Nightlights

I remember very few details about the first house we lived in when I was a kid. It was part of the Weeks School campus in Vergennes. My parents worked at the school, the Vermont’s juvenile detention center at the time, and we lived in a white house on the edge of the campus, a distance away from the dorms, offices and school buildings. What I do remember about the house seem like small, quirky details, but maybe that’s what sticks in your head when you’re a kid. There was a fly stuck on the inside of the screen of the black and white television. Our playroom had been converted from the garage, but the overhead garage door was still there so in the summertime the door would be open and it was like we had a playroom that was half outdoors. The wallpaper in my parents’ room was a strange red and white, very detailed pattern, and it would make me dizzy when I stared at it.
What I remember most about the house where I spent the first five years of my life, was the nightlight in the bedroom I shared with my twin sister, Ann. It was a small, light pink, nightlight that had tiny stars embossed on it. The plastic piece with the stars that covered the lightbulb was about an inch wide and three inches high. And it got very hot the longer the light stayed on. Probably not a feature found in nightlights today. It wasn’t fancy at all. It didn’t project stars on the ceiling, or play music, or spin to create moving scenes on the walls. It was very much in the category of plain and simple. But for some reason, Ann and I loved to climb out of bed and lay on the floor next to the doorway where the nightlight was plugged in. And we would stare at it, drawn to the light. There was also conversation, but I don’t remember what we chatted about.
We often fell asleep there on the floor watching the nightlight. My mom said she would reach the top of the stairs at night and look down the hallway to see two little blonde heads on the floor poking out from our bedroom doorway. And she would scoop us up and put us back into bed.
The other day as I was turning off one of the nightlights in my house, for some reason I was reminded of the pink, starry nightlight from the Weeks School house. And then I wondered if that’s why I have so many nightlights in my own house now. My house is small, small enough that at night I have to walk only about ten steps to cross the hallway from my bedroom to the bathroom, but I’ve got four nightlights nearby to light my way.
The nightlight in my room is a curved, ivory rectangle with a scene of Lincoln, Vermont embossed on it. The scene is from one of Reed Prescott’s paintings of Lincoln, where he lives. Ann lives there now too. The night light was a gift from my friend Lenore, who grew up in Lincoln. On the nightlight you can see the beautiful, big pine tree in the center of town, next to the Lincoln United Church and the Lincoln General Store. Even though there is no color, you can tell it’s a winter scene because of the tire tracks left in the snow on the street. It’s a gentle scene that provides a gentle light and reminds me of the people I love who are tied to Lincoln.
My other favorite nightlight was also a gift from a friend. It’s a cross section of a geode that glows orange. It amazes me that something as solid as a rock, can still let light shine through. And this slice of rock even has a sense of warmth to it. There’s a message in there somewhere.
I think what I like best about these nightlights is that they are gifts from people who are themselves lights for me. Just as I’m sure that watching the nightlight on the floor of our bedroom, was more about being there with Ann than it was about being fascinated by a simple nightlight, I’m sure that my Lincoln light and glowing geode are more about the light of the friendships behind them.