a goodson-todman morning

I can tell you a lot about yourself if I know your theory of design.

There are two schools: people who believe form follows function, and those who believe function follows form.

Then there is the Mexican school where form and function seem to have, at best, a nodding acquaintance.

Before you get your knickers in a knot, yes, I am fully aware that all absolute statements incubate their own seeds of controversion (just like that sentence). Evidence of one contrary example makes the assertion logically false; though it still may be true.

But let's skip the theoretical stuff. Obviously, some event has tumbled into my day to start this design rambling.

When the Mexican-French Canadian architect designed her dream house (the house I now own), she included a number of details that were modern, but accessorized with an eye to Mexico's history. In that, she was a true disciple of Luis Barragán.

The most obvious examples are the Mexican hanging star light fixtures made of punched tin or copper. There are 13 in my house. Small.  Medium. Large. Just like McDonald's.

Here is a quick historical aside. I have always associated the hanging stars as being one of those quintessential Mexican designs. It turns out, like a large amount of designs here, the stars were an acquired heritage. (Just as the tiles and ceramic designs of Puebla were "borrowed" from China and Moorish Spain. We will talk about that one day.)

The stars are a German or a Czech or an Austro-Hungarian creation. Depending on where you want to stick Moravia at any period of history. Today it is part of the Czech Republic. In the early 1800s, it was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

And that is when the stars were created as part of a geometry lesson in a Moravian church school. The design spread through Europe and was eventually associated with the celebration of Christmas. (I know. It sounds a bit apocryphal to me, as well. But we will run with it.)

Mexico adopted the design. The concept can be seen here at Christmas in gold-foil-adorned papier-mâché stars hung outside homes. The multiple points give them away.

But, the hanging star light fixtures are far truer to the original concept. And still very Mexican. Craftsman here added a new twist by making the stars out of metal rather than glass, and then punching holes to render a rather gauzy light punctuated with bright stars. They add a certain sense of mystery to my home at night.

The stars were one of the features that attracted me to the house design when I first saw it. But a scorpion hides in every blossom.

Each fixture has a light bulb. And, as is true for everything in life, they die. And I have to replace them. It is one of the few house chores I dread. I would rather wash windows.

Do you remember "Beat the Clock?" It was one of those Mark Goodson-Bill Todman production game shows that populated nighttime television starting in the 1950s.

The concept was simple -- and devilish. Contestants were required to perform seemingly-difficult tasks within 60 seconds. I always thought the writers must have been graduate students at the De Sade Institute of Applied Psychology.

That is exactly how I feel about changing the star light bulbs. I grab a new bulb, stick it in my pocket, and wrestle the ladder into position.

The first time I was faced with this chore. I was baffled. I could not figure out how to get to the light bulb. I thought there must be a release of some sort.

I was wrong. The entry is a brilliant solution. One point of the star lifts up. I thought the process would then be easy.

I was wrong again. One of the oddities of electrical wiring in Mexico is what I call the "dangling receptacle" -- a light socket that hangs loose. You see it everywhere.

That was what I discovered when I opened the star. Up north, the socket would have been secured with screws at the top of the fixture. But not here. The socket hung in suspension.

The opening allows the entry of only two fingers. When I tried to unscrew the dead bulb, the whole socket just twisted around and around. I discovered if I pressed the socket to the side of the fixture with one finger on my left hand, I could use a finger on my right hand to try to unscrew the bulb.

Getting the bulb out is the easy part. Putting the new one back in is the problem. Trying to screw the bulb into the socket only pushes the socket around. It is like trying to feed a reluctant baby smashed squash.

All of this, of course, would leave me a loser on "To Beat the Clock." 60 seconds usually morphs into 60 minutes -- or more.

It took me two years to figure out an answer. Not that it is The answer.

Because the stars hang, there is a length of electrical wiring between the ceiling and the top of the fixture. Lifting up the fixture drops the socket. If I can feed enough wire, I can move both the socket and the light bulb out of the hinged door and replace the bulb. When I am done, I just reverse the process.

That still takes about a half-hour for each bulb. But it is better than the full hour required in the past.

Unfortunately, that option does not always work. The stars are not uniform. Several of the fixtures have an angle that prevents the socket with a bulb to either come out or go back in. For those, I use the old two-finger I-have-nothing-better-to-do method.

The function follows form school would have stopped me long ago by pointing out the whole conundrum could be resolved by modifying the sockets to be stationary inside the fixture.

But what would be the fun in that? I could not write about it, and you would not have the opportunity to stick your own fingers in the comment socket.

The next time a bulb dies, I should invite you over to be part of the Beat the Clock crew.

Until then, like Bud Collyer, I am "hoping that next time may be your time to beat the clock!"