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The Pillar Candle; Or, How I Narrowly Escaped the Fate of Thomasina Coverly, While Being Twice Her Age and Well and Truly Old Enough to Know Better.
Once upon a time a few days ago there was a great green candle that my brother gave me for Christmas.
Once upon a time a few days ago there was a great green candle that my brother gave me for Christmas.
I think candles are the perfect gift. They bring beauty to your life — quite literally spark joy — without the need to store them after.
I lit this candle every day since I received it till the burn hole burrowed down to the bottom, with only a small blue flame.
I lit this candle every day since I received it till the burn hole burrowed down to the bottom, with only a small blue flame.
I decided not to blow it out that night, figuring it would come to the end of its own existence within an hour or two.
But the next morning, it was still burning, same as before. Thick pillar candle with a hole through to the bottom, almost imperceptible blue flame.
But the next morning, it was still burning, same as before. Thick pillar candle with a hole through to the bottom, almost imperceptible blue flame.
The NEXT morning, the same thing. what was it subsisting on? How could there be enough wick left to sustain it continuously for 36 hours and counting? I thought of the Hanukkah miracle, and started to become very invested in the doings of this candle of destiny.
By the next morning, the appearance of the thing had finally started to change, and I understood what was going on. The bottom of the pillar was slowly melting and feeding from below into the puddle at the center. There also seemed to be more wick now too, with a larger flame.
I started to send my brother periodic updates on the adventures of the candle. (On this stay-at-home Christmas and New Year, the adventure lies within.)
"I'm really rooting for it!" he cheered.
"Getting outta hand," I said, as if that was just a joke. Although I was starting to be concerned about the now-flipped ratio of candle to flame, and what would happen if it leapt off the plate somehow.
But now that exciting things were happening, I felt like I had to see them through. "The perimeter is breached!"
"Concerning proportion of fire to candle," I said, my past self trying to reach out to my slightly future self. "It looks like a campfire in a snowdrift," he said. (N.B., snowdrifts have the important quality of not being flammable.)
"The last little piece kneels down like Aragorn before the hobbits." My friends, you bow to NO ONE.
(Brb gotta go watch the trilogy and cry my little eyes out)
(Brb gotta go watch the trilogy and cry my little eyes out)
At this point I decided to sit across from it for the rest of the evening for three reasons:
1. Anxiety over the flickering pillar of flame;
2. Enjoyment of the fire;
3. The knowledge that by morning, THIS time, it would not be there, and a weird aversion to saying goodbye.
1. Anxiety over the flickering pillar of flame;
2. Enjoyment of the fire;
3. The knowledge that by morning, THIS time, it would not be there, and a weird aversion to saying goodbye.
Despite having babysat it for many hours, when I went up for the night I didn't take the opportunity to blow it out. Why? Why indeed. Because it was the candle of destiny, I guess.
Not an hour later, I dimly awoke to hear footsteps running all around. My first interpretation was that the 5yo for some reason was charging up and down the hall, but Adam soon appeared to fill me in on his activities.
He had been sitting in his office when he heard a BANG, and jumped up to find that the table was on fire. The plate the candle was sitting on had overheated and exploded, and the flame caught on to other stuff.
Rather than take the extra seconds to go get the fire extinguisher from the far side of the room, he grabbed the first thing at hand, a wet towel for baby barf. If he hadn't happened to be right there, and had left it burning overnight just as every night before...
A mark remains on the table to forever communicate two things: how foolish I am, and how lucky.
