Potpourri

I was really tired when I went to bed last night. It was fortunate that I put on a sweater and an extra blanket because the air around me was cool when I woke up. I stayed in bed for a few minutes and tried to make a plan for the day’s activities. As I pondered, I saw a shadow approach on my bedroom door.
My mom came in slowly, saw that I was awake, apologized, and asked me how my day had been. She then told me not to be alarmed that when I went upstairs all the doors would be open: gas had leaked in the garage and she had gotten up at four in the morning and cleaned it all up. It is still winter in Utah—we just got snow two days ago—and so that was why it was cooler in my bedroom. She told me I could close them when I got upstairs and that the smell was probably gone by now.
I lingered in bed a little longer and then sprung out in search for socks to keep me warm in my new colder environment. It was noticeably nippy in the house and as I went upstairs, I realized the scene in front of me was quite different than I had pictured. The two doors at the west side of the house that lead to the snow-covered porch were wide open (okay, this I did expect). However, what I did not expect was for the ceiling fan to be turned on full throttle, making a loud noise and circulating the cold, snowy air. The other surprise was to see 15 candles lit on our kitchen counter. Mom had found all of our candles: the large ivory candle with potpourri in the wax, the stout forest green one used for Halloween jack-o-lanterns, the small designed table candles given as gifts, and even all the tiny luminaria candles that were dropped in brown paper sacks layered with sand to light our driveways for Christmas. All these candles burned their scents and filled the room with a soft holiday smell (well, except for the little luminaria candles, I don’t really know why those were lit).
The entire scene was appreciated by all my senses, well, besides taste:
1. Smell: perfumed flower and spice
2. Hearing: constant rhythm of a ceiling fan
3. Touch: ceiling fan propelling cold winter air on me as I stood in my living room
4. Sight: Open doors, circling ceiling fan, a group of random candles all burning together
It felt like an awkward part in a movie just after a séance when all the doors open up and machinery goes amuck. Except this was in the daytime and I didn’t see any ghost. That is actually a really good thing. I think if I had seen something weird I would have passed out—I can’t handle scary stuff.

*Mel’s note: Potpourri turned out to be very difficult for me to spell. After I figured it out I was curious of its etymology. It is French and literally means rotten pot. I enjoyed that.