Jim's Lamp

Big, big storm earlier this evening. Mayhem everywhere. The patio umbrella's wooden pole snapped in half. I never saw such wind. When I realized we might lose the umbrella, I went outside to close it but couldn't--the pulley mechanism failed, but I stood there anyway, clinging idiotically to the pole, gusts of wind slapping me, warm rain in my face, and I watched in misery as the trees in my woods bent almost in half. I looked down at the dog, and she looked up at me and our thoughts collided: "This is stupid. We really should go inside."

So we did. There was no power in the house, and it was quickly becoming dark. After a while, when it became apparent that there would be no light unless I created some, I took down one of Jim's antique glass lanterns, lit it and set it on the kitchen counter. There are some good memories attached to this old lamp, for sure, some I want to ignore, but I took it upstairs and set it on my night table anyway so I could read.

I completed the crossword puzzle from the Sunday NY Times and continued on where I had left off in The Prince of Frogtown, by Rick Bragg....These old oil lamps with their fluted glass shades and adjustable wicks are as good as any conventional lamp with an electric cord--although the old lamps smell a hell of a lot worse because of the oil.

Rick's stories often remind me of Jim's stories but, at that moment, the flicker of the thin, wide flame coming up and fanning out as it did from the wick reminded me of the times Jim presented the lamps to me. He may have had some in his office, among the other useless antiques (he could throw nothing away), and he may have picked up one or two in antique stores along the way, possibly even with me beside him, but he brought them home and methodically readied each one, cleaned the glass shades, bought and inserted new wicks and filled the bottoms with oil--and only for me. He didn't say, "These will be good if we ever lose power" (which we often did during storms). Instead, he made a point of telling me they would be good if I lost power "some day." Boy, did I ever.

He was right though, as he sometimes could be, but I never knew how right he was until future times when I couldn't tell him so in person. No, in fact his predictions usually seemed cockamamie to me back then, but his peculiar way of expressing them was often soft and charming, his Southern lilt both soothing and silly: "Darlin', I'd give my front seat in Hell to see that."

I do believe he was accurate there too, that he went down rather than up but, either way, I have his lamp lit tonight, and I am glad.