The florescent fixture in the kitchen, gave up, and so I hung an old wall lamp near the table, thinking it would only be there for awhile. But somehow I keep forgetting to buy a new fixture, or I have some excuse not to. In these long, dark winter nights I realize, it is the warm golden color of the light that keeps me from going back to cold blueish florescent light.
That soft golden light, so like the ones in every house on the street I grew up on. Those lights often left on for the men who worked second shift at the machine shop, where almost everyone worked. The glow of those lights carried through the winter darkness, "the shop" was in easy walking distance of the houses, and they were perhaps a beacon, and perhaps they just made it easier to find the newspaper that muddy or wet shoes were to be left on.
If I was not sleepy I would go to the hall window and watch the men, including my Dad, walking the path, swinging their lunch pails and lighting cigarettes, Some nights talking loudly and some nights the only sound was footfalls.
Several years later "the shop" closed, my Dad worked in one of the first sections to be shut down.
Little did he know at the time, he was one of the lucky ones because he found a job, many of the others were out of work for a very long time.
But the lights stayed light in the evening, even though there was no one on the path for them to guide home.
It lingers still.
