Homebodies - When is a light fixture more than a source of light?

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Published on Sunday, December 10, 2017

By Rita Friesen

Neepawa Banner & Press

I get attached to things. Not that I need to buy more or new things. Things from the past that have meaning for me. When our family settled on the farm in the Riding Mountain area, we selected a wagon wheel light fixture to brighten our meals at the family table.

Five lantern style glasses glowed under their bronzy shades. All our children had left home by the time we moved to the acreage. The youngest was 20 and the farm home was the only home she knew. ‘Could the dining room light go to the new place with you?’ It was unlike the youngest to make such a request and we knew this light fixture must mean a great deal to her, have an important place in her memory bank. And so it came with us, now gracing the kitchen. And so, nineteen years later, I moved off the acreage and embraced my home in town. I missed the wagon wheel light fixture. I waited a year and then tentatively requested ‘my’ light. The new owners could find any fixture they wanted, I would purchase it, and they could give me back the wheel. And so it happened. Now carefully stored in the garage until such a time as I can have it suspended in my kitchen. Strange that. But I feel centered when that fixture centers my home.

It’s not the first attachment to a light fixture I have witnessed. When we moved into the acreage the former owners made it very clear that if we ever tired of the heavy white acorn light fixture in the dining room, they wanted first dibs. That fixture likes where it is hanging and is staying. And then there is the stained glass hanging lampshade that my sister created for me. It easily moves from home to home with me, never grumbling about a short time in storage, knowing that before I declare my house my home, it will be hanging, brightening some corner. There are a couple of kerosene lamps that move with me as well. One is a reproduction piece, a soft, deep blue globe and base that comfort me without a flame. Another, with a reddish base and clear chimney is on loan from a friend, just in case the power ever goes out and I need something after flashlight batteries die and candles are melted.

Those fixtures are logical attachments. There is the antique floor lamp from my grandmother’s home. Its base is cracked, it needs re-wiring, and the metal pole is badly discoloured. But it moves from one location to another with me. Standing patiently in some dark storage area, examined periodically to see if it would be remotely possible to reclaim and restore the heritage piece. There was another floor lamp that made several moves with me, but logic won, and it did hit the refuse pile. With deepest apologies. Fitting that I reflect on light, as we approach the shortest sunlight hours. and the Advent’s season of hope - that which dispels darkness.