In an effort to save a few pennies and to be good stewards of the many half rotten bits and pieces of old candles we have about the house I ventured off on a little candle making project this afternoon.
My initial plan was to melt it all into a coffee cup, but I found one of those “Yankee Candle” jars and decided to dump it all in there instead. I had a fair pile including the remnants of at least one Yankee candle and the husk of a small votive candle. They were fortunately all of the same scent: vanilla.
Things went well and, as boys often do around fires, Isaac and I gathered over the stove to watch the pieces melt inside the double boiler I’d made with a cooking pot.
When it was mostly liquid Isaac said, “Boy that would really hurt if all that were dumped on top of you as you tried to storm into an enemy castle; except they used boiling oil instead.”
“Yeah, that would really hurt, the wax or the oil, either one.”
As I fished around in the molten wax to cut up the remaining pieces I noticed the floaties. There was stuff in my wax: an old candle label, the remnants of the Yankee Candle wick holder, and a variety of other particulate. My candle was anything but pure. In fact, because of the ash of all the little candles that died to make the big one, it had lost its original eggshell tone and was now pale gray, or dirty yellow, whichever you prefer.
When it burns it smells like a vanilla flavored camp fire.
I think we’ll enjoy being Scottish.