Winterlight

They dragged me into the Christmas shop. Trying to perk me up, get me happy, forget about all the crap at home. It was too sunny and warm for Christmas trimmings and my mind was on cramming the shopping and cooking around work this week in time for the big Thanksgiving meal that still falls to me to do even though we both work full time.

This was the same store that sells patio furniture. The place last summer where the clerk couldn't be bothered greeting us or getting out from behind the counter when we wanted to know what sets were on sale. "Over there", he said, pointing vaguely in the direction of the entire floor of merchandise.

For Christmas they had cleared out all the summer stuff, and lthe place was loaded with trees, decorations, and giftware. Potpourri began making me sneeze as soon as we pulled open the door. Christmas carols blared over the loudspeaker, ornaments spun on trees, twinkling lights twinkled, music boxes chimed, and garlands were heavy with fake snowflakes and fruit. So much plastic and red! Too much gold and tartan!

I couldn't get into any of it and was sniffing in that snobby way where I pretend that I am the only person in the radius of one mile who understands understatement and natural fibers and where did all this ersatz crap come from? (My husband hates when I get like that. Too bad.) Since when did dogs need their own Christmas feeding dishes? What's with the mechanical mice with elf hats that run up wires on the tree? Creepy! The life-sized Nutcrackers were gathered menacingly in front of the entrance to Santa World. I wanted to see how many pre-schoolers would work up the courage to go in and see Santa if they had to pass that lot of grinning monsters without wetting their pants!

Some ornaments did catch my eye. There was a set of blown glass ornaments that were all the characters from The Nutcracker. They were silver and pink and very delicate. And $29 apiece! Another tree had very cool, oversized balls in 60's neon colors of magenta, chartreuse, sky blue, and cherry red. They were hand painted with whimsical, artistic Santa faces. I was ready to buy all six until I saw the price. $29 each again!

I decided to pout by the front door until my mother and sister could see that nothing they could do would make me happy today and they should stop trying because my life sucks and I am sick of it. Yeah. But as I stood by the entrance, I saw boxes of long tapers in dozens of warm colors. I did need some candles for the table for Thanksgiving. I began to search through the boxes for the right shade of green that would look rustic yet elegant in my silver candlesticks. Then I spied a display of candlesticks with candy cane stripes of red, green, and white. On the other side of the door was a wooden hutch with a display of over-priced candles that came in jelly jars and heavy corrugated cardboard boxes. I was rolling my eyes at the packaging, knowing it made up the high price, when I caught a whiff of "Gingersnap", and the aroma of my late aunt's gingerbread cookies flooded me with memories. Now I had the green tapers, the candy cane tapers, and the gingerbread votive in my arms. Suddenly a smiling clerk with a Santa hat appeared and handed me a basket. Oh. Thanks.

Around the corner under a fake tree decorated with swaths of hideous flocked velvet ribbons and fake jingle bells the size of an elephant's hernia, were chunky pillar candles in graduated shades of red to green, and an over-sized oval-shaped candle the color of butternut squash. There were candles round and white as snowballs, squat pillars with wax overlayers molded and painted to look like damask; candles in bright colors the shape of Christmas presents tied with ribbons; tapers that swirled like ribbon candy; serious two-foot pillars made of rich, creamy, tan beeswax that belonged in a church; and thick, stubby votives in velvety soft colors of jewels.

By now I had a basketful and laid them on the counter. As the clerk rang them up, I spied a basket of white tapers decorated with toys that had increments of 25 marked in black on one side. Advent candles, the clerk explained. I had to buy one each for myself and my sisters. She packed up the lot. By now, everyone was waiting for me by the front door. When we went outside, the sun had set and the streetlights were on. Despite the gloom, my mood lifted. The bag of candles rustled in their tissue paper in the brown bag and I set it carefully on my lap as my sister started the car. I looked at my mother and sister and realized I was the only one who had bought anything and had to laugh. Shopping always cures the blues for me.

When I got home, I placed the beeswax votives in demitasse cups and placed them in a circle on the oak dining room table like an early Advent wreath. I poured some Beaujolais into one of my great-grandmother's crystal wine glasses, the ones I never let anyone use for fear they'll break. All the stuff that had me in knots earlier in the day loosened with the wine. I raised the stemware in a toast to the coming Solstice, and sat in silence, watching the gray winterlight melt into the candle flames and listening to the earth creaking on its axis in one more rotation toward the light.