Where have all the candles gone?

Where, oh where?

In the old house, I had candles on every surface - bookshelves, TV stand, coffee table, kitchen table, console table, dresser, night stand, even the bathroom counter. I was prepared. When the power went off there, the only thing I had to search for was that pesky lighter that was never in the same spot.

I have absolutely no idea what happened to them.

Perhaps I sold them at the garage sale (though why would someone buy mostly burned candles?), or tossed them during my fits of de-cluttering (though, why would I toss something I use all the time?) or . . . they're in a box at the very bottom of my 6-box-high stack in the closet. Yes, I have at least 5 boxes in there that I have no clue was the contents are. Someone wasn't thinking ahead by just writing on the tops of the boxes, now was she?

So, here I was, plunged into darkness and candle-less.

Well, actually, I had one candle. My mother-in-law pawns off all the disgusting smelling ones she receives as gifts. On Sunday she followed me out to my car to hand me one. It's light blue. All light blue candles smell the same to me, and I always wish I had remembered that and not bothered to open the cap and take a whiff. I was sneezing for a good five minutes. I haven't tossed it yet, so, in theory I did have one candle.

Instead of subjecting myself to another sneezing fit, I did what any other good little outdoors-woman would do. I strapped my headlamp on my head and went on about my business. Important business, like reading the newest Backpacker magazine. Not frivolous stuff like actually folding those clothes in E's room (which have now relocated from piles on the floor to a giant pile in the rocker).