107. Candles in the Window

The whole idea of observing the traditions of Christmas was mostly lost on me until the age of 28, when I married Linda. She could see there was some work to do to rehab my attitude about the holiday. She rolled up her sleeves and got to it pretty early in our marriage, helping me to let go of my Noel apathy and instill some enthusiasm. She did a remarkable job, I’d say.

There is one vestige of the old Christmas me, however. And it seems likely to resist renovation. I know, it’s bizarre… the subject is Electric Candles. When I see them in someone's window, my mind shifts to a sadder place.

Candles are loaded with wonderful symbolism—of faith, love, home, peace. They’re supposed to be a merry sign of hope in the dark of winter. They represent the joyous night sky of Bethlehem, and the miracle of Hanukkah. Set in a front window, they are an ancient gesture of welcome to come in from the cold night. I do get the beauty of all that. I just have this thing about electric candles, specifically when trios of them are placed in windows, specifically with amber bulbs. It’s embarrassing to admit, but they make me feel blue. 

The feeling I get comes to a peak around Christmastime, but the origins of my aversion to electric candles in the window are as dim and obscure as the candles are themselves. I’m not sure it’s even necessarily about Christmas candles.

One version of my story comes from early years in my hometown. The candles glowed year-round in the dingey front windows of the old funeral parlor. It was always an ominous place I hurried past on my bike. What if the mortician caught me looking in his window, turned out to be an evildoer, and decided I needed to be embalmed or something? That was a creepy place, and those were creepy candles.

Another explanation is that I may have seen candles like that in some dark window late on a bitter cold, full-moon Christmas night. I would be in the back seat during the ride home from the long day with the relatives. With post sugar-high sullenness and probably car sick as well, I was experiencing an after-Christmas emotional slump, as though a bluish-gray mood fog was closing in. To add to the moment, maybe Mom and Dad were having a spat. Catching a glance of those pitifully lonely bulbs as we drove by, they became symbols of the way I felt that night.

However vivid, neither of these stories exactly hits the nail on the head.  It may never be clear what my problem is.  Naturally, you are asking if it’s even important enough to wonder about, or write about. Well, considering how charged with emotion the holidays can be, I’m sure there are plenty of triggers out there for all y'all, many of them more profound than mine.  Take it from me, it can’t hurt to take stock.

Do you have a belief about the holidays that is holding you down? Is it a definite memory, or just an icky feeling or vague recollection of something bad that may have happened? Either way, the actions of the past are gone, and all that’s left is the thought of it. Consider asking yourself four simple questions about that past event, this from Loving What Is, by Byron Katie:

1. Is it true?
2. Can you absolutely know that it’s true?
3. How do you react when you believe that thought?
4. Who would you be without the thought?

Katie calls this “The Work” and it can be helpful to defuse all kinds of self-defeating beliefs. It’s worth a try to do a little soul-searching to get closer to loving whatever it is, even if it’s a big ol' ghost of Christmas past or future. If your answer to #4 is “I Would Be a Happier Person,” please be that!

I’m working on that. Seriously, if amber electric candles are my worst dread, I must be doing pretty well. Until I drop the candle nonsense, rather than driving around with my eyes closed, I do have a simple solution. My wife is keenly aware that she should divert my attention when she spots window candles.  I know what to do when she says something like, “Look! There's a squirrel!” That could be translated as “Candle alert!” She can’t bear to see her big guy feel sad on Christmas!

OK, Peanut Gallery. I imagine someone is now going to send me a greeting card with amber candles on it. But that’s alright, Linda will be screening my mail!