Musings on Life: My Trip to The Electrical Supply Store

Even as I got into the car I could feel the attitude in place. I knew even before I pulled into the parking lot of our local electric supply store they wouldn’t have my 400 Watt bulb and even more than that they will be rude and condescending.

But I don’t want to get ahead of myself.

On March 1st my Mom and I went to the electric supply store (which shall go unnamed, as this could happen to anyone, anywhere) amidst a few different errands. I needed a few different supplies   at the store, but it is the large indirect light bulb that burned out in the Art Center ballroom, where I work, that is my reason for being here.  With the dead bulb in hand, I entered into The Electric Store.

Tacky shiny chandeliers made for the finer homes of Aston or Ridley dangle down from everywhere. Forcing me to stoop and dodge as I make my way to the register.

Behind the counter is a large black man. He awaits me.

He is tall and heavy and burly. Much like his thick coke bottle glasses…is dense, “Can I help you?” His voice is thick and raspy, a Camel man would be my guess. Immediately I feel like I am inconveniencing him.

“Yes, I need to order some bulbs, 6, 60 Watt standard bulbs, a dozen exit sign bulbs, and two of these.” I show him my 8 inch long monster bulb. Confident now because with bulb in hand we will have no confusion.

“What kind of bulb is this?” He has taken the bulb from me and is holding it like it is the turd of an alien.

“Let me look in back, and see if I can find them.” I smile at my Mom. She looks dismayed and annoyed.

Coming up to the counter again he says, “We don’t have any in stock, but I will order it if you like.”

“Okay, when will they come in?” I didn’t expect them to be in stock. Everything is right on track.

“Ten days. We’ll give you a call.” Yeah Right!

“Do you want me to throw this out?” He is dangling the bulb over a 55 gallon trash can. In his thick calloused hand the bulb doesn’t look so large. [Read more…]

My Earliest Memories as a Child

My earliest memory, as a child

Is the desire

Now trapped in my mind.

I follow ideas

They coalesce into chaos

But What

Am I looking for?

Bob Deane 9/8/09

Musing on Life: My Left Thumbnail

My left thumb nail. From early moments of childhood, I decided to let that nail grow. To see how long I could get it. To use it as a tool, my handy pocket nail ready clean the gunk under my other nails, cram it under the screw to pry it free.  I polished, nurtured and in turn, abused it. While I never named it, it was a separate articulate entity, challenging the world from its tenuous extremity. 

Early in our relationship, I became quickly aware of how soft and thin the nail was. I wanted the nail to grow to become long, hard, and proud, as well as to be used for any spontaneous purpose.

The delicate nature of my nail became clear during frequent visits to my grandparents. In the evening, we would all gather in the living room, Mom on the love seat, Grammy in her old green recliner chair with the frayed arm rests that I spent years slowly pulling apart, and grandpa resting in his old green leather chair with the wooden arms, his old calloused feet resting on a green vinyl foot stand, eye level with me in my spot on the floor in the middle of the living room. The soft snore of his alcohol snooze. The unlit cigarette bobbing with each breath. The old worn tee shirts with holes in them. The few long grey strands of hair on his head, which with ample length, were used to cover so much of his head.  All these features led to many games of childhood play. The earliest game and one of my earliest memories was “take the hat off grandpa’s head and run off with it.” The footfalls of his pursuit causing me to squeal in terror and delight. A later game was to unravel his cigarettes from his tee shirt sleeve and see how many I could get in his mouth before he would rouse and then try and catch me. [Read more…]