Hunting With the Wrong Weapon

New Iowan's Beware: Truths about your state.

1. There are currently 8 gazillion deer roaming around Iowa.

2. As a new citizen, you will become aware that deer are not only pretty to look at, but they are also a driving hazard. While initially you will be somewhat nonchalant about this risk, as you begin seeing many deer laying on the side of the road, hearing of deer-related accidents and roll-overs, you will grow to be extra cautious, and over-concerned regarding these animals and your vehicle.

3. You will slowly become used to seeing small herds of deer crossing the road, grazing in fields, standing in ditches, eating your garden. (Take heart, they only eat things that are green and not surrounded by a ten-foot fence.)

4. Some experienced Iowan's will tell you to invest in these state-of-the-art whistles which adhere (with high-tech tape) to your car. You will hurriedly drive to your local supply store and buy said whistles and begin to drive with greater confidence.

5. These whistles do not work. Even when you have four (instead of the recommended two) attached to your car.

6. If they do in fact work, there also happen to be suicidal deer, who come a-runnin' when they hear the aforementioned whistles.

7. Deer are bigger than you imagine. They look small, cute, graceful even as they graze in the fields. But when they run in front of your car, you realize that they are VERY large. Looming, even. (And those are the does).

8. When you run into one of these large animals, keep driving. Don't stop and survey damage because you will be on a country road, with possibly one headlight and no street lamps, in the middle of the night. Keep driving home, because once you stop you might learn that your car has performed some type of automotive acrobatics and the radiator is punctured or your battery is squished into your fanbelt, and you won't be able to start it again.

9. You will be thankful for the comprehensive insurance on your car that you contemplated dropping earlier in the year.

We are fine, although I cannot say the same for the deer we hit last night. I was driving and Ryan was in his carseat. The deer was pretty crafty, hiding stealthily in the wide, deep ditch until the exact moment when I topped the small hill and was making my way down. He decided to make his move, quickly but not quick enough. I was able to hit the brakes and avoid hitting him at 60mph, thankfully.

I was only about four miles from home and was able to keep driving until I arrived at home, shaking but still in one whole, unbruised piece. Ryan is fine, too (although I am not sure my post-accident jittering didn't give him a bit of whiplash). The car didn't stop hissing for about 15 minutes after we got home, which leads us to believe there might be some "internal" damage done to the car. We are in the middle of figuring out what to do with the car, since it might be totalled or it may just need repair work (lots, and lots, of repair work).

10. You can buy a $10 roadkill tag in the event you do run into a deer, and would like to keep it for the "good meat".

11. At all costs, avoid telling your husband WHERE the deer was hit when he mentions this piece of trivia.

Tag! YOUR it!

Which way would you prefer to follow God's will for your life?
The youth group leader sits on the back of a chair, posing the question to ten kids. I sit, one of five adults who are there to answer questions and lead them.
Option one. I will follow God's will, but I want to know what, when, and how, and what the outcome will be.
The question tumbles out of his mouth and he has to say it again. I catch it the second time around.
Option two. You tell me where to go, Lord, and I will follow, step by step.
He searches for a spark of understanding among the faces of the kids. Twelve, thirteen, eleven. Middle school. Pre-teen. Just learning about dating and cliques. Fighting with more than we could have imagined at that age.
One boy raises his hand. "I think one."
A girl delicately and quietly responds "I choose two."

While I sit and try to listen to the kids answer, it hits me. This lesson isn't directed at the youth group. It's directed at me. I want my option to be number two, because that's the right answer. But really, I have chosen number one. (You can read it in my last post or you can just believe me.)

All at once the pieces fall into place and it becomes crystal clear- I have not been asking for direction, I have been asking for answers and results!

Tell me the end of the story, then I will read it! I want to know if I win before I start the race! Before I turn left I want to know the end of the road! Before I move to Iowa I want to know WHY we are going! If I am going to stay at home, tell me the purpose! If I am going to support my husband wholeheartedly show me the benefits! I want to go on your adventure, Lord, and I want to be excited, but show me not just the path but also the prize!

I search the room, self-talk ruining the lesson for me. I haven't heard anything the leader has said for minutes now. I see the pastor standing in back, also contemplating the scriptures being read. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

I think of how we came to Iowa...so naive. We knew only where our house was to be. We had plans, sure- for me to stay home and for us to have a house. We had no idea where God would lead us or how He would take care of us. Almost stubbornly we decided to follow His will for our lives, even though it meant giving up so much. We had no idea the friends we would meet here, the lives we would impact or the lives that would impact us. I had no idea the inner strength I would have to gain in order to survive and thrive as a new mom in a new land, and an old house. And yet, here I stand, watched over and cared for, better than I could have dreamed.

