Last of the Moguls

Missouri's a great place for antique home furnishings. Have two big ol' hand-me-down floor lamps, one brass (1940s), and one chrome (1930s; has a translucent marble base that lights up when you kick it a little). So old they don't have those modern plugs. So old they take an outmoded type of bulb not found on store shelves anymore, although I've been looking for a couple of years, hoping to stock up. I told the clerks,"It's called a Mogul bulb." They'd say, "Come again?" and "Never heard of it." Has a big base to fit a big socket. Expensive.

Found some Mogul bulbs online at "Bulborama.com" but then I saw they also sold ceramic adapters for reducing a Mogul socket to a regular socket -- for $4. So I bought two. That way my big lamps could use modern energy-saver bulbs. I also bought three-way energy-saver bulbs that don't work three ways, but I'm glad they work at all. (Have you seen the current prices for floor lamps?)

So my quest through the hardware and lamp stores for Mogul bulbs has ended, and along with it a part of history that was built into my home furnishings. Above you see the last of my Moguls, the adapter, and the new kid on the block.

Crocus at Last!

As usual, a surprise -- the best surprise in the world. Another spring! Heralded by my favorite flower! Thank you, world, for this gift. Just when our hearts need it most.

Plantin'

Working way too hard to dig six inches down so I could break up the dry soil and plant some bulbs, my face throbbed and I started to feel lightheaded. So I put the shovel down and stood right in the garden plot, thinking I might die of a heart attack right then and there.

That's exactly how my father died, at age 63. Digging in his garden on a fall morning he pitched face forward onto the earth, and a neighbor found him. That was 25 years ago. I'm not as old, and I don't smoke like he did, but I'm know that I'm not too young to get that phone call from God. When he calls, there's no choice but to go.

I waited for my heart to stop beating so hard. It didn't. I thought, "Well, it's better to die outside the house than inside; my neighbor will come home from work at 3:30 or so, so I won't by lying here too much more than six hours. And it's better to die fast than slow; they say it takes about 90 seconds; hope it doesn't hurt too much. . ."

False alarm. I took it very easy after that, planting my crocus bulbs and three small perennials called -- what? Campanula. Bellflowers. Blue. Now I know one thing for sure: They'll be here in the springtime whether I am here or not.