June 5th, 2009

Light My Fire

Happy for no reason; lighted candles dress up my mood this way. So does moonlight and starlight and turn your head smiles. Sorry if you thought this post was jogging a different direction. I’ll try not to steer you wrong. You see, I have this aversion to those who buy candles and never light them. When they leave the room I want to pop around. Fire them up.

Quick! Where’s the lighter? Matches?

Two vanilla tapers on the mantle. The flicker would be magnificent. Oh, and another two on twisted metal stands by the window, topped with cinnamon colored chunks. Perfectly formed, flame never touching wax. Imagine the whirl of white blue, soft, dreamy, reflective.

These are not my candles so I can’t light them. I shouldn’t. Couldn’t. Can’t. But sweetie I want to say, you don’t know what you’re missing. I want to say life is too fast not to light slow burning candles. Do it and I’ll buy you more. But I say nothing. The candles remain dusty, intact.

My aversion actually covers anything unused. Everything in my home can be touched, sat upon, walked over, enjoyed, worn. There are no mysterious sitting rooms too huffy for human consumption. If I had one, we’d be…hmm, sitting in it. Laughing in it.

When a dish or glass falls victim to my tile floor, I don’t flinch. The lesson came from a then four-year-old daughter’s eyes  when she’d accidentally dropped an heirloom German mug brimming with lemonade. Yelling, I was upset. As I looked in those sky blue eyes blooming with tears, a revelation came. She and her sisters are and always will be my most precious walking, talking everyday heirlooms. From then on I was a changed woman. Not to say I never yell, just not about broken glass.

We have always stopped to smell the candles. Still do. And now that they are teenagers, I can leave candles burning without them playing with hot wax, or trying to start a bonfire. I have loaded up on them. Lit by day, night, anytime I’m feeling vulnerable or romantic or happy or sad.  I even pack them in my suitcase when we travel. On and on and on.

Please excuse me now. I must go light my fire.

11 Responses to “Light My Fire”

  1. Shirley Says:

    I’m guilty. I used to never light my candles. When my sister would visit she would go around lighting them. She taught me it was OK to light my candles! :-)

  2. dorraine Says:

    Yeah for you, Shirley!! Let your light shine. Thanks for stopping by!


  3. Robin Barrera Says:

    I ditto that comment from Shirley. I used to never light them. Then I realized one day when I die my kids would probably just throw the dusty old things away so now I light them and enjoy the fragrant smell.

  4. dorraine Says:

    Oh, happy day!! No dusty candles. Light up your life; you are doing a great job of that, Robin!

  5. Bill Bartmann Says:

    Excellent site, keep up the good work. I read a lot of blogs on a daily basis and for the most part, people lack substance but, I just wanted to make a quick comment to say I’m glad I found your blog. Thanks,

    A definite great read…:)


  6. dorraine Says:

    Very nice of you, Bill. Thanks for popping in.

  7. Brian Moore Says:

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  8. PatShelby Says:

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  9. Donnieboy Says:

    Just wanted to drop you a line to say, I enjoy reading your site. I thought about starting a blog myself but don’t have the time.
    Oh well maybe one day…. :)

  10. dorraine Says:

    Thanks for stopping by!

  11. dorraine Says:

    Thank you!

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Eleven-year-old Marnie Evans longs to be precious. She wishes on stars for parents who adore her, even though her family is dysfunctional. She also believes that jack rabbits and a boot-wearing Texas angel show her mysterious signs of things to come. Continue Reading

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