But it's easy to forget, right? It's easy to look past the friends (because they have been there) and the house (because it's just a place) and the support (you've been there for like, what, 9 months now...practically forever). Times get tough and I so easily forget who watches over me and how well I am taken care of -I scramble, like a cat that has lost its balance, searching for a foothold-just give me somewhere to stick and outstretched claw and put my world right-side up again!

All of this fear...uncertainty...can it be that I have lost sight? Can it be that I have begun to demand answers rather than just focus on living my life step by step? Oh ME of little faith! We are not asked to know all of the answers, only to follow.

Excited noise fills the room and I return from my reverie. I stand, too, ready to partake in the game which is already being organized. Glorified tag it is. I watch them run and laugh and build friendships. I squeal with them when, at a full sprint, one gets away from a pursuer. I taunt the hunters and side (secretly) with the prey. I don't know what they take home from the lesson...how much can you internalize at that age? I'm not really sure. But, just maybe, one day one of them will need to make a big decision-and they will remember this night- and the important stuff we talked about before playing tag.

The fear of mediocrity

2002

Driving home on the Seattle bus. It was evening in the winter - it would have been black except for the million lights. Cars and businesses and streetlights lit up the city and gave an almost magical glow to the ride home. The air was brisk and it smelled like snow. Christmas was coming and I would spend an entire weekend at home.

I felt so important. And really, I wasn't. I was part of a huge contingent (some 30,000) of University of Washington students, who in the next few years would flood the business market with high expectations and dreams of success.

I worked two jobs throughout college- different ones here and there- nanny, office clerk, marketing intern. Nothing too original or exciting. But I was working, I was passionate, and I was going to be someone some day.

Driving home on that bus. I was alone. I worried about money...grades...my future...but in some odd way I was content- joyful even. I had no idea what the future held for me but I watched the buildings pass and I could feel important as if just by being in this big city and going to the college of my youthful dreams gave my life meaning.

2006
Are you happy?
My dad calls. Concerned.
I mean, you are so far out there, alone.
I'm not that alone, though. I have friends here, and Phil and Ryan. We are far from neighbors, but it's not like we are isolated. You don't spend that much time with your neighbors, right? It's like that.
But I have a job...I am involved in the community. Time alone is good for me when I can get it. It's just that I worry about you. These are the most productive years of your life...

I know, dad. It scares me, too. This fear of mediocrity. Like I could be something so great but instead, all I am is a mom, and a wife. A homeowner and a friend. A daughter and an aunt. I have no job, and I have no master's degree. I am not a highly paid executive nor am I aspiring to become one. I have never flown to London on business. I fear, dad, that I will be nothing more than a person- important to those only who love me. That my daily routine will not involve important business meetings or commutes with my trusty Starbucks to comfort me in the wee hours of the morning. My days will instead consist of cleaning and laundry, cooking and child-rearing. Much less glamorous and you can imagine I have fought one or two battles in my mind over this one.

I worry that I will be insignificant. That I am wasting my life day by day when I could be so much more successful. I think of how much easier our lives could be if I were to just stop all of this stay-at-home nonsense and have a real career, already. I tell myself that Ryan would certainly be fine growing up in daycare.

Today I made cookies with Ryan. He rocked back and forth and danced on the chair as I let him pour in flour and chocolate chips. He snitched at least ten chocolate chips before I could wrestle the cup from him and pour the remainder in the mixer. When I let him down he ran and hid from me in the other room. I didn't notice we were playing the game until I walked in the room and heard a scuffling, silence, and then a small giggle. I called "Ryaaan" and was rewarded with louder laughter. I snuck behind him and startled him, sending him into peals of laughter that warmed my soul.

I miss you, dad. I miss mom and I miss friends. I miss family. I worry about money and the future. I worry that I will be discontent with a life of mediocrity. But unhappy, I am not. We laugh and have fun. We have good dinners with friends and work hard on fixing up an old house so it can be our home. I know you miss me, so I don't know if that makes you happy or sad. Maybe both. Its the kind of thing that put my stomach into knots the entire morning following our conversation. Because your fears echo those of my own. You stand on the side of the small voices in my head, the fearful, worrysome ones that tell me there is MORE to life. Its the kind of tearing at my heart that is so painful- one part of me wanting to be someone important, the other part of me knowing I already am someone important.

