“Dad? Can we light my candle?” Jack asked me yesterday morning.
I looked to the clear mason jar on the hutch in the living room. It was magnificent. The lid was dotted with toy gems, while the innards of the jar were filled with colored granules in a red/white/blue flowing pattern. Jack’s handiwork had been sitting there long enough for the candle to be invisible to my eyes over time. “Sure,” I said, despite it being the middle of Summer with the temperature hanging around 80. “How come?”
“We were never able to use it after I made it, because of Grandma’s oxygen machine.”