KEEPING THE SPARK ALIVE

There's a broken lightbulb in one of my ceiling light fixtures. By "broken" I mean sheared off -- glass separated from metal screw ring. I know the correct procedure to solve this problem: wall switch off, breaker off, and a potato.

Except that I don't have a potato, and it's too late to go out and buy one.

However, there is no way that I am leaving the broken metal piece in the light fixture. There is also zero chance of me leaving the breaker off because it also runs all of the kitchen appliances, including the fridge, and, of course, I just bought groceries (but, alas, not any potatoes).

I know that pliers are the logical solution here, but I am not a logical person. When I was in my teens, I took a nasty electrical shock from a malfunctioning bun toaster while working at Burger King. I am not in any hurry to repeat that feeling nor the hours of Brain Scramble that followed it. 

So, I do what any other idiot would do: I Google it.

Several answers pop up -- most of them potato or pliers. There are two other options that strike me: duct tape and bar soap. I text two of my three children, both of whom are on the Cape (hours away but closer than the third child in North Carolina), and explain exactly what I intend to do. I tell them that if I do not text them within a half hour, to try and text me. If they get no answer, I might need an ambulance.

I investigate the duct tape option, which seems to me to be the safest bet. For some reason, having the shiny side out doesn't make sense to me, so I create a thick disk of sticky-side-out duct tape. This loosens the metal enough to form a miniscule metal lip. Honestly, I cannot fathom why this isn't working. Shouldn't the sticky duct tape grab the busted metal ring enough to turn it without any resistance? (Now that I consider it, perhaps I was supposed to use my finger against a square pad of duct tape to use as a buffer?)

Still unwilling to resort to pliers, although the exposed edge does present that as a viable solution, I grab an old bar of soap. (Yes, I keep the remainder of a bar or two to take with me when I go away on trips, but I am not a soap hoarder, I assure you.) All the soap does is crumble and create a falling mess that smells like English lavender all over the dining room floor.

I resort to duct tape yet again, manage to move the ring a tiny but more, and then decide it may be time to risk an electrical shock. Yes, I understand that the breaker is off, but remember, I have experienced a surprising and unexpected shock before. Couple that with the fact that I live alone and no one would find my body for days in the summer heat, and you have a possible episode of The Night Gallery.

The pliers that I own are not needle-nosed and they are not rubber-coated. But, I do have a small wire cutter, an old one, with rubber-coated handles. I use this to carefully grab the small ridge of metal and am able to turn the ring a bit. It takes a few more careful attempts to dislodge the misaligned ring until ... victory!

The damn bulb and its damn ring have been successfully removed from the light fixture.

I carefully screw in a new bulb, throw the breaker, then shuffle ever-so-slowly and with great trepidation to the wall switch. 

Let there be light -- and there was light!

I hear the angels singing, and it's not because I've shocked myself into oblivion. It's because I actually fixed something electrical and I didn't shock myself and I didn't set anything on fire, no sparks shot across the room, and nothing went pop nor started to smolder. It's a miracle, a true and fabulous miracle. A common household fix for any moron, I know, but let me have this moment. For me, it truly is ... electrifying.

IT'S HOT OUT THERE

It's getting hot, hot, hot!

Over the July Fourth long weekend, we experience a heatwave of several days where the daily temps are 98, 99, and 100. It isn't unexpected. After all, it is summer. 

What is unexpected is having the central air conditioning crap out. I suppose if one were to believe in karma (I do) and bad luck (I do), this really should just be another "I knew it" moment. 

There are several good things about this situation.

I no longer live in a townhouse that has windows on three sides. Sure, it stinks on days when a cross-breeze would be fabulous, but it pays out on super hot and super cold days. Another advantage to having only one side of my living space exposed to the elements is that I do not get direct sunlight until later in the afternoon as the sun is setting. I don't live on the top floor anymore, like I did back in the day, so I am not bearing the brunt of roof heat, either.

In a flash of serendipity, on the last day of school I decided to bring home my two extra fans. I didn't believe I would need them, but, hey, why not, right? And thank Hades I did, because I am able to keep the inside temperature at a dry 78 to 80 degrees through the worst of it.

Oh, maintenance tries to fix the problem, they really do. The system is relatively new (two years). I'm just not getting any cool air, nor any air at all.

Finally, after the heatwave breaks to a comfortable 84 degrees, maintenance installs a window air conditioner in the bedroom window, the only place in the apartment that it fits with the weird windows. It does somewhat help -- the bedroom is freezing and, despite the multiple fans, the apartment temperature gets down to 74. But, the following day it will be in the 60's, so, really, what is the point of it all? 

I am pleased to report that the central air seems to be working, and when I say that it "seems to be working," I mean that it is no longer broiling hot outside. It might be next week, though, so I will give the system a proper test run if and when that happens. 

Until then, I will mentally rather than physically sweat it out.

PATHETIC CHALLENGE

Yes, I look pathetic, but, trust me, I'm not.

My birthday is the Fourth of July. Growing up I always shared my birthday with barbecues and with my dad, whose birthday was the following day. No, I never thought the fireworks were for me. As a matter of fact, I love fireworks ... from a very long distance. Sparklers are a firm YES, but anything that goes BOOM is a no-no. 

Ironic, I know. Still not pathetic, though.

I fully expect that my family and friends will do something fun over the long weekend, especially since the holiday officially falls on a Saturday. They are all very thoughtful -- trying to change plans, alter routes, or invite me along to family gatherings. I'm not trying to be a martyr. Honestly, I grew up understanding that my birthday is also the biggest and most glorious of summer holidays (and sharing with my dad, as I said), so I feel guilty when people just hang around with me at the price of missing THE summer event. 

Go do your thing. For real. I might walk the zoo. I might take a drive. I might go out to eat. I might read a book. I might watch a movie. I will definitely watch fireworks on TV (maybe Boston, but probably the ones over the Hudson).

This solitary behavior might look pathetic, but it's not. Trust me. I'll be ready to party on Sunday, on the 5th. Part of it is learned behavior, and some of it is that I truly don't care for crowds. Going anywhere on July Fourth? Crowds. People ... everywhere.

I'm in the store the other day, buying groceries for a visit from one of my siblings and thinking ahead for the Fourth. The store is also not one of my favorite places because, well, people. On my list are several things, but the last item is small bouquet of flowers. Nope, it's not because I have any great need for flowers; I am too lazy to climb above the refrigerator to put a crystal vase into the cabinet, so I'll fill it with flowers.

To my surprise, all of the colorful bouquets, even small ones, are $12 and higher. I want to stay under $10. I mean, this is just a bouquet of grocery store flowers to fill a vase I am way too work-averse to put where it belongs. I spot the red and white roses. A dozen. Oh, those sure are pretty and would go well with the July Fourth holiday, but I sure don't want to spend the ... Wait a second. These roses are only $9.99. Yes! Exactly what I want to spend.

At the register, there is a casual question about the flowers. For anything special? Yes, for my birthday, I say. Before I realize I've said it, the cashier wishes me a happy birthday. The woman behind me wishes me a happy birthday. I take my few groceries and the flowers, push my cart forward, and then the bagger wishes me happy birthday. 

As I roll my carriage toward my car, I wonder how pathetic I sound and look buying myself flowers, and birthday flowers, at that. It wasn't my intention, but, now that the petal is planted, I'm kind of digging the whole idea. Might even make it a tradition -- a ten-dollar tradition. 

Pathetic Challenge accepted!