thirty watts

When Jim was in Iraq he slept in a small trailer-like habitat just large enough for two bunks and a footlocker for each soldier. Everything he owned had to fit into that small area. And everything I mailed him had to be viewed with the limited personal space issue in mind.

Because he enjoys reading, one of the things I sent at the beginning of his tour was a small wrought iron lamp with collapsible shade and several of the new corkscrew-shaped energy-saving bulbs that give off light but not heat. And so he could have light when he needed it, without heating up the area, and then just reach over and turn it off when it was time to sleep.

He likes a dark room when he sleeps. Contrary to me, the one who likes a light on at night so I don't trip over the cat if I have to get up to make a trip to the necessary in the wee small hours.

The week before he came home we had talked about his belongings, and decided that anything he left in Iraq could be replaced. Some of the sheets were pretty worn from the effects of field laundry, and the comforters were more sand than down, so they stayed behind. But when he unpacked five weeks ago I was surprised to see that he had brought home the little lamp. Not having a place to use it immediately, and not knowing anyone who needed it, I set it on the desk in the guest room. And forgot about it.

Yesterday I was in the guest room, just checking on things in general, and happened to spy the lamp. Moved it to the counter in the upstairs bathroom. Last night, before I went to bed, I turned the switch. Barely enough to dress by, and certainly not enough for applying makeup, the lamp still gives off a pleasant glow, and so I left it on.

This morning when I started my daily pre-dawn routine, I was gratified at the decision. Thirty watts in a lighted room is negligible, but thirty watts in a dark house is just enough to see to climb the stairs.

I have traveled the world, snapped pictures of shrines and statues, gasped at the ruinous power of hurricane-driven surf, been amazed by temples and tori gates, awed by country-long rivers, humbled by giant sequoia forests, outraged at the heartbreaking poverty of an occupied shanty, numbed by the display of wealth in a palace, inspired to write by powder snow and geyser steam, struck dumb by glaciers and alpine meadows in bloom, and moved to tears by purple mountain majesties and dead sea valleys. But when you come right down to it, nothing holds a candle to the light in my own home. Even if it's only thirty watts.