Lantern

I have taken to decorating with lanterns.

"I love that lamp," I sighed when looking for new furniture for Mom.  Something about the curve of the  base.  The dangle of the light source.  The point of illumination in the darkness, protected by intersecting swoops of metal.

We left the store without said lamp - the store charged exorbitant fees for delivery - (of the sofa, not the lamp).  (The lamp can be carried.)  (It sits on a table - it's not exorbitantly heavy.)

Anyway.

It was one of my Christmas gifts - the pretty silver lamp that I didn't need but loved.  It sits perched on the table across the room, near the vase with my dying roses and new WalMart tulips.

On the opposite wall of my cozy living room stands a floor lamp.  Another lantern.  In a different finish that clearly does not match its companion lighting device.  This one I purchased - selecting it from amazon and piecing it together when it arrived, fishing the cord through the supporting pieces, screwing them together (righty tighty) and arranging it by my couch clad in a tan chenille.

They both glow this evening - as they do most evenings when Mom and I reside here - and it provides me some modicum of comfort.  The glow seeming softer and gentler on sleepless nights or grumpy mornings or hopeless evenings.

"You are so cute," Mom tells Sir Sprout and she's right.  He's such a pretty guy.  "I wish you weren't so weird," she follows up and I grin for the feline is spooky.  He is startled by most anything.  Runs from his own shadow.  Literally.  And rebukes any efforts to scoop him up to cuddle.

But - for now - Chienne snores on her corner of the chenille couch.  Sprout bats at Mom's yarn as she knits it into some odd creation.  And I plan my week, considering emails and arranging meetings.