SIDE TRIP TO THE SAND

Every few years we are hit with late autumn temperatures that are single digit numbers with wind chills even lower. This is, apparently, that year in the cycle. It has been so cold that my skin is already rebelling, and there isn't enough cream or lotion in the world to make my poor fingers or toes feel any safer from the wrath of winter's approach.

To top all of this off, we had ridiculous weather Friday: mild morning, temperatures approaching 60 by lunch, then a line of monsoons so strong that roads flooded and lightning flashed and wind pounded and power was lost in various places across New England. With the line of storms, temperatures dropped rapidly, turning us back into icicles.

All of this, and Winter is just (officially) starting.

I have to be in Hampton, NH, today. Since it's along the coast, and since the wind is still being naughty, I'm not sure that visiting the beach is my brightest idea, especially with high tide. I stop along the way at all the old haunts: Salisbury Center, Seabrook, Hampton State Park, Hampton Strip, and, finally, the beach just north of the action, famously known as The Wall. I know all of these beaches so deeply that I can feel each different texture of sand as if the memories are etched into my skin.

I stop, snapping photos as if I've never seen the ocean before. Quite honestly, the ocean is fickle even today. In Salisbury, the water is so deeply blue that it looks almost like a dark sapphire. In Seabrook, the water is slightly lighter and less dramatic. Hampton, though, the ocean is a multitude of many blues, and the waves slap the sand with intention. 

As I drive along The Wall, I glance behind me just in time to see a wave splash over the concrete barrier and into the road. I just miss getting a salt-water car wash. It's not a dramatic wave; it isn't flooding the street. It's just playing, letting me know it can come over that wall whenever and wherever it wants, even if that means Route 1A instead of the beach and the rocks. I stop there, noting the many surfers in their wet suits, and watch the multiple swells roll in.

Eventually, I drive away from the water, inland a few miles, still close enough to the ocean that I can smell it but no longer see it. Once the holidays pass, the new countdown begins. Yes, I'm aware that Winter is just beginning, and I still need to put sledding, skating, and snowshoeing on my bucket list (since last year was basically a snowless bust). But, today's trip reminds me that summer is coming. In six short months, yes, summer. Neither the air nor the water will be wearing their winter coats, and I can hope that as cold as this season has been, the summer will be equally and conversely as warm.

WAX ON, WAX OFF

Big news around here is that Yankee Candle is closing its iconic South Deerfield distribution center, and, frankly, that news stinks (or, rather, smells faintly unpleasant in a pleasing, waxy way).

I used to be a Yankee Candle fanatic, especially the balsam fir smells since I have a fake, odorless Christmas tree. As I've aged, though, I've lost my affinity for all things smelly. Aromas I once liked in candles (lavender, apple spice, meadow -- but never vanilla) have become off-putting. 

I think this aversion started around the time that I discovered I can no longer go on twisty-twirly amusement park rides. I used to love the Tilt-O-Whirl, but not so much anymore. I can tolerate the Teacups, but only if we spin in an organized pattern. Oh, I still love a good Merry Mixer (Canobie's Psychodrome is one such animal), but that's one of the few I tolerate well.

It's the same with candles. Scents I used to enjoy and had stockpiled are suddenly offensive and stomach-curdling to me now. Oh, sure. I can give them away to other people, but I'm not really fond of re-gifting, and I discovered that the scent wafting through the air inside of my apartment is enough to set my tummy into dry-heave mode.

Solution? Purge. (The candles, not my stomach.)

I seriously can't even keep these candles inside my home nor my car long enough to donate them. Suddenly, the putrid smell is suffocating me like the overwhelming stench of popcorn inside a closed theater. Where is the air? I can't breathe in here!

Most of the candles I have are votives, the smaller ones that fit into glass cups, as opposed to the candles that are already in glass containers. Throwing these candles out is painless from a "cut yourself on broken shards of crystal" way, but extremely painful from a stench angle. After all, I have to sniff, really and truly sniff, each and every candle to decide if it's a keeper. Some of them are borderline, but the ones that are bad are really, really bad. The aromas actually get trapped inside of my sinus cavity. 

Every time I open the trash can lid, I am assaulted by the smells of discarded waxy votives. It reminds me of the last trip to the local Yankee Candle store where my friend and I were basically thrown out for gagging over candles. So, I drag out a couple of zipper baggies, dig the candles out of the trash, and secure those bad boys inside protected plastic.

If I receive candles for gifts this holiday season, I will graciously accept them, and I may even like them. But, to be honest, I tolerate them a lot less than I used to. Then again, I tolerate a lot of things, including people, a lot less than I used to, so candles should be no surprise. Regardless, I'm sorry to see Yankee Candle hit the skids. It has been an icon around here for as long as I can remember. It makes me sad that people will lose jobs and more storefronts will be vacant.

I suppose I'm "waxing" poetic. but now the only smelly waxing is coming directly from me rather than the baskets of candles in my living room.

HOLIDAY BY CANDLELIGHT

I had to order new outdoor lights to decorate my porch railing for the holiday. I get the battery-operated ones because whoever lived here before me set the outside power outlet on fire, and I'm terrified to try and plug anything into it. I order four short strings of lights since the longer strings are a pain to wrap in and out of the railing rungs. After putting two sets out there, I am reasonably happy with the results. If I have a chance, I'll pick up a small potted tree, decorate it with the other lights, and put that outside, as well.

Window candles are another problem, entirely. I had some a few years ago, but two of them melted when the batteries overheated due to some kind of cheap wiring malfunctions inside the candles themselves. For a long time, back when I had about twenty windows in my townhouse, I couldn't have the plug-in kinds because I lived in a very old house with wall outlets in stupid places and far away from the windows. 

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

But, if I'm going to have outside lights, then I need inside ones, too. Right? I debate ordering electric window candles online. Or, perhaps I risk more expensive candles and hope the battery problem doesn't do a three-peat. (Seems foolhardy to me.) 

This is when I remember that I still have a few LED tealights from Michael's Craft Store. They're not the tiny ones, but they're not tall, either. I rummage through the toy baskets and find a set of wooden blocks. I build up a little stand for each candle by stacking the blocks, then . . . voila! . . . Window Candles (that even flicker realistically). I could go buy taller ones, but these will do. I take a quick walk outside to see how silly these little candles look, and, gosh dang it, they look pretty decent. 

Maybe next year, I will use taller ones, but this maneuver has convinced me not to bother with the traditional "candles in the window" schtick. Now, if I can just get off my lazy butt and get that tree for the porch table . . .