But there's joy that can be found. Contentment can be had anywhere - for you and for me. You have a daughter 1800 miles away. I have an entire family 1800 miles away. But you still laugh, and enjoy life. And so do I. Its not the same, all of this long distance stuff, but it can still be good. And I love you. Don't forget that. Through it all and even though I live out here I still love you all so very much. And I'm sorry its hard for you.

Craving and Satisfaction

Ever since the fall weather came I have had a perpetual craving for pumpkin items- bread, cake, bars, pie. It just seems that fall food should include pumpkin. Last week (was it just last week?) we made pumpkin bars while my mom was here for a church get-together. We only took half the pan (it was a big recipe) and you can imagine the rest of the pan did not last long in our house.

But it also fed a bit of my craving, making it ever so slightly stronger. When we were invited over to a friend’s house last night, I was excited to have the chance to once again indulge my craving and make a big pan of pumpkin bars with yummy cream cheese frosting.

Come to find out a few hours (and two bars) later that P had to work late and we would have to postpone dinner. Since the only recipe I have makes this enormous pan of bars, (I know how halve recipes, I just didn’t feel that the situation warranted it, okay?) here I was, stuck with a cookie-sheet full of nice, fluffy, creamy pumpkin bars.

Do you know how painfully easy it is to eat one of those things? They are squishy, and can be eaten comfortably in two or three bites. They don’t taste too rich or filling, and one could even rationalize that the pumpkin is somewhat healthy.

So I eyed this pan of bars, fully aware that if I were to indulge and eat half of the pan (as I figured I was capable of) I would be victim to a lot of teasing from the late-night worker upon his return home. Then, I told myself, all I would have to do is to simply put the bars in another container. Arrange them artfully in a smaller pan in preparation for tomorrow’s get-together. I could snitch to my heart’s content and no one would be the wiser.

But I held myself back from this tactic- it would be too easy to eat way more than would be medically advisable. So, there they sat, taunting me, in the original pan. I stayed clear of the kitchen intentionally, knowing that a mere glance at the treat would draw me near.

When P finally arrived at 11, he was delighted to find desert waiting. Being a good husband he didn’t even mention the 6 empty spots. But then, group mentality set in and there was free-for-all. Who would know how much either one ate? Needless to say there are few bars left this morning, and I am quite fearful of the coming winter. Lots of time to be inside and bake and lots of events demanding baked goods. If I come out on the other side 30 pounds heavier I don’t even have a baby to blame it on. This could get ugly.

Boy Scout

Now that the weather has cooled down considerably we have started to have constant fires in our fireplace. Last year we perfected the fire-building-and-keeping skills (well, I perfected mine, as P was already quite adept in this area). For example, we can now keep a fire going all night long, and have a fair amount of coals in the morning to work with. You can imagine that a day when we "let the fire go out" to clean out the ashes is both nerve-racking and relieving. Relieving in that we rely on our propane to heat the house for a few hours, and nerve racking because I doubt whether I will be able to effectively start another one, my main role being "fire keeper" and not "fire starter". (However, the task this year has been considerably easier because of the many little scraps of wood produced by P's wood shop.)

I also have a helper this year. We have spent much parental energy sternly teaching him to stay away from the fireplace. (Quite a feat, might I add, because it is not really "hot" in the summer, and it is difficult to explain the dangers within an empty fireplace to an 18 month old.) Regardless of our attemps, the warm glow of the coals draws him each time we open the doors of the fireplace to add more wood. P is more excited to have him involved than I am- he will let the small boy lift the big pieces of wood and hand them over to be placed carefully in the fire. I, on the other hand, prefer to keep Ryan in a fireproof bubble at the neighbors house two miles away when I go near the baby-killing inferno.

This confuses Ryan, and each time I head to the front door with the intention of bringing in new fuel, my helper is fast on my heels, ready to be of assistance. Yesterday, for example, I brought in three pieces. He tried to lift them, and my protective mamma-arm kept him clear away. "Too hot!" I tried to explain.

He understood this term and took a step closer, blowing with all of his might like one would on a spoonful of warm soup. "Just gonna cool it down some, then, mom!" When I still would not let him close, he watched from a distance, and then noticed something else. He reached over to pick up a glove, and put it on his hand to mimic my own preparations. At this point the protective bear in me also noticed that he really just wantd to be of help, like dad lets him. So I closed the fireplace up, let him come close enough to lift the log up to me. I exclaimed a big "Thank you!" for his help and off he went, satisfied with his contribution.

