#Chesapeake Bay Candle

[helpimcoveredinbees]

Grief is an interesting thing cus one second I’ll be fine then I see that there’s only one blood orange candle left in the cabinet and now im sitting in the tub and I can’t stop crying so that’s fun

[thewickerking]

top 3 candles ive ever owned. For the curious.

1. Blue cedar fig (chesapeake bay) (TWO SEPARATE PEOPLE HAVE STOLEN THIS CANDLE FROM ME. i have never gotten to the bottom of one of these but ive had three over the years and light it fairly frequently)

2. Catwoman themed candle from gamestop. Clove and incense is the description. Gamestop also sold a harley quinn vanilla pudding candle that I will forever be obsessed with.

3. Sandalwood vanilla but a very specific brand I stole from target that I can't remember the name of but im always thinking about it

[gothprentiss]

this is buried in a (don't look at me) 16k demily fic but it was like, a lil bit of prentiss character vignette stuff (scoots around in time and biography etc.) and i figured i'd tug it out of there and put it... here? idk. anyway:

book of the earth / 986 words / g rating / emily prentiss character study ranging through time & seasons. warning for mediocre linguistics, speculative meteorology, and self-indulgent (if thematized) nature imagery.

In the spring the balcony looked romantic, as when she left the glass doors open gentle breezes would play in the curtains, moving them like water, and bearing through them the occasional flower or leaf, shed early, a necessary sacrifice to the duress of growth and bloom. Late in her time in Paris she began to consider using it, as summer swelled and that balcony presented itself, despite its exposure, as a breezy refuge from the hot air the apartment seemed to trap and insulate.

For a while she’d rented the converted attic apartment of a large old house in Connecticut which had access to a wide span of the roof, though this was less a balcony than it was a poorly conceived outdoor hallway which, weather permitting, connected the ends of the apartment. It was wonderful in the summer, if buggy, and she’d perch out on it with her mosquito candle and watch the town lie sleepy and slow under the humidity’s oppressive weight. There in August she eased her way into the coming semester: into air so thick it seemed to swallow her voice entirely she read out Mawsim al-Hijrah ilâ al-Shamâl, practicing until she was satisfied that the words sounded natural on her tongue, that she’d polished off the hard edge of her American accent.

…وكانت تلك نقطة تحول في حياتي. كان ذلك أول قرار اتخذته محض إرادتي This was a turning point in my life. It was the first decision I had made of my own free will…

Autumn’s cooling nights brought the pale teen out at sunset, when the sky was a painted dome over the sea and the whispering breezes no longer felt like sparse mercies. She sat on the edge of the pier, the farthest habitable edge before Puerto de Cádiz was uninhabitably industrial, where she had time to throw her cigarettes into the sea when the familiar sound hit her ears— ¡Emiliaaaaaa! ¡Mija! — María Dolores had noticed her missing charge. Vamos, mija, ve adentro— que hace frío— te vas a pillar un resfriado de muerte en eso! It was like being battered by the wings of a dove, the care and cajoling with which sharp-eyed María Dolores ushered her inside.

And so it was that winter found her inhabiting her new life like a rented room. It set about raiding the coast hard and early, bringing snowfall in late November, and descending so suddenly in December that it shocked a storm out of Chesapeake Bay and up through the Potomac. Over the snow-damp air you could hear the thunder growl and snarl, like it was hungrily prowling over the cloud canopy, looking for an opening. It was only a distant rumble in the overheated halls of Quantico, which were squeaky wet with dirty water where the unexpected snow had quickly become slush. It added an undersong to the lull and thrum of Behavioral Science, which had been given in the previous season to uncomfortable sciences. Above it all there was the rustle of paper and chatter, and the varied ding and whoosh of unsilenced email alerts. 

This one was from Penelope. It said: 

Due to APOCALYPTIC HELL WEATHER CONDITIONS I am functionally out of office until further notice. If you need to contact AND/OR comfort me, you can find me HIDING UNDER MY DESK!!!!! xoxo ur fave California Gurl PG

“Jeez,” said Derek, slinging his coat over the back of his chair. It landed with a wet slap. “Somebody up there is pissed.”

