A Better Light

A current bit of remodeling requires relocating one ceiling light and installing another one. For reasons possibly understood by previous Folks In Charge of Stuff, one room in this house does not have a ceiling light. There is sufficient light from adjacent areas that one can walk through the room without tripping over stuff. Any sort of highly focused activity that requires significant eye-hand coordination, though, is best done elsewhere. Say, anything more visually demanding than sticking your hand in your pocket to check for car keys or trying to figure out if you’re wearing short sleeves or long sleeves.

Our quest for improved visibility and the ability to do such things as mixing horse feed rations or putting the dog’s feed and water into their respective dishes definitely makes the additional ceiling fixture highly desirable.

Of course, I could run the wire under flat surface conduit and paint it to match the walls and ceilings. On the other hand, I could go with the bold post-modern techno brain storm and paint it a dramatic contrasting color. In the case of wiring, though, I prefer the subtle statement of totally concealed and completely shielded.

Which requires working in the attic. The attic with twelve inches of insulation and only sixteen inches of clearance. The attic with no flooring, no lighting, no stairs or other easy access. The attic that requires climbing up on top of an eight-foot step ladder in the garage and pulling yourself up through the box opening in the ten-foot ceiling and then belly crawling through forty feet of insulation. That attic.

There are times in life when there is no easy, pleasant way to make things better. We can either live with things the way that they are or we can work to improve them. Working harder than we complain is usually more productive and the dreading is often worse than the doing.

Long sleeves, good jeans and an air filter that fits well are good for this particular doing. A hot soak and ibuprofen are good for the after. And it’s a mighty rare thing that it’s not worth whatever it takes to let us live in greater light.

H. Arnett

About Doc Arnett

Native of southwestern Kentucky currently living in Ark City, Kansas, with my wife of twenty-nine years, Randa. We have, between us, eight children and twenty-eight grandkids. We enjoy singing, worship, remodeling and travel.
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