A long-married couple works seamlessly together on those pesky household chores.
How many couples who have been married for half a century does it take to replace a light bulb? This does not have a Zen answer: one to replace the bulb, the other to not replace the bulb. No, for 50 years it was simple: whoever discovered a burned-out bulb replaced it, which meant slightly more times for the husband at our house, especially when it came to the all- but-inaccessible 40-watt "appliance" bulb in the back of the oven. You had to kneel down and almost put your head inside as if bent on self-immolation in order to reach the greasy thing.
Recently, however, we ran into a problem, or "issue" as they say nowadays, related to the condition of our house as well as of ourselves. The challenge was a dead bulb in a kitchen ceiling fixture of the sort that seemed so modern when it was put in during the 1960s. You perhaps know the kind, a circle of glass inside a circular frame that is flush against the ceiling until you pull it down to expose the bulb within.
We had discovered it the night before. It was just above the sink and surrounding counter. But the frame was so seamlessly implanted that we had to try prying it out with a knife. The Engineering Spouse got a chair and was soon up on the counter. I brought in a small stool so I could rise to a chair on the other side of the counter. We managed to pull down the aged frame on the aged springs, which allowed space for a small hand to reach inside and unscrew the bulb.
Engineering Spouse did so, but there it was in her hand, looking rather nude without its copper threaded end. That end was still in the socket. We decided to wait until daylight.
Daylight came. I went down to the circuit breaker to cut off the electricity to the socket and managed to stop three electric clocks and one answering machine.