Diptyque Chêne, the Woody Category, My Inner Turmoil, and My Austen Personality
Perhaps because it’s Sunday, I awoke feeling flimsy and shallow about writing this post. So, I’m writing in a moment to ponder real world problems and appreciate things for which I’m thankful.
[A LONG MOMENT]
Ok, now on to the more frivolous.
Dear Reader, allow me to tell you how I find myself in a most bewildering predicament. I finally fell in love with a limited edition candle. It’s name is Diptyque Chêne (Oak Tree) and must not be confused with the similar French word, “chien” (dog). Yes, I do love to amuse myself.
I will describe a scene forever engraved into my plate of memories: I held in my hands a small but weighty white box wrapped in plastic, containing 6.5 oz of wax inside of an elegant glass jar. I thought to myself: “Now is the great moment. This is the part that keeps me coming back. This is what makes me a ‘haulic.'” Feeling the candle’s delicious weight, I slowly and reverently unwrapped the cellophane. Putting it aside, I gently pulled up the top of the white paper box, while simultaneously losing my grip on the outside world. By the time I held the candle in my hands, my eyes were blurred with joyous tears and I was weak at the knees. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply and smiling. That smell. It was so familiar and yet so unusual. There wasn’t a hint of perfume, spice or the Artificial. No. Not that. Instead I was engulfed by the scent of raw, cut wood.