Shine Bright

I hate night time with a passion, so I love anything that banishes the shadows. This time of year, I am walking around the house, switching on the lamps before 5 PM and thanking the good Lord for Thomas Edison. All too soon the early sunsets will drive most of us indoors for the duration. I light my candles rather than curse the darkness (or rather, I curse the darkness THEN light my candles).

My lighting collection is interesting, and a little quirky. Candle wise, I have tea lights and votives and pillar candles, scented and unscented. I love a subtle floral smell; the pumpkin spice-smelling ones not so much. I read somewhere that if you want to sell your house, you should light one of those food-scented candles to put folks in the buying mood. My feeling? If I walked into a kitchen that smelled like brownies, and there were no actual brownies, I would question the veracity of every other facet of that house: do those lovely toilets actually flush? Is that spacious backyard really part of the neighbors’ spread?

Bedside lamp--notice the water mark?

 In the lamp department, mine is quite a conglomerate of fixtures. We have a dingy dining room chandelier that hails from when our house was built. From a distance it looks charming. From a distance. Our bedroom lamps come from Conran’s, a British store long gone from King of Prussia Mall. One lampshade has a big water stain because, 30 years ago, we had hanging plants in the room, and overwatered one—immediately above said lampshade. No hurry on replacing it!! seems to be our attitude.

But the quirkiest lamp I own belonged to my Nana Cunningham. Nana was a woman of few possessions, which made what she did treasure memorable. Her little marble gondola, complete with tiny marble gondolier (she never went to Italy; that must have been a gift from a traveling friend). Her small collection of framed photos. But my favorite thing was a lamp made from a giant seashell, which was carved with the Last Supper scene. It sounds kitschy, but as a little girl spending the night with her, it was magical. It glowed softly when lit, and seemed to go right along with the sound of her murmuring the rosary every night, and the faith that so comforted her. When Nana died, the lamp became ours. Nowadays it is in my room, on a shelf in my closet. I don’t know that I would ever display it (my grown up eyes do find it a little tacky), but I do know that I would never, ever part with it.

As night falls, we light our lights and go on living, enjoying extra productive hours that were once, by necessity, given over to sleep. We can’t imagine things any other way now. But tonight, when we dispel the evening gloom, let’s take a moment and notice, really notice, the lights on all around us, and be grateful for them. I know I am.