It must be ten years since a raccoon took it into his head to wander around the attic of my back porch. I remember it was during autumn when these beasts sought a place to spend the winter. The construction was such that the attic was open through the exterior closet, which opened onto the roof through a trapdoor left open... The raccoon must have been happy to have found this future nest.
I was standing in the gallery when I saw the thin sheet metal of the ceiling above me sinking like a horror movie. Realizing that an intruder was exploring the place, I rushed into the kitchen to retrieve a broom and bang the handle where the monster was walking.
The beast started to jump, running in all directions. I was determined to chase it away. What happens when you think no further than your nose happens. The thin metal structure of the ceiling finally collapsed, dragging the poor beast down. Fortunately, he was as frightened as I was and made off down the stairs.
The battle was won, but the gallery roof was in a sorry state. I finally tore the whole thing off the next day, forcing myself to remove the two old lamps attached to it and secure the wires until I could repair the whole thing.
In short, ten years later, the roof still hasn't been replaced. My mind has always been elsewhere, and my laziness has done the rest. Besides, it's not easy. I'm not on the first floor, so you must be careful with the installation, consider guardrails or paying a worker... I'd thought of redoing everything in fine pine, but wood is so expensive now...
Anyway, this summer, the main roof was redone, the brick at the front of the house was rejointed, and a heat pump followed a few weeks later. Finally, two new front lights replaced those that probably dated back to the 1929 construction. My brain suddenly started thinking about rear lighting.
Raccoons come to my house from time to time. I've encountered them before when I was returning from a visit to my friends on the first floor. You never know what's lurking around, especially now that Trump threatens to come back and haunt us at the border while Putin and the other buffoons shake their ghostly blankets night and day.
Boredom got the better of me. I explored Amazon's Alibaba cave and found some cheap little outdoor lamps. And presto! A spontaneous purchase.
The next day, I received the package. Now, all I had to do was summon up the courage to climb a stepladder to restore the lost light. Is the switch appropriately closed? How do I know it hasn't been reversed? This happens in some homes. Should I buy myself a recognition gizmo? Come what may. Let's go, let's go. If I die, I'll have lived.
Thirty minutes later, the lamps were installed. I was glad of this little domestic pleasure.
I could stop here without getting too carried away with the whole thing. But some of you know me well enough that I've got an occasional philo-psycho-poetico-moralistic vignette in store for you, which I'll make up as inspiration strikes. Don't I have the Moon in Sagittarius and in sector V? Not to mention Mercury in the sector of great thinkers?
I don't know, though, to tell you the truth. I don't know anything anymore. Let's say I'm at the age when nothing fades away when everything is lived intensely, with joy or chronic pain.
I have read that the two most important peaks of happiness are experienced when you're in your twenties and when you open your eyes in your sixties. The former is shared with the torch held high at the end of one's arm, and the latter is tasted more slowly or bitterly, depending on the past fruitfulness of one's life.
I set up two lamps and slept well afterwards. I woke up during the night as my blood sugar level fell well below the minimum required by the brain. I had to eat to replenish my carbohydrates.
I received LED bulbs from Amazone to replace the dead ones in my kitchen ceiling light this morning. Once again, light. You can't stop happiness.
But what can I really conclude? Put it, to acknowledge my good fortune, comfort, and aging bourgeoisie. I may still have many years ahead of me. Still, there's no point in running when, in small steps, I can marvel at the gravity that keeps me grounded on this Earth inexplicably teeming with horrors and magic.