Old songs and bulbs
Now I remember why we all believed in the acoustic guitar, at a certain ago. Blame it on a generation of folk singers. The Kingston Trio. The Limelighters. The Everly Brothers. The Highwaymen. All before my time, barely. But I had TV. And radio. And family. The songs were perfect earworms, every one. Perfectly crafted versions of old folk songs. Right now, PBS is presenting one of their fundraisers, and I’m afraid that my fate is sealed.
In the background, two dogs. One with a bone. One jealous. Woe to he who is careless…
This was a slow cooker day, and in the final time, before plate and taste, we came across the channel with the fireplace. I hadn’t realized that “it” had come back; it’s been years. And after a few minutes, the need to know reached a fever level. Was it a loop? Five, ten… sometime around the thirty-five minute mark, the layer of logs regenerated. A phoenix. Now, we know that we weren’t in the loop of the loop from moment one, but the urge to know EXACTLY how long was interrupted by the arrival of food (and twitchy hounds). Maybe later.
After a head’s up from the newspaper, I threw my “green side” aside and headed to the hardware store. With only two weeks and a holiday before withdrawal of the trusted 100 watt incandesent from the shelves across the nation, I decided to invest in a few units. Collectors items, down the road, or a rescue from the dark. The CFL works, but…