Next I think I will begin teaching him how to filet fish using his very own pocket knife. Or perhaps how to hunt and trap small game animals., since we are in Iowa after all, and fishing for food isn't really "advisable".

Scary?

Our friends Chuck and Amanda have two boys- a three and a half year old named Parker and three month old Benjamin. They are a wonderful family and just happen to be our Pastor and wife.

Ryan enjoys playing with Parker so much that as we are pulling up to his house, Ryan starts to squeal and bounce his legs up and down as if that will make the car go faster (a la Flinstone). Upon arrival and being freed from his restrictive carseat, he doesn't so much as give me a backward glance as he runs up the hill toward his chum.

Amanda told me a story about Parker the other day that I just had to share. She went in to wake him up one morning, and he gave her an excited smile.

"I had a GREAT dream last night, Mom!"
"Really? What was it about?"
"I was in my bed, and there was a MONSTER right outside my window!"
"Oh my..."
(Using his hands for emphasis)"And then I got up opened the window and I could see its EYES!"
"And this was a good dream?"
"Yes!"
"You should tell Dad that dream..."
"No, it would probably just scare him."

So later Amanda walked downstairs and asked her husband if he had heard Parker's dream. "No, he said I would be too scared and wouldn't tell me."

On why I love being a mom

So, our guests went home. And the house is quiet.
The clouds came the same day everyone went home, and they have stayed.
Rain, of course, has also made inconsistent appearances.
And, it's cold.
The sun is hidden and the drearyness of the past few days begins to echo in me.

To combat the quiet, I numbly turn on the radio, the music doing little to lift my spirits. I return to my office, read email, and then decide there is little else to keep me from attacking my housework. I close down the computer and amble on out to the living room.

Ryan, unaffected by the drearyness outside, is standing in the middle of the room, bending his knees and stomping is feet rythmically to the music - all alone. He does a spin and laughs at himself. Then he spots me and gives a little squeal, and stomps his feet faster. I can't help but feel lifted up, and I start to dance with him, both of us off- beat, both of us enjoying the hilarity of watching eachother dance. He squats and wiggles and spins, laughing. The music seems louder and more upbeat. They day seems brighter already, and can't help but be thankful that I am a mom.

Visits

Note to reader: We have just completed a month's worth of visits- both sets of parents and my sister spent time with us this past month. It was wonderful to have them and hard to see them go.

“We’re coming”

Anticipation and anxiety all at once well up inside me as I grasp what it means to have visitors on the way. Thoughts flash through my mind- I want to share with them all that I have experienced since we have been together, share my world and my home and my life. And once the realization sinks in, the motivation that was asleep inside of me stirs and takes on new life – there is so much to do!

In what seems like endless frenzy, we prepare for the upcoming visitors. I make list upon list, readjusting and rethinking. What would be perfect? What would be possible? What can I live with? We start with big, impactful, messy projects…where we can barely walk through the house and we eat nothing but leftovers because we don’t have time to cook. And then reality sets in that we cannot always eat leftovers or sometime soon we will have no food left- over. So we jump in on smaller projects- cleaning up the mess from before and prioritizing what’s left to do (a never-ending list of possibilities).

We spend sleepless nights finishing before they come. The anticipation of their arrival is overtaken by a momentary anxiety. What have I forgotten? What if a million bugs come or we have no water? What if we can’t get along in one house for a week without a television? Maybe we should buy a television…

And thankfully, they call, just to say “Hi” and I remember how very much I miss them and can imagine that they miss us too. I am once again assured things will go just fine.

In the evenings, we start to plan meals and fun things to do for our guests. We dream together of long talks and card games. Of bonfires and good dinners. We talk about how much has changed and how big Ryan is getting. I can’t wait for them to just BE here.

They arrive – through hugs and hello’s we are reminded of just how much we have missed them. I am thankful they are here and yet another part of me aches, makes me homesick for them all over again, even as our visit is just beginning. Days of jockeying and settling go on as we each figure out our new roles. How to survive in one house (without a TV) together. And finally we set a silent, understood routine- and I begin to wonder how I will survive without them here to play with Ryan and help with dinner. How we will find things to talk about without four days to rehash.

