Whose bright idea was it to ‘improve’ our light bulbs?

Apparently, a lot has changed since the last time I shopped for light bulbs.

“Could you help me with light bulbs?” I asked the Home Depot attendant. “What color bulbs do you want?” “Maybe white.”

“Would that be bright white, daytime white or night white? “What are my other choices?” “You could go with daylight yellow, sunshine yellow, soft yellow or ambient light yellow.”

“Any color will do. I just want a regular 75 watt bulb and maybe a couple of 60s.” “Let’s talk lumens.” “I prefer plain old watts.” I pulled an old light bulb from my purse and waved it at my helper. “I want a few of these.” “No one uses those anymore.” “I do.” “We don’t even carry them in the store now.”

Dizzy with decisions, I filled my cart with several sizes and shapes. I had lost track of the price per lumen but was startled back to attention when the checkout machine spit out the cost. I had been living in the dark about light.

The next day Sara’s friend came over to change the bulbs for me. When I saw he didn’t even need a stepladder to replace the lights in the bathroom ceiling fixture, I started singing “Tall Paul,” the song Annette Funicello recorded for Paul Anka when they were dating.

I was met with a quizzical look from my bulb changer. “Paul who?” Sara’s voice echoed down the hall. “Tall Paul, he’s my all,” I sang in an off-key but enthusiastic voice. “You must know that song.”

I was met with crickets, as in silence, not the kind that crawl.

A new set of problems arose when we moved to the recessed ceiling lights in the kitchen. I had concentrated more on lumens than size. The first replaced bulb disappeared into the ceiling. Apparently, it was the daylight white, and even with just a small amount of the bulb showing, it was in stark contrast to the yellow bulb next to it.

It was a very eclectic look. In addition to the differing light sizes and colors, some of the ceiling lights had a coating on them, for outdoor use, while others were plain.

Tall Paul, as I was now calling him, kindly offered to take the lights down if I wanted to exchange them. I decided to live with my ceiling of mixed metaphors. Maybe in a few years, I’ll go light bulb shopping again. Maybe.