Apr 26, 2019 3 min read

There were times we had to eat our dinner in the dusky shadows. Even when the rest of the lights were on, the dining table seemed to sit in a blank spot.

“Is that one more french fry here on my plate or one last overcooked carrot?” I would wonder aloud as I sat across from the farmer.

“Would it make a difference if you knew?” he would say. But it did make a difference. After a year in the house, the lack of light around our dining spot became unacceptable.

We went chandelier shopping, standing first in the aisle of the big hardware store, pointing and craning our necks but not really communicating. A worker came by and asked if we needed help.

“We’re having a disagreement,” I said.

And so off we went to an actual lighting store, where the selection was better and the prices worse, but we found the right thing. It arrived on our doorstep three days later.

There’d never been a light there, nor the wiring for it. But the farmer, who can build or fix anything, took it on. To hang the light from the high, vaulted ceiling required a 10-foot ladder, six different wires and 1.2 million swear words.

That night I arrived home from work to find our handsome chandelier floating precisely above the center of the table. But something was off.

“It needs to be lower,” I said. The farmer looked at me with that face he uses when what he wants to say is, “Do you have any idea what it took for me to hang that thing at all?”

“No, it’s right,” he said instead. I explained that a chandelier over a dining table is technically “task” lighting, and should be close enough to illuminate the whole subject, like the desk lamp over the piano. I referred him to photos on Pinterest, hoping to make enough of a case for him to drop the light.

“Four inches would make it right,” I said. But this was not going to happen.

The farmer explained that the light was in the right place, and besides, he’d already trimmed the wires. And if it were any lower, he’d be running his head into it every time he sat down.

That light was a hot topic for a few days. We all have a vision of how things are supposed to look. Someone keeps moving the throw pillows on the sofa in the den, putting them all out of order. When I walk in there and see it, it’s like an itch. I have to make it right. Likewise, the farmer doesn’t think framed art should be leaned against a fireplace mantle. He pounded a nail and won that one.

There shouldn’t be winners and losers about this kind of thing. There are bigger subjects for conflict. (Should the vegetable garden go in the middle of the side yard? Of course not.) But each of us likes things the way we like them. To live with them any other way causes that itch.

I’m not sure when or if I’ll get over the high-hanging chandelier. It still bothers me every time I walk in there. Yes, I can see my food now, but really – that thing needs to come down a bit. I really believe that.

I’ve just stopped talking about it.

Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.