Like an action thriller in slow motion, the show unfolded in front of me. Much to my horror, the fate of the hero was not going to be pleasant. When I opened the door to the truck, I saw the lamp roll off the seat and out the door. S l o w l y it fell the foot or so to the ground. It hit the ground with the tinkling sound of breaking glass, rolled over, and was no more.
There was no pause button. No rewind. Time was not going to go backwards. It was broken. And ruined. Today is my daughter’s birthday and I had bought it for her at an estate sale. Mid century. Covered on both its body and shade with gold stars. Just the right size for her apartment. I was devastated.
Why hadn’t I secured it better in the seat? Could I have been any more cavalier in throwing open the door to the truck? I should have paid more attention at baseball camp to learn to catch better. Oh, I was mad at myself. Mad at the world. Brooding.
Then it hit me. The only part that broke was the glass body. The shade was still intact. And by itself worth more than what I’d paid for the whole thing. The hardware was all there and functional. But it was sooo cool! Can’t be repaired. No going back. But I can make it better!
All I need is some kind of new body for it. Has to be correct for the time period. And needs to be super cool to go with the stars. But I can make it better than it was. Might take a while. And it’s a lot more involved than just sticking the original on the shelf, ready to light the room. But I can make it better. I’m creative like that.
And so the silk purse, rendered a sows ear by an unfortunate accident, will once again become a silk purse. Or at least a silken ear. That’s part of my story. What’s yours? www.personalhistorywriter.com