“In literary studies, that’s called the pathetic fallacy,” said Spencer. “The art critic John Ruskin coined the term to criticize the Romantic literary tendency to read emotional capacity into the unfeeling natural world, which made all of their representations of nature function as representations of the emotional self. The cruel, crawling foam, flowers weeping with dew…”

“God hurling thunderbolts from on high?”

Reid rolled out into the aisle to talk, and grinned. “If you believe in that kind of interventionist God, I guess it’s just natural science. But it’s treated more like a literary device than a true fallacy now, since criticism in the humanities is more concerned with critics talking to critics about interpretation than artists talking to artists about creation.”

Emily yawned massively. The blast of hot air into the bullpen brought an uncomfortable wooziness, and the unfriendly sensation of sweat on her brow drying as soon as it formed. “It sounds so mean,” she said. “The pathetic fallacy, just for something as normal as poets getting touchy-feely about nature.”

“Besides, if you think about it, the representation of nature as reflecting consciousness or emotion is extremely natural to human thought,” Reid pointed out. “Storms as signs of divine disfavor, inclement seas, fallow harvests, hard winters… Jupiter Tonans smiting the earth…”

“Tonans?”

“Thunderer,” said Emily, almost without thinking. 

“Some medieval Christians borrowed that epithet for their God,” added Spencer. 

Derek rolled his eyes fondly. “That’s a lot of academic-ese to say I was right.”

Out through the halls, tiles repatterned with the abstract geometry of muddy boot-soles. Out the doors with a puff of cold air, every gust carrying a spray of crystalline flakes of snow which melted as they collided with the combative indoor heating. The storm was dying. Where lightning had cracked the sky behind the clouds there was now only the emergent sun peeking down to earth. Out further, northward, up the long commute past Alexandria to D.C., and from there to the center of the city. There is the unobtrusively smart house in Dupont Circle. The snow would soon melt to slush and run through its old gutters and sink into the soil. That soil was rich with clay and given to swelling with water and shrinking without it. For years it had battered the concrete slab it supported. It nudged against the burgeoning crack in that foundation like a tongue against the world’s biggest loose tooth.

[nancypullen]

Typical Tuesday

Life moves at a snail’s pace here but so do I.  I used to be such a bouncy, bright gal until my ankles and feet decided to turn on me.  Now everything hurts and cracks, and scoffs at me when I say, “Hey we should dance!” Boy, I miss dancing.  I still shimmy around the kitchen when I cook, but sustained dancing for an hour or so seems like a big ask. Poor, poor me.

I’m only thinking about that because I just tried making an appointment with an orthopedic doctor for a weird thing that’s causing pain in my left ankle, formerly known as my “good ankle”.  I was on hold for about ten minutes, went through the new patient song and dance with a very friendly young woman, gave all of my pertinent info, and then she said, “Okay, just as soon as your former doctor sends your medical records someone will call you to schedule an appointment.”  Well, crap.  I replied, “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you will not request those records.”  She confirmed that, said I’d have to get them to fax the records, and hopefully everyone would do their part and I can see a doctor before my foot falls off.  Immediately after ending that call I placed a call to my doctor in Tennessee and said I needed my records to be faxed up here.  That not-so-nice lady said that would require an official form from the doctor’s office in Maryland, and blah blah blah.  I explained that they told me I had to make the request and maybe I get the form from them, or perhaps it could be emailed to me, or could I possibly find it on their (TN) website. I was battering her with all of the ways I might be able to get my hands on the form and get this done today, when she finally sighed and said, “Look just email me giving your permission to release the records and put your name and date of birth in the email.”   Now, was that so hard? I thanked her profusely and sent the email fifteen seconds after we hung up.  Who thinks that this will all go smoothly and I’ll get a call this week?  I’d say those odds are slim. I hope I’m wrong, but I’ll bet I have to request the records at least once more and won’t see a doctor before September. Ugh. But that’s not why I’m here.  I’m here because I don’t post enough and I’m trying to make myself show up.  It would help if I had something to actually write about but you’ll just have to bear with me. If I show up every day maybe my muse will show up too. Cross your fingers, light a candle, rub some beads.

