Over the course of three days, three of the chandelier’s 16 candle-flame bulbs burned out. I suspected Mom would notice the blackened bulbs immediately, and my suspicion was confirmed by the immediate appearance of a package of new bulbs on the countertop wanting me immediately to install them.  At a height of 12 feet, replacing bad bulbs required a tall step ladder, hanging in the garage, carried with care for the cars and wall corners.  Not my favorite job.  But I would get to it—when I felt like it.  My son John brought his little family over the next day for an Easter egg hunt.  Three-year-old Henry helped his dad hide the eggs, then raced to find them all, then begged to hide them again, to which, of course, we acceded.  When John walked in the front door, laden with children and plastic eggs, Mom immediately called out to him with a guilty giggle, “John!!  Do you feel like climbing a ladder?”  I all but shouted at her that I will get to it, Mom, when I’m ready!  You don’t need to ask anyone else!  Two days later, my brother was visiting from North Carolina.  Before Mom could ask him to change out the bulbs, I grabbed the ladder, dragged it without a ding down the hallway, and climbed with an armful of fresh bulbs.  The chandelier’s heat on my too-near head surprised me.  I replaced the bulbs, then replaced the ladder, then went to my room to change from my jacket and tie.  I heard Steven cheerfully ask Mom, as he approached from his own room, “Should I change the bulbs now, Mom?”  Having desired an immediately replacement of the blackened bulbs, she had had to wait days for her slow firstborn son, who confessedly moved slower for her hurry.  With new bulbs, the house has settled back into its calm fully-lit brilliance.