There is something about that rare trip to the hardware store, that I just relish. The moment I inhale that first whiff of chemical/paint/wood scented loveliness, I get excited in the same way I feel when walking into a new shoe store, or getting into a new car.
And this random trip to the hardware store was meant for a $4 closet hanging accessory, and yet I found myself in that aisle.
Lights.
The light aisle. The sparkling, bright, diverse, wonderful, mesmerizing aisle of magic.
At least to me.
See, I have a special attachment to lights. After all, “light” was my first word, and could you blame me? They are fascinating.
Something about being in that light aisle at the hardware store brings my childhood joy up front and lets me feel fascinated. It was the sole aisle of wonder on the dreaded Sunday after church errand run with dad and the sisters. That simple notion that every lamp shade, bulb, ceiling fan, and outdoor lantern was lit up, just waiting to be explored or imagined in a dream.
And that’s really it.
The light aisle at the hardware store just about lit up my day.
Finding little pieces of love in every day... 