the florescent light in the bathroom

photo by clark goldsberry photography

I remember going to visit my Nana as a child.  Her house was large and rambling, the result of an ever-growing number of boys and a very talented carpenter for a husband.  Whenever we would visit, we would use my Nana's "master" bathroom.  It was tiny, but two of the walls were covered with mirrors.  I have so many memories of being a little girl and trying to find "forever" in the expanse of the mirrors' reflections.  While I hunted for eternity, the only noise I could hear was the soft hum of a florescent lamp in the ceiling.  

That was a sound I didn't remember until the other day when I flipped on the overhead light in our new bathroom.  There again was that hum.  Soft, but so distinct.  It was a sound that should not have been so comforting, especially since I didn't realize how lodged into my memory it was.  I like hearing it though.  I catch myself flipping it on from time to time when I home alone.  In the buzz of the bulb I can hear my Nana's sewing machine, hear the sound of uncles climbing the wood stairs, and the laughter of family playing a raucous match of killer uno.  I like those sounds and the memories connected with them.  

All because I turned on the light in the bathroom...