We laugh together and work. They work too hard and I wish they would stop and enjoy- they wish I would let them work a bit harder (I am blessed with helpful family and friends).We catch up. I am reminded of how life continues even when I am not there. People grow and change. We talk about each other- the lives we are leading. I learn new things about them and am intrigued by the changes in their lives. We talk like no time has passed at all, really. They spend time playing with Ryan and he delights in having new playmates. He gets to be carried and held and is pampered with more treats than usual. We don’t fit in as much activity as we had wanted, but we enjoy the things we can get to.

And before they leave, I start to feel lonely for them all over again. Homesickness sets in and I am melancholy- I chide myself-they aren’t even gone! I begin to think of others at home I miss, too, and I dream of curling up very small and stowing away in their luggage. Hurriedly I bring to mind people here, friends and family that I do have close by. It quells some of the pain but also makes me feel torn. Home in both places. Homesick for both places. But the sadness that comes from such confusion is strangely comforting. I have come to love the feeling of deep longing- it makes me feel loved and blessed- I have people to miss and long for! It makes me feel alive in a way I can’t really explain, even though it hurts.

And then they leave. We lament about how we worked too hard; we should have spent more time talking and enjoying. And then we turn back to the house, thankful for the accomplishments we’ve made. Inside, the house echo’s with intense quiet. It’s so loud I can barely stand it. And I miss them all over again – how did we manage before we had everyone here? How did I ever get anything done? Suddenly it seems like the miles stretched between us have somehow gotten longer. I call them on their cell phone, just to remind myself that they aren’t really that far away.

Its a few days before I’m able to return to my previous routine. Before I can stand the quiet I had come to appreciate. I work hard to keep the motivation alive, but it waxes and wanes without a goal. So, I talk myself into dreaming up new goals. At dinner, the conversation still holds and we slowly settle back in to our own rhythm. During our talks, we discuss the next visit – what we would do and how fun it would be, and our loneliness is salved with such anticipation. We laugh, remembering the funny things that happened and the cute things Ryan did. We tear up as we look at pictures we took and read the entries written in our “guestbook”. We think of ways to span the miles- phones and letters, small gifts and pictures, visits! I am reminded that even though we are miles apart we don’t have to be distant, and I am inspired once again to forge on, to build our lives – here and there.

When are you coming again?

Effects of Procrastination

Comment from mother-in-law on previous post regarding sinkroom light:

And I hate to be the one that says this, but I "think" Uncle Bob left the
lightbulb out because he wanted Phil to look at the frayed wiring, which he felt
was unsafe. For your Mama's peace of mind, Phil, give him a call please. The
smoke needs to continue coming out of the fireplace chimney, not the back room.

You know you have procrastinated on something too long when the original issue gets so lost you don't even remember there being one. Here I am thinking they just couldn't find the light switch when in actuality our safety-conscious uncles were trying to keep our house from burning down. (Electrician! Come back to Iowa!) I see another ten month stretch...I hope I can talk dad into another visit before then!

More room

Just issued:
Marshall County
Freeze Warning:
Issued at: 10:48 AM CDT 10/11/06, expires at: 7:00 PM CDT 10/11/06
Freeze warning remains in effect from midnight tonight to 8 am cdt Thursday. Temperatures will drop into the 20s across all of central Iowa tonight, bringing an end to the growing season. A freeze warning means sub-freezing temperatures are imminent or highly likely. These conditions will kill the remaining sensitive vegetation. NOTE: Also will prevent any chance of exterior painting. (Very strategic, I didn't see that one coming in October!).

The good part about this (tiny bit) of frustrating weather is that I have had time to tackle indoor projects. One thing I love about having a house in constant remodel is that it is always getting bigger. You need storage? Paint a closet and, Voila!

Three weeks ago we finished Ryan's room and moved him upstairs (he had been sleeping in the downstairs den). With that complete, it left this wonderful, empty room that has now become my office! Slowly but surely our house is growing bigger and we are able to unpack boxes. It feels so nice to settle in. Plus, I have an office!

I don't think Ryan really gets it yet, as he immediately took over the scheduling of appointments and web surfing. I had to remind him, this was "adult space". He just looked at me and grabbed some of the paperwork on the desk to "re-organize". He is really excited about the new place to store "his pens" and "his stapler."

The battle continues...

Wind: I cannot go on any longer. I have worked so hard at sabotaging this "painting" process, but as soon as I rest, she will joyfully come and finish painting- effectively winning the battle. I can't let this happen!

Rain: I might be able to help you out, old friend. I know this woman from Washington. Though she is one who does not carry an umbrella (mocking my great efforts), she is not so foolish as to put paint on during a rainstorm. Perhaps we should talk business.

