Candles placed in sand filled white paper bags welcomed worshipers on Christmas Eve. Their subtle glow brightened the cold Pasadena winter. Inside the churches, “Silent Night” circled the lighted candles and seeped into hearts. Windows held flickering electric candles that foretold coming events. The smell of pine candles, cinnamon candles, pumpkin spice and ginger aroused the senses towards eatable delights. The glow of lit candles in homes created an atmosphere of warmth.
Our family had finished our Christmas Eve candlelight buffet of spiraled ham, cranberry salad, Angel’s coleslaw, warm rolls, assorted cheeses, eggnog, variety of dips, sugar cookies, pecan puffs, and ginger snaps. Our tummies overflowing the family adjourned to the living room where Christmas music played in the background.
My son seemed extra excited this evening because I could hear his shouts from the dining room. Meanwhile we reminisced about past Christmas Eves while the other children played “Uno” or watched “A Christmas Story” which always brought laughter. It seemed odd that I could still hear my son yelling about something. My aunt went to the kitchen to refill the cookie tray. As she entered the doorway, I saw her hands fly towards her face. Then she moved quickly out of sight. My uncle who was behind her turned swiftly towards the kitchen as he yelled, “Got it out?”
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My son appeared in the doorway. “Why didn’t anyone come to help? The candle fell over and set fire to the tablecloth. I have been yelling for help.” As his words reached us, we ran to the dining room. A black hole in the tablecloth showed evidence of fire and the wood table was charred. “I have been fighting the fire by myself. Why didn’t anyone come?” Why didn’t we? Because fire was the last thing in anyone’s mind.
