Hard Wired

I have a healthy fear of electricity with all its power and mystery. Probably from when I was a little girl exploring the dark basement of the 1920s brick colonial I grew up in.

I don't know if I ever actually saw the fuse blow down there, or if it was my father’s animated explanations of the glass exploding and the high cost of replacing the fuse that freaked me out. Doesn’t matter; I still get a little nervous just flipping the fuse switch on our modern electrical box.

I don't want to rewire anything nor become an expert, but I would like to replace a few outdoor lights with camera floodlights. Sure I want to protect us all from intruders, but honestly there are a few people here that I want to keep from sneaking out. It has been weighing on my mind for a year, such a huge mountain to move: Researching the product, learning about electricity, reading installation instructions, facing that fuse box in the basement.

When the electrician comes to replace a broken wire inside a wall, I ask if I can watch and ask questions. With his permission, I hover over his replacement of the overhead light fixture and am delighted to see how easily he accomplishes it.

I decide my little mustard seed is enough faith to give it a go. A new flood light camera arrives a few days later. I open the box on the kitchen table. The canary is singing a bit louder. A child starts nervously pacing the first floor. The dog is barking for no apparent reason.

I take a deep breath, remembering that even the glee of dominating a new skill is enough to stir up unnamed emotions in others in my neurospicy household. Willing my own cortisol to lower, I pack the box back up until after lunch, when I will be alone.

Alone at least in the kitchen.

There are always people in the house - ALWAYS - but in a rare moment of no one streaming online or showering, I flip the electric switch to the whole house off. I do not want to be electrocuted, so I don’t even bother finding the individual fuse for the front of the house.

I unpack the new camera floodlight in the now semi-dark kitchen. I see the three wires, clear as day: White, Black, Copper.

I'm in my fifties, and I have never learned how incredibly simple hard wiring is. I want to give this knowledge to the children.

I corner a kid as he exits his bedroom. He's just trying to figure out why there is no power, but I press him into service. I hand him a screw driver and needle-nose plier, instructing him to start disassembling the old light while I read the directions. The front light is high above my reach, and he's on his tippy-toes trying to unscrew the knobs. The bright sun is causing the asphalt driveway to emanate heat. This light fixture has been exposed to the elements for at least forty years. With my back turned, I don't feel the building tension until the pliers hit the floor. “It's too rusted! This is never going to come off.” He says it with such despair and finitude that I can tell I have two seconds before I've lost his assistance. There is no mustard seed at all in his expression of hopelessness.

"No, no, look," I say calmly, "it just needs some WD40 to loosen the screw, that's all. I'll be right back." I scurry into the garage to grab my trusty can like a real DIYer.

He's gone when I return. I mean completely gone. I can't find him anywhere.

I spray both the knobs and everything around it that looks like a screw, and go grab another kid while it soaks. This helper comes with enthusiasm and large hands. His thick fingers can't twist the tiny knobs off the old lamp, so he grabs the whole rusty fixture and forces it off the brick wall, the thin black metal twisting in his strong hands. He stops and looks at me defensively. "What? You're throwing these away anyway, right?”

I force my dismayed face into peaceful submission. “Yeah, I guess so," I concede. God has patience with me when my impatience turns to brute force, so I allow him to rip the fixture right off. It’s now dangling by those three clearly identifiable wires.

Three wires. Simple. Direct. Completely approachable.

It's quick work, pairing White with White, Black with Black, Copper to Copper, twisting on the cute little orange caps that remind me of that weird hat the Fat Albert character wore over his whole head in the old Saturday morning cartoons.

My son gives a satisfied exhale as we snap the base onto it's perfectly-fitting new home on the wall.

Power on. Camera recording. I am overjoyed to see my driveway through my phone.

God has moved another mountainous project off my to-do list.