Today started the way our days it always start. The mister gets up early and goes out for a long walk.  He likes to show off his healthy feet. He listens to audiobooks and watches the town wake up.  While he’s doing that I play word games on my phone (Wordle, Spelling Bee, Letter Boxed, Connections, etc). Then I have long conversations with the cats, eventually get up and make the bed, and ease into my day.  We’re very different people. For example, he’s been watching Wimbledon and he caught me tuned into the Hallmark channel’s Christmas in July.

Don’t judge me. The world is on fire, I needed a dose of predictable sweetness with a happy ending. Speaking of sweetness, on Sunday we drove over to spend an afternoon with the Edgewater gang.  Everyone is getting ready to scatter on different trips, so we wanted to hug them before that happened.  Little Miss was as entertaining and fun as always.  We were treated to a mermaid water show in her pool, I played Barbies with her for a little while, and then she belly laughed while driving her cats bonkers with a laser pointer.  It was a full afternoon.  A big storm blew in and dumped tons of rain that same afternoon.  We made our exit when there was a break in the radar and raced the rain home.  As we started across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge I saw these big freighters lined up to head into port, and those ominous clouds hovering above them.  Yikes.

That was snapped from a moving car so the quality isn’t great, but...anyone else notice there’s a chunk of the bridge missing?  I didn’t notice it when I took the picture, I was too busy looking at those ships.  Doesn’t look big enough to alter the integrity of the structure, but what the heck happened there?  Someone had a bad day.

On a happier note, I’ve got one sunflower fully opened and several nearly there. Aren’t they cheerful? I just love ‘em.

Other things that give me pleasure are clean windows (how’s that for a segue?). My sister turned me on to this fabulous spray cleaner. 

It’s amazing. Even better, it smells wonderful and it’s just $2.50!  I picked up my can at Walmart, I’m sure it’s sold elsewhere.  Anyway, it’s cheap, it leaves windows sparkling and streak-free, and the fragrance smells just like the lobby of the fancy-schmancy Grosvenor House Hotel in London.  No lie.  When we stayed there like the Clampetts a few years back it was one of the best parts of the stay - walking into that lobby and being enveloped in the fragrance.  I didn’t know if it was all of the fresh flowers, some special spray they used, or if that’s what loads of money smells like.  Whatever it was, you can have it in your home for $2.50.  I’m a fan. I’m not a fan of my hair. I mean, that’s not exactly news. It’s been an on-going battle since kindergarten.  I’ve let it grow again, it’s long again, and I look stuck in the 70′s. My hair behaves a little better when it’s long, the weight is like a Thunder Shirt. But I don’t think the length is a friend to my face, I know the style isn’t. To be fair, I go through this every year during July and August.  The height of summer heat and humidity always makes me want to shave my head. I was zipping along just fine in June, it wasn’t even hot.  Right around the 4th of July the sticky heat arrived and my hair lost its dang mind.  I’m walking around looking like this.

So I’m spending lots of time on Pinterest looking at short haircuts.  I’m going to do it it’s just a matter of choosing a style (which won’t work), a place (good luck with that), and screwing up my courage.  We all know this will be a disaster.  It always is.  I don’t think I’ve even once walked into a salon and walked out feeling better.  It’s a generational curse.  But it’s been quite a while since I tempted fate, and I’m feeing so ugly lately anyway, might as well. Best case scenario, I end up with a cute, fresh style that I like. 

 Worst case scenario, I look like Mrs. Claus. 

