Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Scared of the Light
My dear husband is a man of action. He knows what he wants, and he gets it. I really, really admire that, as I am exactly the opposite. Depending on the expense of the item, I can deliberate forever, until I am so worn out by worrying over it, I just want to forget the whole thing. There is only one slight problem with my husband's method. If it is something inexpensive, he doesn't read the label carefully. It's like there is this intense magnetism between his procure-happy fingers and the object of his desire, and it totally blinds him to details. This has led to some interesting purchases, but last night's definitely tops them all.
We've been banging around in the dark for several months now with inoperative night lights. I was perfectly willing to continue this way, as I have read how even a little light can disrupt your circadian rhythm and contribute to sleep problems, which my husband has aplenty. I failed to share this information with him, though, so he waited patiently for me to replace the little stubbed-toe preventers, as such things fall under my domain of responsibility. Unbeknownst to me, yesterday, apparently, was my deadline for fulfilling this important duty. Despite putting in a full day at work (which was a very trying one because of a power outage) and attending evening schola practice and then still having to drive an hour to get home, he squeezed in a trip to the night light store.
He arrived home as Emma and I were in the midst of the rosary, strode past us purposefully while briefly "showing" me what was in his right hand and confidently giving me the "I came, I saw, I conquered" look. Bewildered, I kept saying Hail Marys, though he had shattered my concentration. "What was that?" I wondered.
Shortly, he returned, and as he passed through, he said under his breath, "I made a little mistake".
So much for meditating on the mysteries of the rosary! Overcome with idle curiosity, my brain slammed on the brakes and made an illegal u-turn as I contemplated the mystery of what my husband had had in his hand and what mistake he had made when he disappeared with it down the hall. You can see why "Grant me the grace to pray as I ought" is one of my favorite prayers.
Luckily, I managed to regain control before the end of the rosary, and by the time we had finished reading about Easter Tuesday, I had actually forgotten about my husband's purchase and "mistake"--that is until 11 p.m., when I came out of the master bathroom and turned out the light to go to bed. Immediately I was bathed in a blue glow from a new night light. Before I could recover from the shock, it changed to red, then green. I crawled into bed in the twilight zone and lay there anxiously in the miasmic atmosphere, waiting for the little green men to take me away in their spaceship.
"I can't sleep!" I whined to my husband as I clutched the covers and nervously watched the shifting colors on the ceiling.
"Shut your eyes," he advised practically. Then he snored.