My house was built in 1952. 1952 was a great year for knotty pine - and my house did not escape. The kitchen in knotty pine, the main bathroom WAS knotty pine, the den/TV room is completely knotty pine - floor to ceiling. It's not paneling... it's the tongue and groove heavy duty knotty pine.
We have a stone fireplace in the living room and the fireplace wall is? Right! Knotty pine. I decided I liked the texture but not the dark wood, so it's been painted for years.
In addition to the fireplace, on that knotty pine wall is an old washstand with a lamp next to the doorway leading to the bedrooms. We turn that lamp on every evening when it starts to get dark.
One day, entirely on his own, with no discussion, Greg decided that we needed a wall switch on the wall, by the doorway, to turn the lamp on and off. He cut a hole in the thick, knotty pine wall to put in a pretty large light switch. I was not sure I was thrilled about that. (I was trying not to freak out!)
Greg noted my reaction (which I tried to hide), and said, "I watch you turn that light on every night and it doesn't look easy. You have to reach under the lamp shade, find the switch and turn it on. I know that walking and breathing is easier when you can keep going and not have to make that kind of stop."
He offered to put the piece back into the wall and fix it so that it was undetectable (which I knew he could do).
"You're right, Greg. Stopping at that lamp breaks up my walking and breathing rhythm (breaking rhythm while walking causes the oxygen saturation level in my blood to drop) . Let's leave it for a week and see what we think."
By the third day, I was grateful for the switch. Greg understood, better than anyone except Michael, that the quality of my life can be fragile. Small things can make big differences. He was always looking for small ways to make my life easier.
It was great to tell him how much I loved the light switch and that it made a big difference to me. I loved the look on his face when he knew that again, he'd made a difference. (I'll get around to telling you about a lot of those things.)
The switch is about shoulder high for me and on my left side as I go through the doorway. It's a fairly large switch and I place my palm against the switch on my way through the door go turn the light on. I never have a need to change walking rhythm.
So every night when I turn the lamp on, I palm the switch, give Greg a 'light-switch high five' on my way by - and thank him again.
We have a stone fireplace in the living room and the fireplace wall is? Right! Knotty pine. I decided I liked the texture but not the dark wood, so it's been painted for years.
In addition to the fireplace, on that knotty pine wall is an old washstand with a lamp next to the doorway leading to the bedrooms. We turn that lamp on every evening when it starts to get dark.
One day, entirely on his own, with no discussion, Greg decided that we needed a wall switch on the wall, by the doorway, to turn the lamp on and off. He cut a hole in the thick, knotty pine wall to put in a pretty large light switch. I was not sure I was thrilled about that. (I was trying not to freak out!)
Greg noted my reaction (which I tried to hide), and said, "I watch you turn that light on every night and it doesn't look easy. You have to reach under the lamp shade, find the switch and turn it on. I know that walking and breathing is easier when you can keep going and not have to make that kind of stop."
He offered to put the piece back into the wall and fix it so that it was undetectable (which I knew he could do).
"You're right, Greg. Stopping at that lamp breaks up my walking and breathing rhythm (breaking rhythm while walking causes the oxygen saturation level in my blood to drop) . Let's leave it for a week and see what we think."
By the third day, I was grateful for the switch. Greg understood, better than anyone except Michael, that the quality of my life can be fragile. Small things can make big differences. He was always looking for small ways to make my life easier.
It was great to tell him how much I loved the light switch and that it made a big difference to me. I loved the look on his face when he knew that again, he'd made a difference. (I'll get around to telling you about a lot of those things.)
The switch is about shoulder high for me and on my left side as I go through the doorway. It's a fairly large switch and I place my palm against the switch on my way through the door go turn the light on. I never have a need to change walking rhythm.
So every night when I turn the lamp on, I palm the switch, give Greg a 'light-switch high five' on my way by - and thank him again.
The lamp is beautiful; the switch is perfect, surrounded by the brass plate. I can see you touching that switch every day, thinking of Greg, loving Greg, thankful for Greg.
ReplyDelete