Lighting the Way

I haven’t exactly explained what prompted my transition into candle-making.  We did our best to merge the existing content of our website (my articles on food, family, books) with an actual retail product.  I think that bookish candles are right at home with so many of the topics I write about, and I hope this website feels cohesive to you as a place where you are uplifted and inspired by the things that enrich our lives. 

I’ve always been fascinated with the way that stories can take residence in our everyday thinking.  Pieces of characters, places, scenes, can stay with us long after we close the book and sometimes we find ourselves wanting to bring some part of that world into our own.  I think Richard Wright said it best in Black Boy: 

“...I hungered for books, new ways of looking and seeing.  It was not a matter of believing or disbelieving what I read, but of feeling something new, of being affected by something that made the look of the world different. [...] I went to work, but the mood of the book would not die; it lingered, coloring everything I saw, heard, did. [...] The novels created moods in which I lived for days.”  (249-50)

I find this experience to be the strongest with books that I came upon in my youth but chose to return to throughout my life.  Some characters became friends in thought, and some places influenced the way I set up my home.  There is a southern Magnolia outside my bedroom window.  We planted it when we bought the house because I wanted to lean on the sill as Scarlett O’Hara did and breathe in its giant perfumy blossoms during the warm months.  I channel Marmie’s calm when I’m dealing with my own Little Woman (my tween daughter), and I resisted the realtor’s push for an open layout because I desperately wanted a formal dining room to entertain in proper Jane Austen style (I’m kind’ve rethinking that one).  I bring my kids into the garden each spring to see the green shoots poking out of the ground because in The Secret Garden, there is no greater magic.

So, when life took a rough turn and I lost my mom, I felt myself floundering and looking for solace.  I love to cook and it is usually therapeutic for me, but it is also something that we shared so intricately that I was having a hard time doing it without her.  How could I not have written down that recipe?  I talked about food so much with my mom that now, when I want to hear her voice, I look through some of her old shopping lists that I found stuffed in her purse and stuck between the pages of her cookbooks.  I can tell what was going on that week and what she was thinking based on what she jotted down.  I can follow her planning and it feels like I’m having a conversation with her.  Corned beef - must have been March.  Stuff for lasagna?  It was winter and she was having company for dinner.  Shishito peppers?  She was trying that recipe we saw in that magazine.  But to return to the point, cooking without her made me sad.  I tried turning to writing, but processing emotions there was even tougher, especially since the writing project I’ve been working on focuses on food passages in literature.  My mom read much of the draft and continuing it just seemed impossible without her input.

One day a few months later, my daughter asked me if we could try making our own candles.  So we took a trip to Hobby Lobby and gave it a go.  They were far from perfect, but we had fun.  It felt productive to be making something useful and learning an age-old art.  When I began playing around with fragrances, I thought to myself, What if I could make this smell like the Land of Oz?  My mom used to tell me I’d watch the VHS tape of that movie until the end, eject, rewind, and press play again.  I glued red glitter onto my sister’s high heels and sang “Over the Rainbow” while perched on the tire swing in my backyard.  In college I learned to appreciate the literary nuances of the text.  As I worked on the scent profile for that candle, I realized how I was seeking refuge and comfort in a story that had been with me my entire life.  Yet this tangible candle-making process was something different.  It took me in a new direction - and I’d have to find my way without Mom’s gentle guidance.

I threw myself into it with the encouragement and help of my husband, who knew that the fresh breeze of possibility would do me good.  My kiddos even contributed their noses to the enterprise.  I researched materials, techniques, and small business startup procedures.  I tested different types of wax and learned to blend fragrances.  I registered the business as an LLC, developed a line of literary candles based upon some of my favorite books, and sent them out into the world via this website and in person at artisan markets.  

We’ve been in business for a little over a year now and have been enjoying the ride on this crazy learning curve.  I’m still teaching college and my husband still works full time, but we’re having a lot of fun figuring out this little side hustle together.  Creativity feels like forward momentum - it prompts you to stretch, to wonder, to wander.  I know that as I work with my hands, my mind, and my heart, I am slowly healing.  Thank you for being here with me.