a trip up the ladder)(Ha! Trip up the ladder – that is so me), we changed 37 light bulbs total.

The smart light bulb changer would have had all the light bulbs and ladders ready when her strapping, 6 foot-1 inch son was home earlier the in the week, because he is still immortal. But, no, we waited until no one under 50 (and, let’s admit it, 50 is in my rear view mirror, and not even a dwindling peak in the distance for Bruce) was home, one of us holding the ladder, the other standing on the all but top (can I use penultimate here, Uncle Mike?) step, craning our arthritic necks, burning our gnarled fingers.

Ok, it wasn’t that bad, except to our bottom line – We spent over $100 dollars in lighting today.  But, hey, we didn’t end up in the ER.  As Mom has always said, “Turn on the lamp, you’ll ruin your eyes reading like that.” Now we can.

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