Farewell to A Friend—My Whiskey-Scented Candle

My dearest friends of Facebook and other various social media platforms: it is with great sadness that I inform you of the passing of my candle. After weeks of battling bottom-of-the-wick, my beloved reading candle (manufactured by Makers of Wax Goods) went out for the last time. Though we made attempts to resuscitate by way of butane lighter, it became clear that this torch had reached the end of its little glass cup filled with wax.

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So, on this sad occasion, I would like to thank this dead candle for its services, its passion, and for being such a swell candle.

Thank you for the light you provided. In an age wherein a source of clairvoyant rays can be summoned by a wall-switch in the common home, a short sequence of taps on any mobile device, or an awkwardly worded voice command to Google or Alexa, your inconsistent dance of yellow glow is rendered useless. But it made me feel cool and connected with those readers and writers of pre-industrial ages, so that’s neat!

Thank you for your “whiskey-scented” aroma, which deterred any who would dare to disturb my study unannounced. Like a personal flatulencepleasing to the beholder while repugnant to the outsider. Though many candles excel in deception, enticing with redolent promises of cookies and yum-yums, none have ever mistaken your scent for a sign of alcoholism; thank you for your poor labeling. 

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Thank you for burning bright even through the day…and for not burning my house down when I forgot to stifle your flame before leaving for work. You are, indeed, a merciful candle.

Thank you for that one time you filled up my room with whiskey-scented smoke. Had you not impregnated my room with airborne combustion emissions, I might have gone on for hours reading Stephen King novels and playing Overwatch without ever rushing outside in a panic. I also may never have heard the lovely chime of my high-frequency smoke alarm. Such gifts!

Thank you for your super-hip wooden cap. I am uncertain of the wood’s authenticity, but it appears to be wood grain, and so it is hip.

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But most of all, thank you for your companionship, your loyalty, and your support. You’ve seen me through many articles, novels, and one indulgent re-read of the Harry Potter books. Never questioning. Never judging. Never ceasing in presence. You let me gaze upon you relentlessly as I contemplated my readings, mulled over disquieting emails, and tried to remember where I left my keys. You’ve been there the whole time, silent, steady, tolerant, and reliably hot to the touch. 

Thank you for being there. Your presence and fragrance will be missed.

The Whiskey-Scented Candle of M. of W. G. is dead. Long live the Sage & Citrus-Scented Yankee Candle, thou heroine of mother’s leftover Christmas candles of yesteryear!

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