The Not-at-Home-on-the-Range Edition
Early November, 2026
I recently said I’d keep up a more regular release schedule for this newsletter, so here’s proof of my evolving allegiance to that pledge.
Without further fondue adieu, let me dive into the past week’s output. Then I’ll wrap up with a handy guide to parts of the human anatomy, created after sharing an unexpected medical pronouncement during a recent visit from two dear friends.
Here’s the tale of two relatively simple household tasks gone awry:
Dim Bulb
I have a history with home improvement projects: I suck at them.
However, I don’t let my suckage prevent me from tackling tasks, regardless of whatever manual labor and/or general contracting deficiencies I possess in abundance.
I have installed toilets, dishwashers, flooring, ceramic tile, chandeliers… with virtually none of these efforts concluded successfully after the first pass (or even several subsequent ones).
Just today: I had trouble screwing in a lightbulb. Yes, you read that correctly: I. HAD. TROUBLE. SCREWING. IN. A. LIGHTBULB.
Now, let me provide a little background here: replacing the bulb came *after* another snafu earlier in the day. I went to affix a stainless steel backsplash behind our stove. I had all the proper tools and a willing helper in my son, Josh. The problem was that the space beneath the cabinets did not align with the countertop cutout where the stove sits (see picture below). The stove cutout was approximately ¼-inch to the right of the plumb line from the cabinets above.
(You can also see the lingering scars from an aborted attempt at installing a microwave/exhaust fan combo unit some time ago – hence, the need for the backsplash to cover this unsightly mess.)
Josh and I gave careful consideration to what steps we might take to address this concern – which tools would be necessary, how to adjust for the discrepancy without damaging the countertop – and we confidently concluded our best course of action was to return the backsplash for a full refund.
With that situation resolved, we moved on to replacing the aforementioned lightbulb. I’d recently replaced a burned-out bulb in the fixture above the kitchen sink. While that chore had gone smoothly, the bulb I’d chosen emitted a harsh, off-putting glow that did not suit the warmth of the environment. We found another bulb that would emit a more suitable quality of illumination; all we had to do was remove the glass globe from the base and switch the bulbs.
The globe would. not. budge. I tried it, Josh tried it, I tried it again, he tried it again. I sprayed WD-40 along the threads, hoping the lubricant would loosen it; no dice. Just when we were ready to give up, Josh made one final attempt and… success! (Let me gloss over the fact that, in all the prior attempts, we had been rotating the globe in the wrong direction.) With the globe removed, I unscrewed the old bulb and screwed in the new bulb. We flicked the switch to check the color temperature and it was just what we wanted. But as I started to replace the globe, the fixture base came loose from the ceiling. It didn’t separate completely, but it was wobbly and seemed likely to drop from its berth and plunge into the sink once the heavy covering was again weighing upon it.
I’ll use a technical term to describe the solution to this concern: we monkeyed around with the base, with Josh managing to work another fastener into the ceiling to stabilize it. We again inserted the new bulb, gently twisted the globe into position, and triumphantly flipped the switch to inspect our handiwork.
The light did not come on. At this point, I may have invoked the name of a religious figure whose middle initial is anecdotally understood to be the letter “H.”
Luckily, and without too much trouble, I managed to determine the root cause of the misfire: I had switched off the kitchen breaker when we started to finagle with re-securing the base, but then accidentally turned off a different breaker instead of turning on the one for the kitchen. I reset the kitchen breaker and voilà! The sink was now illuminated with a golden hue.
However, since resetting the *other* breaker I’d mistakenly turned off, the hardwired smoke alarms in the house haven’t stopped screeching. Well, that’s an investigation for tomorrow, since I’m exhausted from today’s endeavors and need to refresh with a full night’s slumber.
Although… perhaps not the brightest of ideas.
Only one political poem this week, not for lack of subject matter. But this one was accepted by Light Poetry Magazine, whose Substack and website feature “Poems of the Week” on timely topics, political and otherwise. A previous attempt didn’t make the cut, so I was particularly gratified to be included this week:
Third Term’s a Charm
Trump Suggests He Knows He Can’t Run Again: “It’s Too Bad” -- NY Times
I can’t run again… That’s a shame, it’s too bad –
when I’ve been the best POTUS that you’ve ever had.
I would not be allowed, based on what some have said
(though I’ve heard I could run as the V.P. instead).
But I won’t use that loophole, I think it’s too cute.
And the POTUS, not Veep, holds the clout absolute.
I think Marco would make a good Pres, or else Vance.
(It’s a real goddam shame I can’t get a third chance.)
Continuing past ‘28 surely beckons,
but of all the Amendments, the damn 22nd’s
the reason I’ll have to leave office unwillingly
(There must be an end-run; you know this is killing me…)
My polls are the highest, my fame is white hot.
And I had one term stolen, in case you forgot.
The economy’s great, with the stock market high.
In the POTUS ranks, folks – I’m your Number One guy.
Now, that pesky Amendment? I’d just like to strengthen it:
forget a third term; take the second and lengthen it.
For those who object, I’d most likely respond that
I’ll rule ‘til I’m dead – and a few years beyond that.
I’m in the company of some other clever, timely stuff — so congrats to all, and my thanks to the perceptive editors of Light who chose to include my effort.
I also came up with the following ditty as part of an online writing “cabaret” hosted by the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. The hosts chose names at random from those who volunteered to read short pieces, and I was fortunate to have been selected:
Poetic Injustice
I thought I’d write a book in verse
and follow a strict rhyming scheme.
The first attempt stunk. What was worse –
the verbiage was quite obscene.
And so, I started once again.
This time, the language used was chaste.
I tried to find my inner Zen.
That second effort? Soon erased.
I said: third time will be the charm
to tackle this deed most immense.
Once I dove in, cause for alarm:
it didn’t make a lick of sense.
Therefore, I now launch Number Four.
Tet-tram-eter requires timing.
If this fails, I’ll try once more –
As long as I can keep on coming up with words whose endings sound alike.
Now, to that medical colloquy: I was inspired by a visit from two friends, Eun and Tera, neither of whom I had seen in person in many years (7+ for Tera, and 15+ for Eun). And yet — a casual email I sent to Eun, referencing a long-standing inside joke — set in motion a chain of events leading to a visit from both of them barely five weeks later! Eun lives in California and flew cross-country to see us, with Tera driving from her home in NYC to pick up Eun at Logan Airport, embarking upon a winding path that got them to our Maine home by lunchtime on Saturday.
We spent a wonderful afternoon and evening together, picking right up as if no time had passed. We had breakfast together on Sunday morning before they had to leave for Eun to catch her flight home.
During Saturday’s visit, Carol and I were recounting our trip this spring to the Grand Canyon. As part of the narrative, Carol mentioned how she’d gotten sick right at the start of the journey, ending up at a medical clinic within the park, thinking she might have strep throat. A nurse took a swab to test for strep, followed by a P.A. who came in to examine Carol’s throat while awaiting the results. After peering down her gullet for a minute, he casually mentioned that she had an “unusually small uvula.” That was a… peculiar and puzzling observation, we all agreed.
That anecdote led to a lengthy discussion regarding potential confusion between the “uvula” and the “vulva” — both in spelling and in the purposes they serve. The next morning, before heading to breakfast, I generated the guide seen here to share with our friends:
It was that kind of visit.
If any of you in the audience found the above chart at all helpful, I’m considering launching a series: “Penal” vs. “Penile,” “IMAX” vs. “Climax,” “Vast Difference” vs. “Vas Deferens,” etc.
And there you have it. Catch you again next week (fingers crossed — at least mine, if not yours).
Be well,
JB