Paired tapers hanging by a shared wick slowly rising from a vat of colored wax - one of the most beautiful things I saw at Williamsburg as a child. I envisioned Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin writing by the yellow light of those candles, wax melting onto a metal stand. It might be an overly romantic notion, but in that moment history was displayed through those candles.
This weekend, T and I tried our hand at candle dipping. We inherited 30 pounds of wax with all the equipment from my sis-in-law. Judging by the bulk of wicks and wax, she was anticipating a side business. She left us lots of options.
This project was all Tim. Like SIL, I would have let the wax sit in our attic with occasional good intentions but no real action. Too many other projects with deadlines and greater need. Candles would just be trumped over and over, until I too passed on the supplies to a new eager beaver.
But Tim really wanted to tackle this as a couple's project, an at-home-date while the girls napped. We have a Ron and Hermione relationship with projects like this. Between every step, especially if something doesn't look right, my nose is right back in the instructions. Tim trusts his gut and improvises. In the end, it works. If men like Tim didn't experiment, book readers like me would have no reference.
Since this was our first attempt, I won't presume to explain the process. If you're really interested, Country Wisdom and Know How acted as our project guide. Here's a peek at the afternoon's events:
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| How not to melt wax - we missed the instructions on shaving down the blocks. It took 90 minutes to melt. Oops. |
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| A little forrest of tea light wicks |
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| The first dip |
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| Tapers burning in the darkness |
*Matthew 5:14-16
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