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strands of sentimentality

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I inherited my father's lack of attachment to people  to the same degree I inherited my mother's easy laughter. When a moment is done, I can silently resign myself to what comes next and beckon joy to come over for dinner, from across the next street. I was to made  move on with ease. But I can laugh about almost anything too. Especially loss. Especially when a circumstance has gotten too serious. Similarly, I got stuck (as stuck as I allow myself to be) with my dad's cynicism but won the jackpot with my mom's knack for befriending mere strangers.  I can go down the list and point to qualities I have and don't have (re: timeliness) and track it back to the particular parent or other figures that have loomed large enough to leave a mark, an etching in the tree bark, on me. Sometimes I'm left with a certain phraseology that's permeated my defenses, little phrases I've co-opted. Examples include but are not limited to:  a$$ hat; peace out girl scout; hell y
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The Lamp Light

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I was 24 when I recognized the power of a good lamp--the need for a good lamp. I hadn't really used one before and had come into an antique, Art Deco lamp--formerly owned by the previous, European roommate of my last roommate, Alexis. Lamps are a pretty commonplace household items, but wow, are they fascinating. They are a one-man revolution, on par with some books. When your mind is zoomed in on something, any detail,  far past the point-of-no-return, it is hard to stop staring. How do you look away when you're in a trance? It is hard to consider other circumstances, to view someone differently than the way in which you know them or have known them. I think that's the beauty in lamp light; it is what the difference in the light accounts for.  We see people, situations, things, places, in a certain framework and then the light alters them. Lamp light softens the features of people who life has hardened--they suddenly become more lovable; moments under lamp light feel
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