Short unplanned update.
The kitchen light fiasco, as it turned out, wasn’t done. That fixture was reduced to an anemic flicker by this afternoon. G scoffed, saying it just needed replacement bulbs. Then he climbed onto a footstool, gave it a tap, and the thing jumped instantly back to “normal”. The fact it only took a nudge didn’t inspire confidence, not even with G’s cheap gene in a flare. Shortly after his single-digit bongo solo, G let me know he’s going to start hunting for an electrician. We agreed to drop the home warranty package and get the repair done now.
The lights we wanted were still available. Better yet, the price had dropped overnight. They’re supposed to be delivered in a couple of days.
Timing…
The kitchen lights are turned off and staying off until they’re replaced. We’ll make do with the light on the range hood for now. Thankfully during this time of year, the window is all I need for cooking. And if push comes to shove, we still have at least one swag lamp in the house, stuck in the top of my closet.
This one, to be exact:
It’s the 70s-era one we bought at a garage sale when were still living in the tin box.
G would only need to screw in a couple of hooks, plug in, and done. Since he rewired this thing, it dawned on me he knows how to do the wiring, after all. He said he doesn’t want to mess with it here, though, and I don’t blame him one bit.