Monday – The Light in The Corner
Nov. 30th, 2009 01:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
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My husband, Jeff, likes remote control light switches to a degree I consider obsessive. We each have a little remote control on our bedside table to control the lamp that also sits on the very same table. I think this is silly, but he was so pleased when he set this up that I didn't have the heart to tell him so.
"What do you think?" he asked, beaming as bright as the lamp he had just switched on with the tiny black remote in his hand.
"Uhm, okay."
"Don't you think it will make things a lot easier?"
"Than just reaching up and switching on the lamp right next to the remote?"
"Well, yeah, 'cause you have to fumble around with the switch and all. Now you just have to hit this button, see?"
"Sure, sweetie. That's nice. That'll be way easier." Telling him I thought it was stupid would have just hurt his feelings.
In the living room where all three lamps are spread across the room and are on the same remote, I think the idea makes more sense and I actually like it. The set up in that room worked great until the day Pete showed up and we set him on a shelf next to the lamp.
Two months ago my brother-in-law, Pete, died tragically. We had his remains cremated and shipped to us, and we have since shipped them on to one of his daughters who said she would like to have them. Pete was kind of a scamp in life, but I figured that I wouldn't have to worry about any of that now that he was dead. Within a day of his arrival in the mail (the private courier services will not ship human remains), the lamp that we set him next to started to not work right. When you hit the switch to turn all the lamps on, it would come on just fine, but within a minute or two the one in the back corner next to Pete would flicker out.
"What's wrong with this light?" my perplexed husband asked.
"It's been doing that for a week or so now. That's the corner where Pete is," I replied, "Pete, knock it off."
Jeff frowned. He never did get along with his middle brother in life. The funny thing is, that sort of thing fit right in with Pete's sense of humor. Jeff switched the lamp back on with the remote. It stayed on for a few seconds, and turned back off. He tried it a third time and the same thing happened again.
I sighed. "He never did listen much, did he?"
Jeff grunted, walked over to the lamp, disconnected it from the remote, and turned it on manually. This time it stayed on.
The other day I asked Jeff to reconnect the light to the remote because it's a pain to have to turn it on and off on with the switch.
"Do you think it'll work now that Pete's not here any more?" he asked.
"Let's at least try and see. I'm sick of having to work my way back to that corner and turn it off." Because of the way the furniture is that corner is not very accessible, and because I’m not very tall reaching up to turn the switch made it even more bothersome.
Since reconnecting the light to the remote, it hasn't flickered out once. The light in the corner is on right now as I type, shining as bright as its twin on the other side of the room.
Pete is now in Oregon. He always hated Texas and Louisiana, and was always most at peace in the Pacific Northwest. I hope he's not causing his daughter, a niece I have never met, any grief beyond the hurt his passing has already caused her. Instead of being stuck on the Gulf Coast he that so disliked, he's home again. If he is still switching off lights at his daughter's place, I don't think it's because he is restless like he was down here. Like I said, that kind of thing is just Pete's idea of a joke.
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.
.
My husband, Jeff, likes remote control light switches to a degree I consider obsessive. We each have a little remote control on our bedside table to control the lamp that also sits on the very same table. I think this is silly, but he was so pleased when he set this up that I didn't have the heart to tell him so.
"What do you think?" he asked, beaming as bright as the lamp he had just switched on with the tiny black remote in his hand.
"Uhm, okay."
"Don't you think it will make things a lot easier?"
"Than just reaching up and switching on the lamp right next to the remote?"
"Well, yeah, 'cause you have to fumble around with the switch and all. Now you just have to hit this button, see?"
"Sure, sweetie. That's nice. That'll be way easier." Telling him I thought it was stupid would have just hurt his feelings.
In the living room where all three lamps are spread across the room and are on the same remote, I think the idea makes more sense and I actually like it. The set up in that room worked great until the day Pete showed up and we set him on a shelf next to the lamp.
Two months ago my brother-in-law, Pete, died tragically. We had his remains cremated and shipped to us, and we have since shipped them on to one of his daughters who said she would like to have them. Pete was kind of a scamp in life, but I figured that I wouldn't have to worry about any of that now that he was dead. Within a day of his arrival in the mail (the private courier services will not ship human remains), the lamp that we set him next to started to not work right. When you hit the switch to turn all the lamps on, it would come on just fine, but within a minute or two the one in the back corner next to Pete would flicker out.
"What's wrong with this light?" my perplexed husband asked.
"It's been doing that for a week or so now. That's the corner where Pete is," I replied, "Pete, knock it off."
Jeff frowned. He never did get along with his middle brother in life. The funny thing is, that sort of thing fit right in with Pete's sense of humor. Jeff switched the lamp back on with the remote. It stayed on for a few seconds, and turned back off. He tried it a third time and the same thing happened again.
I sighed. "He never did listen much, did he?"
Jeff grunted, walked over to the lamp, disconnected it from the remote, and turned it on manually. This time it stayed on.
The other day I asked Jeff to reconnect the light to the remote because it's a pain to have to turn it on and off on with the switch.
"Do you think it'll work now that Pete's not here any more?" he asked.
"Let's at least try and see. I'm sick of having to work my way back to that corner and turn it off." Because of the way the furniture is that corner is not very accessible, and because I’m not very tall reaching up to turn the switch made it even more bothersome.
Since reconnecting the light to the remote, it hasn't flickered out once. The light in the corner is on right now as I type, shining as bright as its twin on the other side of the room.
Pete is now in Oregon. He always hated Texas and Louisiana, and was always most at peace in the Pacific Northwest. I hope he's not causing his daughter, a niece I have never met, any grief beyond the hurt his passing has already caused her. Instead of being stuck on the Gulf Coast he that so disliked, he's home again. If he is still switching off lights at his daughter's place, I don't think it's because he is restless like he was down here. Like I said, that kind of thing is just Pete's idea of a joke.
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