Throwing some light

Morning candle

First thing each morning these days,  I light a candle on the kitchen windowsill, before I heat the tea water or glance at the paper.

It's a orange-and-cranberry candle I found at Berkeley Bowl.  I let it burn for an hour, until the house is warmed up by our hard-working furnace and then I blow it out.  Sometimes I light it again while I'm cooking dinner.

I find myself doing this every winter.  I think I'm celebrating a) being alive and b) being sheltered and snug in a warm and comfortable house. It has NOTHING to do with Christmas (even though I've tacked up a row of paper robins over the windowsill, so cheery that sometimes I stare at it and wonder if I've lost my mind.)

* * * * *

This time of year, I'm always a bit obsessed with homeless people and sometimes float the idea to Jerry that we should be sharing our house with people on the street.  This doesn't go over well, and I'm not serious because there'd be about a thousand problem associated with.  But we've had a week of really cold weather, and what do those people do?  Not all go into shelters.

Lots of people don't have what I do, and it bugs the hell out of me.  I'm not comfortable with it.

Sometimes I wish I could fall back on the I-worked-hard-and-earned-this argument that would make me feel better about having so much.  But it's shot through with holes.

I did work hard when I was employed.  But I was also born Caucasian to parents who paid for me to go to college.  I happened into  marriage with a man who made a regular salary doing something he loves to do.     I have a very modest inheritance from my parents as a cushion.

It is totally unfair, and it bugs me, but I still love being snug in my house.

Evening candle