This weekend I bought a lampshade. It’s for the big standing lamp in the living room, an ancient item rejiggered. “Bring your old shade with you,” said the sign in the store, as I made my way over to what seemed an impossibly large array of shades.

Of course I didn’t do this. I had measurements, but I’d forgotten how many styles of lampshades there are: the empire, hexagon, bell, drum or pagoda. I spent close to a half an hour in that shop, lifting shades from their spot on the shelf, measuring the top diameter and the bottom diameter, the height from base to crown.

The one I finally chose lacks the old-world lines of its predecessor, but it fits and its lining is secure — unlike the old shade with its renegade lining.  And when I turned on the lamp yesterday — not at night but in the afternoon, thanks to our return to standard time — I was glad to be entering this season of early darkness with well-filtered illumination.