`Advent Calendar`

BE CAREFUL WITH YOUR SEASONAL CANDLES. Learn from me. I haven’t always practiced caution when it comes to my pine three-wicks. In fact, I once lit my kitchen on fire, so let this next story be a cautionary tale.

It was an unusually hot California December, one that made me miss the cozy comforts of the Midwest. The sun is beautiful, but sometimes I long for the snowy landscapes of Ohio. California living is also insanely expensive. I’ve lived in a lot of small places, including my last apartment, which was technically a one-bedroom but might as well have been a studio. The kitchen/office/living room were all one. My little desk was up against a wall, and I had a two-person high-top dining table right behind it. The space was small and quaint, but I was proud of the little home I paid for all by myself.

I even saved up enough to buy some fancy decorations for the holidays. Specifically, I went ham on the Chip and Joanna Magnolia home collection at Target due to that weekend binge of Fixer Upper while I was hungover. The farmhouse trend has since been overdone, and though I never want to see shiplap again, I was very into it for a short period of my life, which led me to buy a bunch of their merch: wreaths, plaid green place mats, and cute wrapping paper for gifts. That same year, I also purchased a Yankee Candle advent calendar. Every day in December, in anticipation of Christmas, I would unwrap a new votive from the calendar, each one a different scent for the holidays.

Although the candles were tiny, it was so fun to wake up each day and find a new wick to burn; scents like balsam, cedar, Christmas wish, and holiday hearth made up the package. I set each day’s candle in the middle of my Magnolia Home tablescape and got to work at my li’l office near the table where they flamed.

Working from home has always worked out well for me; I have a flexible schedule and make my own lunches. Occasionally, I treat myself to food delivery or sneak away for a quick midday workout. One especially busy day, I had a turkey sandwich—wrapped in brown paper with a pickle spear on the side—delivered from a nearby deli I loved. Since my table was covered with my new decor and I was busy, I ate my food at the desk. In fact, I was so busy that I didn’t get up to throw away my trash. I simply tossed the packaging over my shoulder during a phone call and watched out of the corner of my eye as it landed on the table. What I didn’t realize at that moment was that the trash landed on the lit candle, causing the brown paper to light on fire, a fire that spread to the other new items I bought courtesy of Chip and Joanna.

I was on the phone and facing my computer, so I didn’t realize right away that my kitchen was on fire—and with a scented candle, the smell was cozy rather than alarming. Instead of burning, I was overwhelmed with a scent called Dickens. It was a spicy aroma of cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and something fruity, apparently inspired by Charles Dickens, author of A Christmas Carol. I’m not sure why the candle company thinks they know what Charles Dickens’s house smelled like, but they did their best to recreate it. Knowing the publishing industry, it was likely Chuck wrote A Christmas Carol in June the previous year so he could make his fourth-quarter release date. By my calculations, that would mean the Dickens scent should be more cucumber melon than Christmassy. Regardless, by the time I noticed the fire, it was too late. Maybe that’s poor phrasing because the apartment building survived, but my Magnolia Home holiday collection did not. The plaid place mats oddly held up perfectly even though they were cloth, but the rest of my decorations were ruined, burned to a crisp.

I was so distraught from my kitchen fire that I had to get out of the house, so I went for a hike at Runyon Canyon, a popular trail that leads to the top of a mountain overlooking Los Angeles. On my walk, I thought about how lucky I was to catch the fire before it spread because I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had burned down the whole building. The endorphins from the walk started to mix with the adrenaline, and I began to laugh at the whole ordeal. I survived an advent-calendar holiday fire!

Once I reached the top of the hill, I decided to do what every millennial does when a life event happens: I went live on Instagram to be dramatic. Overlooking the city, I said hello to my followers and all the people who joined in to watch what I had to say in the middle of the day.

“Wow. I am here, midday, to let you all know about the tragedy I just experienced. Like Reba McEntire once sang in the theme song to her hit show Reba, I’m a survivor. I narrowly escaped a near-death experience of open flames…”

I was laying it on thick to make light of the situation. Of course, it was a simple candle fire, and no one was hurt, so I thought it was especially funny that I was acting like the situation was a near-death experience! I was being cheeky! My face was stern as I recounted the open flames while the city of Los Angeles acted as my backdrop. Unfortunately, what I didn’t realize was that much more serious events were unfolding behind me.

“Holy shit, is that your place?”

“Omigod, Danny! Are you okay?”

“This is so scary, stay safe!”

These were just a few of the comments rolling in fast and furious from people following my Instagram Live. I assumed they were playing along with me, overdramatizing for laughs. Little did I know there was an actual, real, very scary fire happening over my shoulder.

Growing up in the Midwest, we feared tornadoes and thunderstorms, but California must contend with wildfires, which spread quickly and furiously—just like the one happening at that exact moment. I looked behind me and saw the smoke filling the LA air, billowing up to the clouds. Quickly, I clicked END and got off Instagram to avoid any more confusion. Here was a whole city on fire, and I was harping on and on about a candle that burned some items I got from Target in my shitty apartment.

Texts started coming through from friends who’d seen my live.

Are you okay? Was that your house on fire in the background?

Please tell me you’re fine, I saw part of your live! You said your place was on fire? It looked bad!

You made it out okay? Are you staying safe on the mountain?

People thought I was talking about the wildfires instead of my Dickens candle! Too many people had seen the video. I had to do something! I began texting everyone back, trying to explain I was joking and didn’t realize there was a wildfire behind me.

I just heard, you okay?

Call me!

Word was getting to people who hadn’t even seen my live; they had just heard about it from others. Social media drama can spread quicker than fanned flames, and it was happening in real time. My only option was to get back on Instagram Live to explain myself.

“Heyyyyy, guys, so I’m back. I hope I didn’t scare everyone before. Um, I, um, didn’t realize there was a wildfire happening. I had, uh, a little kitchen fire earlier with my Dickens advent-calendar candle, which spread to some seasonal Magnolia Home merch, but I’m okay, and, um, uh, the fire I was talking about was not the same as the one happening behind me. It was just, like, a little joke fire. I missed the news, so I didn’t know there was a serious one. I’m sorry for the confusion, and, uh, hopefully everyone is okay. Stay safe out there! Okay, um, bye!”

Just last week, I saw an old friend who asked what it was like to live through my house burning down. They hadn’t seen my follow-up video, so they’d just assumed I set an apartment building on fire. It was my first experience apologizing publicly, and I hope it’s my last. One thing it did teach me is that social media is a whole lot of smoke and mirrors, sometimes literally. Now whenever I’m at the store and see a holiday candle scent called Dickens, I think not only of the cloves and spice but the smell of regret and embarrassment.