So how many members of my household does it take to change a light bulb? Upon first viewing the house we purchased, I was impressed initially by the cathedral ceilings in the main living areas - it's a nice touch that adds to the open feel of the home.
Gazing up at the 18 foot ceilings in the kitchen, I briefly wondered how one would access the five recessed flood lights illuminating the area.
After living here for over two years, we had one of the lights burn out this week.
A couple of months ago, I had one of these burn out and I attempted to change it using an extendable pole - it telescopes to a ridiculous length (that's what she said) and has a suction cup on the end, so I could stick the suction cup to the bulb, turn the pole to unscrew said bulb, and slowly bring the bulb down 18 feet.
The plan worked well until I actually had the bulb on the suction cup and was bringing it down - I had to angle the pole to be able to reach the bulb and when I got to about 45 degrees and maybe 8 feet from the floor, the suction cup could no longer hold the bulb and the halogen flood light smashed onto my counter, flinging shards of glass and halogen stuff all over my kitchen, exploding like the fat guy in the Monty Python flick after the ill advised final morsel.
Lesson learned.
What I needed this time was help - someone to act as a catcher in case the same suction cup failure occurred again.
I talked the old lady into holding a pillow-lined laundry basket under the burned-out light to catch the bulb if it fell.
(I refer to her as "the old lady" because I know she has as much interest in reading this as she does training for the Boston Marathon and it sounds cool in a 1950s kind of way.
) Possibly overthinking it, I realized it may be easier if she was standing higher so she would be closer to the light and I'd have less distance to try to carry the bulb on the not-so-industrial-strength suction cup.
So, I got her a step stool and had her hold the basket up under the light as I readied myself to suction it with the 12 foot pole.
I nearly couldn't make time to change the bulb as I was busy patting myself on the back for this ingenious plan.
It was time.
I got the bulb stuck on the suction cup and started bringing it down toward the basket.
Wifey couldn't see where the bulb was as she was standing on a stool with a laundry basket over her head, so it was up to me to bring the bulb down for a landing in the largish basket.
As I slowly brought the bulb down, hands a bit unsteady as my confidence began to leave me like the air in Kirstie Alley's bicycle tires, I thought "wow, I can't really tell if it's lined up over the basket from this angle...
" Simultaneously, the bulb, impatiently waiting to humiliate me, proceeded to drop from the suction cup, missing the basket by roughly 2 furlongs, and smashing on the tile floor.
My wife looked at me without a trace of surprise, shrugged her shoulders, said "well, that didn't work", and walked away, leaving me to clean the uncountable pieces of the bulb from the floor.
At least I'm getting good at that.
Gazing up at the 18 foot ceilings in the kitchen, I briefly wondered how one would access the five recessed flood lights illuminating the area.
After living here for over two years, we had one of the lights burn out this week.
A couple of months ago, I had one of these burn out and I attempted to change it using an extendable pole - it telescopes to a ridiculous length (that's what she said) and has a suction cup on the end, so I could stick the suction cup to the bulb, turn the pole to unscrew said bulb, and slowly bring the bulb down 18 feet.
The plan worked well until I actually had the bulb on the suction cup and was bringing it down - I had to angle the pole to be able to reach the bulb and when I got to about 45 degrees and maybe 8 feet from the floor, the suction cup could no longer hold the bulb and the halogen flood light smashed onto my counter, flinging shards of glass and halogen stuff all over my kitchen, exploding like the fat guy in the Monty Python flick after the ill advised final morsel.
Lesson learned.
What I needed this time was help - someone to act as a catcher in case the same suction cup failure occurred again.
I talked the old lady into holding a pillow-lined laundry basket under the burned-out light to catch the bulb if it fell.
(I refer to her as "the old lady" because I know she has as much interest in reading this as she does training for the Boston Marathon and it sounds cool in a 1950s kind of way.
) Possibly overthinking it, I realized it may be easier if she was standing higher so she would be closer to the light and I'd have less distance to try to carry the bulb on the not-so-industrial-strength suction cup.
So, I got her a step stool and had her hold the basket up under the light as I readied myself to suction it with the 12 foot pole.
I nearly couldn't make time to change the bulb as I was busy patting myself on the back for this ingenious plan.
It was time.
I got the bulb stuck on the suction cup and started bringing it down toward the basket.
Wifey couldn't see where the bulb was as she was standing on a stool with a laundry basket over her head, so it was up to me to bring the bulb down for a landing in the largish basket.
As I slowly brought the bulb down, hands a bit unsteady as my confidence began to leave me like the air in Kirstie Alley's bicycle tires, I thought "wow, I can't really tell if it's lined up over the basket from this angle...
" Simultaneously, the bulb, impatiently waiting to humiliate me, proceeded to drop from the suction cup, missing the basket by roughly 2 furlongs, and smashing on the tile floor.
My wife looked at me without a trace of surprise, shrugged her shoulders, said "well, that didn't work", and walked away, leaving me to clean the uncountable pieces of the bulb from the floor.
At least I'm getting good at that.
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