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by Cheryl
Beatty
As I lay here on the living room
floor, (I did not slip, trip or do a Prat fall, I actually placed
myself here), taking a time out so that my inner child, my inner
adult, and my inner parent can peacefully come to terms with each
other, I have decided to think back over my not so long, but highly
intensive gel experience.
I started making gel candles to use as favors at my oldest daughter's
wedding in July of 2001, but was having so much fun by the time
that the wedding came and went, I had decided to continue gelling.
Obviously, gelling and chandelling
filled some needs for me.
This seems as good a time as any
to consciously review what those needs are:
1) It allows the creative person in me to dream, design and make
all kinds of different candles.
2) It allows the chef side of me to create all the food masterpieces
that I don't do now because of the "empty nest syndrome".
3) It allows the student in me to keep learning new skills and expressing
thanks to those who have taken the time to direct and help me.
4) It allows the teacher in me to pass knowledge on to others and
delight in their success.
5) It allows the inner child in me the chance to make huge messes
and have absolute delight in what I have created.
6) It has given me an extended circle of family and friends, with
whom I can share, carp, laugh and cry.
7) It allows the business/accountant in me to (oh, wait, I don't
have one of those people in me) I know: it allows the sadistic person
in me to hand my big wad of papers over to an accountant and watch
them sob!
There have been some negatives to gelling, however. When too many
scents are present, the dog runs outside and hides in the car, so
we have to make sure that the keys are not in the ignition because
she is a very bright dog, but I don't think she is on our insurance.
And the cats have, as gel candles have taken over every nook and
cranny of the house, expressed their rebellion by leaving excremental
deposits in inappropriate places. We have talked and I believe that
phase of rebellion is past.
But as I look up and focus, I realize there are gel boogers on the
living room ceiling, which is mysterious because no gelling is done
in this room. The longer I stare at the ceiling and recall what
I have learned from watching all those forensic science programs
on television, I realize the boogers form what would be called a
definite flicking pattern.
As I look over to the cats, who are
watching me look at the ceiling and are snickering and elbowing
each other and flexing their claws, I come rapidly to the conclusion
that the rebellion has gone into another phase.
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