Florescent lights have nothing to do with French collaborators or a four and a half hour documentary about them.
But on a walk home, looking up at the lone kitchen light in a quiet dark building...
... the sorrow and the pity...
Our house silenced by late hours and defeat, the lone florescent light would be left on in the kitchen, just in case someone needed to get up in the middle of the night and, surrounded by kitchen appliances, stand there, wondering if it was worth trying again when the sun came up.
We weren't the only ones who had those lights. Everyone had them. They were plentiful, affordable and functional and came with the apartments we all lived in. Apartments that were plentiful, affordable and functional.
Those lights and the apartments they used to be in have all but disappeared.
But, here or there, on a dark street, look up. What once always was, might still remain. An empty night kitchen with cold blue light beckoning another leap of faith.
Perhaps all those old lights in those old kitchens so many years ago was the sorrow. And perhaps their disappearance is the pity.
**
Related Posts:
Sunday Memories: Part Nine - A View From A Kitchen
Part Eight - A View From A Kitchen
Part Seven - A View From A Kitchen
Sunday Memories: Part Six - A View From A Kitchen
Part Five - A View From A Kitchen
Part Four - A View From A Kitchen
Sunday Memories: Part Three - A View From A Kitchen
Part Two - A View From A Kitchen
Part One - A View From A Kitchen
