Let there be light...

Ode to Programmable Timers

Like the first rise of the conductor’s baton in the hushed concert hall, there is a moment when my home is filled not with music—with light. Thank you, programmable timers. The light began when, as a recent widow, I moved into 215, my new home just as the time changed, my days falling into autumn darkness—the deepest darkest cover of loneliness late afternoon through the never-ending space until bedtime. Soon, I ventured to Ace Hardware and returned with five programmable timers, each with a tiny, folded instruction booklet. “I can do this,” I said aloud to no one.

Set current time, then use the PROG or Timer button to set the "ON" time and days, followed by the "OFF" time and days. For a mechanical timer, push the BLAH…BLAH…BLAH . . .

I did this. Two lamps in my living, one in the entry hall, the lamp on my desk, and the illuminated metal skeleton sculpture in my kitchen. Not long after, I hung strings of party lights in my garden; connected them to a timer also. Two times a year, a decade later, I crawl under my desk, stretch around the cramped space of the entry’s tiny table, and climb the stepstool to change the timers again. Falling back in Autumn, bounding forth in Spring. This week, I will start the symphony of a spring season; I will set my clocks forward. Each evening, no matter the season, when the first tinge of darkness appears over the sky, the lights in my home—in concert—brighten my space with a harmonious glow. Each on cue, lighting up the darkness. Like the symphony of strings, woodwinds, and percussions when the conductor’s baton rises into the air.