Wax collection

yes. i did. i would think it’s rather rare but maybe not. maybe other children had wax collections or maybe i was simply in denial about it. as if,  geez, you’re not that special, aleta. other children collect wax. other children examine the different shapes and smells of each strange piece collected from candles at christmas, halloween and whenever my Mother felt the house needed a 911 (mainly after Dad had too much mexican food) but in any case my collection was the family joke even though i was proud of it. it was years in the making and it seemed more distinguished, more stately, than collecting action figures or hallmark ornaments.

what happened to it, you ask? well, maybe you don’t ask but the truth is i outgrew it. i became ashamed of that brown paper bag and it’s contents. as peer pressure does, i let my family’s laughter and my embarrassment propel me to throw that crinkly, old, bag out. that bag, that bag that contained years of pieces of candles burnt long ago and memories of holidays and nights in front of the tv and that sweet smell of sage or pine which permeated the air and made everything seem well. Wax pieces collected and memories thrown out in the bag with it.

i think of that bag sometimes and what it contained. it contained my family and my childhood and i still miss it.