The Light

I was raised by frugal parents who were always concerned about the bills. How much water we used, i.e., you’re taking too long in the shower.

We had to clean our plates lest we commit the serious sin of wasting food.

If you weren’t using a light, it better be turned off.

Of course, that frugality followed me into adulthood in many ways. I usually clean my plate because I hate to waste food (unless it’s leftovers I tucked in the fridge, forgot about, which spoiled, and eventually had to be thrown out). And I leave lights on only when I’m using them/need them.

It goes without saying that I married a man who never met a light he wanted to turn off.

And IT DRIVES ME CRAZY.

I feel fairly certain that I’ve spent a good portion of the last 43 years turning off lights he’s left on. What to me is an ingrained habit, he never even thinks about.

This is the light on his desk. It always seems to be on for some reason. He could be in another room, as he usually is, or outside, as he often is, and that light will be on. Until I turn it off.

I estimate he spends no more than an hour at his desk on an average day. How long the light is on? No one knows.

Yesterday, I broached the subject with him of how often this light is left on and how often I turn it off. I said I’m going to put blinders on so I don’t see it every time I walk past it because I’m tired of turning it off.

His response? “I pay the electric bill.” (So, what’s the big deal?)

I countered with, “Well, light bulbs aren’t cheap these days, either.”

He decided he’d pay for the light bulbs, too. (In short, I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about it.)

As I write this, it’s broad daylight outside. The light is on.

I’m choosing to ignore it from now on.

Apparently, God, in His infinite wisdom, has decided to grant me serenity for the things I cannot change.