Every year at Christmas we light up our front yard with festive décor. When we do, my heart pangs for my long gone Christmas Candles. You know…the 1960’s, 4 foot, lighted, red plastic ones with the vibrant orangish-yellow flame.
I had a pair of them once and I dearly miss them. Actually I had them for 25 years—right up until the first Christmas after I married Sue. Then they had to go. Sold as rummage. I guess Sue’s allergic to plastic candles. At least every time we drive by a pair glowing in someone’s yard, she starts to gag and convulse; “Oh, no…gulp…they’ve got…cough, cough… those hideous…choke… PLASTIC CANDLES.”
It’s not the candles, though. I mean, we’ve got candles everywhere in the house. And not just at Christmas. All year long she’s got them on tables, counters, bookshelves, ledges, …anywhere flat. Even in the fireplace. We don’t burn logs, she lights candles.
And during Advent, candles go on every window sill. But NONE outside. That would require really large candles. Plastic candles. Nooooope! Not gonna happen. No plastic ornamentation in our yard. A Wire Snowman is just fine. Foil wrapped packages, velveteen bows, rubber boots stuffed with tinfoil stars and ever-greenery are all acceptable. Oh, and don’t forget the bubble-wrap stuffed, Styrofoam headed kids on a sled. But no plastic candles.
So, now as I stand in our drive…forlorn… Our yard gleams with lighted splendor, but I sure miss my plastic candles. But wait. What’s that in our living room window. The glow of 4 candles. Not four foot red ones, but faded white, clear bulb lit, PLASTIC candles. I can’t wait to hear Sue’s justification of this double standard.
She said they were something-something-styrene…not plastic.