Dear Liza, Dear Liza

When did my life become one big round robin of "There's a Hole in My Bucket?"

We moved into our home two and a half years ago. One of the things we loved was the master bathroom. It's posh. It felt like part of a hotel suite with the large double sinks, deep tub, dusty cocoa brushed walls with gold trim and a leaf stencil design. What we especially appreciated was the watercloset with its own door. Sure it felt a bit claustrophobic, but it was miles ahead of our prior master bathroom of avocado green with black formica trim and a ill concieved large window to the outside just before the shower door. No shade. No drapes.

As I said, we loved the new master bath with the private bathroom until three months into our move. The bulb in the overhead fan burnt out. This was a problem because our new home was 1000 times swankier than our prior house. The fan seemed like a sealed unit, such that prying made us fearful we would break something.

We couldn't open the fan to change the bulb. For a month or so, we remained in the dark. Then, we tried those battery operated tap lights. They lasted a week. I tried leaving a flashlight in the room. One or two drops and the flashlight became a broken plastic hollow tube for storing batteries.

Humanity can get used to anything if harrassed or distracted enough. We learned to lock the outside door and leave a sliver of light. Weeks passed into months. Occasionally, we'd get out the step ladder and poke a bit at the fan, but to no avail. Eventually, we forgot about the idea of a working lightbulb in the bathroom. Years past.

Now there is a family friend, a jack of all trades that I asked if he could maybe come and do a few of the odd jobs around our house. I mentioned this one in particular. He dropped by while most of us were at mass on Sunday. My son let him in, but neglected to tell us he visited. So for four weeks, we did not know that he had opened the fan and taken out the bulb. When he finally asked if we had purchased new bulbs for him to put in, I backtracked to the son who simply said, "Oh yeah. The bulb was burnt out so I left it on a tray in the laundry room over the dryer."

Racing to the laundry room, there was the bulb. A bulb unlike any other light bulb I have ever seen. It was also broken and fearing a child getting cut, I threw it out.

Naturally when it came time to shop for the replacement, I couldn't remember "exactly" what type of bulb it was, just that it was long, had a square pin bottom and looked like two long fingers.  My description did not endear me to the Home Depot sales rep.  Despite having fifty thousand types of bulbs including the kind you plant in the ground, they didn't have mine. 

There are errands that require you to set your teeth and run until you get it done.  So despite the rain, despite leaving my kids in aftercare perilously close to the time when one must pick up, despite having to schelp to three different stores, I Scarlett O'hara vowed with God as my witness, not to go in the dark any longer.  And I did fix it.  We did get the bulb.  It is now installed in our master bathroom.

But human nature is habitual. 
I keep forgetting to flip the switch on.