And so it was that as I headed out this morning, steps light and paintbrush in hand, I was greeted by yet another contender.

The wind and I

Do I ever mention how much I adore you, you (sometimes anonymous) blog readers? Normally, I would have allowed myself to be inside on a day like today- a day that is warm but extremely windy. Instead, I climbed up to the second story on a ladder and hung on for dear life as I painted the trim of my house a chocolaty brown.

The day started just fine- the wind and I were getting along quite well –me with my procrastination on finishing the house painting and the wind practicing for its winter performance.

But then, I changed the game. I decided that if I were going to post a blog about how my mom and dad in law helped me to paint my house and make it very beautiful, I should have some pictures to go along with it. And, in order to have pictures, the painting should be complete. So I decided to defy my procrastinating nature and brave the wind. As I climbed up the ladder, the wind decided it was unhappy with my decision and tried with all of its might to take me (by force, if necessary) from my painting goals. I stood firm, clinging to the shivering ladder and holding fast to my paintbrush.

Not to be outdone, the wind rolled over the fields, delighted to gain speed unabated. With no houses or trees or skyscrapers to slow it down, it rushed along at a respectable 340 miles per hour (give or take).

Two hours in I decided I needed a break from the battle. As I sat down we heard a thud out the window. Upon peeking out I discovered that the wind had won the battle against the ladder. A really big, heavy ladder.

Fine, I said resignedly to the wind, have your fun. You win. I wasn’t really trying anyway. But rest assured, when you need a break from the battle…I will scamper out there and finish that painting. I have a blog to write!

Oh for a light

The following events might be humerous to some of you - to others, they might be aptly deemed tragic.

It's difficult to explain the impact of this event without some background, so here we go. I've mentioned before that when we first moved in, we had a lot of help. We had uncles and aunts and grandparents and parents painting and taking up carpet. They helped with many facets of repair to prep our house so it was livable. A few uncles took on the main floor bath, which is a room off of the kitchen. Now, I am unclear as to the actual events, but from memory, I recall that one uncle took down the light fixture so it could be cleaned. Some mishap occurred, and when he went to put in the new lightbulb, he flipped on the switch and it no longer worked. He tried it a few more times, and so did others involved. Since they could not figure out why it was not turning on, he removed the lightbulb and mentioned it to Phil and I.

For 10 months this fixture has sat, lightbulbless, for the day when it took high enough priority to be addressed. Now, in the interim, we have changed things around a bit. We took out the "bathroom stuff" and removed the carpet. When we needed the entire kitchen cleared out for its floor to be removed, we moved the sink cabinet into that back room - and it is now called the "sink room".

During the day, this was not a big deal. I was thankful to have running water and a connected drain (both of which had been absent prior to the cabinet move) and a little thing like a light just didn't bother me that much. But the newness of the connected drain and endless supply of running water wore off, and soon I found myself longing for the ability to do dishes in the evening hours without straining to see food particles in the faint light provided by the adjacent room. The dark hole that was my washroom started to grate on me. Slowly and surely, it was moving up the priority list.

But we were apprehensive. Phil knows how to do some wiring, but he didn't know how much work this little project would entail. With all of the other things on his own list, he pushed this item to the sideburner (ie. very rarely was he the one doing the dishes by candlelight).

Upon my parent's arrival for their latest visit, my mom asked if I wanted dad to try and fix the light in the sink room. Being that he is an electical engineer and has a bit of background with such things, I was confident he could figure out what was going wrong. I enthusiastically agreed and two days into his visit, he began to tackle the problem.

He first asked me for a lightbulb. I had one of those. He screwed it into the socket and asked which switch was supposed to operate that light. The one in the sink room, we discovered, was actually the light to the back porch. The switch that operated the sink room fixture was actually right outside the door, next to another kitchen light. Who, we wondered, would wire the room this way? It was awkward, strange. But, it was reality.

So, he tried the switch. And the light turned on. Yes, it simply turned on - and as bright light flooded the room, ten months of struggling to see in the darkness danced through my memory. I recalled all of those evenings when my "dish dryer" would pass back insufficiently washed dishes - a taunting "missed a spot" that could have been avoided with one simple action. A three minute trial and error session conducted by yours truly. But did I experiment? Tragic, I tell you.

In hindsight, though, we probably would have had a hole in the ceiling and the wiring strung throughout the room and power turned off to most of the house before we tried screwing that lightbulb in again. So, really, it was good that we had an experienced electrician address the issue.