I tend to lose these candles most years. And then I find them shortly after Christmas – like when I’m putting all the Christmas decorations away. This year they stayed on the shelf in the kitchen the whole year. Not surprising, though, when you consider how I don’t clean house like I used to.
These are the Christmas Eve candles. Certainly nothing fancy or delicate. Nothing to covet or be jealous of. Breakfast gets cooked for dinner, someone lights the candles and then all the lights get turned off. Dinner/breakfast is eaten by the light of the candles.
Vaguely remember the tradition’s introduction. Remember some crying kids because all the lights were off and they were scared. On some level that Christmas Eve made an impression, though.
Just some plain old candles in some silly Christmas mugs.
A 30-something-year-old tradition that has no magical story as to its beginnings. The magic seems to be in its longevity.
I’ll take it.