Explore

The house smells like October

Simmer pot is on, which in this house means autumn has been officially declared. Peel from two oranges, three cinnamon sticks, a palmful of whole cloves, a sprig of rosemary, a few coins of ginger and a handful of cranberries the grandkids didn't eat. Cover with water, lowest flame, top it up every half hour. It isn't for drinking, it's for the house. I stir it clockwise and think about who's coming for Thanksgiving and what I'd like the kitchen to feel like when they walk in. Warm. Forgiving. A little chaotic. Only one rule: when you leave the kitchen, the pot gets turned off. I've scorched enough pans in forty years to know the house spirits don't care for burnt cinnamon.

Found a green pillar candle at Goodwill for 99 cents, so obviously it's now a money candle. Carved my rent amount into the side with a bobby pin (very traditional), dusted it with cinnamon from the spice drawer and brushed off the extra so it wouldn't flare, then lit it on a saucer in the sink while I updated my resume. Never left it alone, snuffed it when I was done. I've been reading a lot this year about which practices are open to me and which aren't mine to borrow. Candle magic with things from my own kitchen feels like home. It's humble, it's mine, and I can afford it.