What to Write Today




I could write today about the capture of the No. 2 Taliban leader in Afghanistan, but I won’t. If you want to know about him, it’s all over the front page of the New York Times.

I could write today about the rising stock market that always cheers me up as I’ve a few assets to my name, but I won’t. You can read all about the Market in the Times Business section too.

I could even write about how antsy the nominees for the Oscars are since that show was moved back 2 weeks from the time it usually airs so as to not interfere with the Olympics, but I won’t. You can watch those on Channel 4 this evening. Same with the Westminster Kennel Club Dog show, although I did pick the winner of the Hound group last night when I saw the whippet and realized that I had never seen one that good before. Let’s see what he does tonight when he competes with the 6 other Group winners for Best in Show – I haven’t seen them yet.

I could write about a lot of things but they’re all things you can watch or read about whenever you wish.

Instead I want to write you about my flameless scented candles that I have in the living room all set with timers that turn them on at an hour for which I set them until they go off by themselves about 5 hours later. Unless I have errands to run, a hair appointment, am scheduled to baby sit with my youngest grandchildren, take Hugo to the groomer’s or any one of dozens of things I do in the afternoons after I come home from my 5-6 hours of intense physical labor at my job, the first thing I do when I come in my house is to get out of my dreadful looking uniform, take off my shoes and throw on some thick old socks, a warm sloppy sweater and leggings, plunk myself down with a drink of iced tea, turn on TV to listen to Mike Francesca drone on most of the afternoon about baseball, football, or some other sport in season, close my eyes for about 10 minutes before picking up one of 2-3 books I’m alternating reading, and wait until about 5 in the afternoon when ta-da!!!! Eight different candles placed in strategic spots so that I can see and enjoy them turn on spontaneously. I feel then as though I am in a very special place that I wouldn’t trade for all of King Solomon’s gold and money, and that if I could just gaze at the candles as they flicker, scent the room with their delicate fragrances, and cast gentle shadows on the walls, I could be totally at peace and serenely happy never moving again, or at least not for 5 hours until the candles, like dancers exiting from a stage, go off until 24 hours later when they repeat what they do day in and day out, evening in and out too. They are set to go on just as daylight is ending and twilight is taking over. They look completely different in the fading light, then different again in twilight, and finally reach the peak of their perfection once blackness settles outside my windows. Four of them are on my window sill along with some favorite pictures of family members I love. They are all different in color, shape, size, and fragrance, but they are similar in their complete beauty, how they reflect on the photographs as well as the large bay window as though to say, “hello! Welcome to our daily and nightly show. We will enchant and soothe you. How much we are able to do this is entirely up to you, in your mind and heart.”

Meanwhile, four other flameless candles, totally different from those on the window sill are aglow on my round coffee table. Sometimes I hear the opening bars to Swan Lake and imagine a ballet being played out in front of me. Sometimes I watch the candles through half-slit eyes and imagine all kinds of animals I miss and have loved. Sometimes I can even make out the face of a person long gone from this earth, but always I feel as though I am floating in some kind of paradise that I can only find in this room with these candles surrounding me – an enchanted place I have built just for myself and my dog, Hugo, who is generally snuggled in my arms sound asleep as I gaze around me and stroke his head stretched on my arm. Hugo and I are in heaven, and I want to hold this picture, this place, this scene of serenity and love forever.

Eventually I decide to move. I come back again and again to my seat with the candles as they cradle me, and I know that nothing bad can happen because, you see, they are flameless and function with simple batteries. Hugo and I are completely safe. The room is noticeably warm even on very cold days as well as delightfully cool in summer. And though it looks as if nothing is happening at all, I assure you that I am dreaming, dreaming, dreaming even as the candles flicker calling to me, and all is right with my world.