It’s a safe bet that I have more Mrs. Claus tendencies than I do Helen Mirren tendencies. Darn.  If nothing else maybe it’s just time for a change.  Will I miss the ease of a ponytail or a big hair clip? Yep.  Will I miss this same, old, tired hairstyle? Nope.  Well, maybe.  There’s always comfort in what we know vs the unknown.    Finding a place is daunting.  I called the Ulta salon in Easton thinking that if the haircut sucked then at least I’d be inside Ulta and I could treat myself to a new lipstick or something.  They only have two stylists and a haircut and blowdry is $70.  I will start up the weedeater and let it cut my hair before I pay $70.  I don’t want to go to the salon that I visited in Denton, the owner cut my hair and she was delightful, but the haircut was not.  There are plenty of others in the area, mostly pricey, so I may just have to throw a dart and pick a place.  Or I could spend the rest of my life in a ponytail. Back to Pinterest...

Raise your hand if you’re tired of hearing me talk about my hair.

Told you I didn’t have anything to write about, pretty sure the glass cleaner was the high point of this post.  I think I’ll head upstairs and soak in a bubble bath and lose myself in a book - a book where the main character has perfect hair. I hope that your week has been a delight so far.  I hope that you have had at least one good laugh and at least two moments of pure pleasure.  If not, hey, it’s only Tuesday!  There’s plenty of time. Sending out loads of love tonight. Stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy

[plainemmanem]

speaking of "steve candles" the bergamot and sage chesapeake bay candle from target is exactly what i imagine steve to smell like and i may or may not have 3 different ones in my house

highly recommend it’s my favorite candle in the house

[moonybeam3]

How many times is Miles going to talk about Chesapeake Bay : The Collection candles?

[thexgrayxlady]

The two most unsettling places I have ever been in my life are the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and the flagship Yankee Candle Store in Deerfield.

[morningsunstudio]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Pumpkin Pie Candle by Chesapeake Bay Candle Co ceramic jar NEW.

[kathleencorbett]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Enjoy the warm and cozy feeling with this Avon Peppermint Cocoa Scented Candle..

[abetterlife4wrd]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Chesapeake Bay Red Ginger.

[shilpaagrawalsblog]

[absolutecandles]

Chesapeake Bay Candle Scented Candle, Balance + Harmony (Water Lily Pear), Medium, Home Décor

Brand: Chesapeake Bay Candle Manufacturer: Chesapeake Bay Candle Features Approximate burn time of 50 hours The soft colored frosted jar candles allow the light of the flame to shine through when burning Made from a natural soy wax blend and feature self-trimming wicks Our fragrances that are skillfully enhanced with all natural essential oils. Top note is the initial impression of the…

[miss-me-nots]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Chesapeake Bay candle.

[2bouchard]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: NWT Chesapeake Bay Candle Aqua Marine Jar Candle with Wood Lid.

[sacred-owl]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: 2 Red Pillar Candles with Gold Sparkles 6" by Chesapeake Bay.

[gd260-alban-tarazhi]

Image 1: BetterHealth - This pamphlet is a promotion for BetterHealth Market. The typography is emphasized more than visuals of the products. This is seen through the size and contrast of colors with the 5 day sale being the main marketing strategy to get people to go into the stores. 

Image 2: Hand Soap - Lacura’s hand soap utilizes a green color background and white typography along with one image of an aloe plant to market their hand soap. There is adequate white space to not distract the user from the product.   

Image 3: XA Sticker - The XA sticker consists of the MSU logo along with the letters XA to represent the Experience Architecture program. The minimal design is intended to intrigue the eye from further distances. 

Image 4: Floss - This floss pack uses bright colors, large shapes, images, and typography to stand out from competitors. 

Image 5: Candle - Chesapeake Bay’s candle utilizes a logo, minimal colors, and all typography to brand their candle. The small size of text coupled with the white space around the product represents the simplicity of the product itself. 

The pictures above are what I think graphic design is. As discussed from the readings graphic design and culture are intertwined. We can see this with the endless need for graphic designers to create product branding and marketing for corporations.