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Letter to the editor

Candles make even ugly rooms blissful

By Elizabeth Bettendorf, Times Correspondent
Published February 20, 2008

A few weekends ago, I spent a good part of a Saturday visiting about five different stores in search of the perfect taper candles for my dining room table.

I was entertaining and wanted my candles in a rosy shade of pink for a three-piece candle holder set: a shabby chic hand-me-down, dripping with crystals, very out of style everywhere else except my eclectic, candlelit little home.

I eventually did find my pink candles, hand-dipped, French, very expensive, tucked away in a little store in St. Petersburg.

The exhaustive search made me realize how much I love candles, to the point of obsession.

Tea lights, votives, floating candles, pillars, tins, tapers and jar candles - I own them all.

My house is stocked with flamingo-shaped candles on long wooden poles for the lawn and plenty of citronella candles for buggy nights on the deck. I own leggy candle holders that I sometimes sink into potted plants, wrought-iron candelabras that I've nailed to my courtyard wall, jar candles outfitted with little striped lamp shades and a girly-whirly tea-light burner shaped like a nightclub lamp from the 1950s.

I'm not alone in my obsession.

Belinda Leto, the owner of Luminous Glow Candle Co., makes soy candles in the kitchen of her West Tampa home near Raymond James Stadium.

Her love for candles goes back "as long as I can remember," she says with a laugh. "When I was first dating my husband, he said: 'Brenda, I've never seen anybody who has so many candles!' "

In fact, it was because she was burning so many candles that she first noticed the black rings of soot on her white entertainment center. She decided to start making candles that were free of dirt, soot and carcinogens. Her 67-year-old mother creates the elegant ribbons and holders that make the candles pretty home accessories, rather than just candles.

Leto says she tends to limit her candles - especially if they're scented - to one candle per room.

I'm still working on paring down, though when I have company over I still like to bring out the big guns. An oversized glass hurricane lamp on my cocktail table holds a three-wick candle that - when new - could easily weigh as much as a honeydew melon.

I've gone through phases where I decorated with religious candles and candles meant to spark good luck in the lottery I didn't believe it, I just liked the candle. I once carted a candle all the way home from Italy that I bought in an old church (they were raising money to restore their lovely Tintoretto painting).

I like candles that smell like pine trees, sandalwood, patchouli, vanilla, sunflowers, starry nights and the beach. I like expensive, hand-made, spa candles, candles from the dollar store, candles shaped like peppermint sticks at Christmas.

Candles are my substitute for firelight in sunny Florida, where a fireplace is as about exotic of a feature as a swimming pool in the North.

Like bath salts, I use them liberally and with abandon. They are a cheap fix for a bad mood or a long day beneath fluorescent work lights.

Primal, warming and magical, candles make even the ugliest room blissful.

They can take 10 years off your age, induce romance without cocktails and make you feel nurtured and comforted on a rainy night.

Candles are like music for the eyes, soothing as a beautiful jazz song.

"I think the ambience of flame and light at night adds so much - so does the scent," Leto says. "I really think candles make a home a home."

Elizabeth Bettendorf can be reached at ebettendorf@hotmail.com.

[Last modified February 19, 2008, 22:40:34]