Candlelight. Today, that word suggests romance, prayer or a birthday wish. But before the 1930s, candles weren’t mood lighting — they were survival. If you wanted to see after dark, it was candles, the moon or walking into furniture.

Of course, candles also had a habit of burning down more than just wicks. Entire wooden structures were lost to them. Even now, according to the National Fire Protection Association, U.S. fire departments respond to about 7,400 home fires started by candles each year. So, yes, that cozy glow comes with a side of “maybe don’t.”

And yet, we love them. The National Candle Association says Americans spend about $3.14 billion a year on candles — which is impressive for something we technically no longer need.

Most of us met candles as kids. I remember my brother, Steve, showing me he could run his finger through a flame without getting burned. I was convinced I was living with Houdini. He offered to teach me. I declined and instead stuck my fingers in melted wax, which felt safer and somehow still like a bad decision. (Fun fact: More than 1 billion pounds of wax are used to make candles sold in the U.S. each year. That’s a lot of questionable childhood choices.)

Years later, candles got their revenge on Steve. One night, while Mom and Dad were out, he was in charge — which immediately became a problem when matches entered the picture. While lighting a candle, he leaned in to inspect it and accidentally introduced his curly hair to the flame. It ignited instantly. What followed was a frantic, bongo-style head-slapping performance that successfully put out the fire. He survived. His hair… learned a lesson. I, meanwhile, learned to keep a respectful distance from anything involving fire, wax or Steve.

I avoided candles for years — at least until I got married. My wife loves candles. Not for light, but for scent. Apparently there are more than 10,000 candle fragrances, which explains why our house can smell like “Coastal Breeze” in the middle of Iowa.

At one point, a contractor informed us that the black soot on our walls was from candles. We didn’t believe him — mostly because we had just discovered our water heater flue had disconnected in the attic (a story for another day). Still, we cut back on candles … briefly. Old habits burn hard.

Today, candles come in every form imaginable: tapers, votives, pillars, tealights, jars, floats, outdoors, indoors, religious, decorative and “why does this exist?” varieties. I’m fairly certain we own at least one of each, all hiding in a cupboard, waiting for their moment.

They are also a go-to gift, especially at Christmas when about 35% of candle sales happen. Nothing says “I didn’t know what to get you” quite like a cinnamon-scented pillar.

So go ahead — light a candle. Set the mood. Enjoy the glow. Just maybe keep it — and your hair — at a safe distance.

Have a fantastic Friday, and thanks for reading. 

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital newsletter
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707

I am not entirely sure how old I am. When someone asks, I have to stop and do the math — which assumes I know what year it is. That’s not a given. I have confidently given the wrong answer more than once, only to be corrected by my wife, my friends or, on one occasion, a cashier who seemed far too pleased to announce it.

It sounds ridiculous, but I know I’m not alone. If we’re being honest, some birthdays matter a lot, while others are about as meaningful as those college textbooks you refuse to throw away — just in case “Intro to Economics” makes a comeback.

Turning 13 was a big deal. You were officially a teenager. Did anything actually change? No. But it felt important, which is really what matters at 13.

At 14, things got serious. You could legally drive — with an adult in the car, of course, presumably to keep you from immediately steering into a cornfield. Still, that tiny taste of freedom was everything. You could also drive a moped, which felt incredibly cool at the time and incredibly not cool about two years later.

By 16, you had a real driver’s license and the ability to go places alone. Freedom. Independence. The open road. Today, I’m amazed at how many 16-year-olds aren’t in a hurry to get their license. I practically sprinted to mine. I begged a friend for a ride to another county just to take the test sooner. Now, between parents, ride-hailing apps and friends with cars, “I’ll just wait” has apparently become a strategy.

At 18, you could vote, get married or be drafted — all very adult activities I was in no rush to participate in. What I did understand was that getting into trouble suddenly came with adult consequences, which took some of the fun out of bad decisions.

Turning 21 and legally drinking wasn’t quite the cinematic moment I expected. No confetti. No parade. Just the realization that beverages are expensive. But 25? Now that was a milestone. My car insurance dropped, and I briefly considered celebrating by buying a sports car — until I learned the insurance would cost more than the car payment. Reality remains undefeated.

And that, I think, was the last truly exciting birthday. Now I’m somewhere in the neighborhood of 57, give or take a calculator check. The milestones are less about freedom and more about discounts. I find myself asking questions like, “Is this restaurant age-discriminating in my favor?” and “Do I qualify for that yet, or do I need to age another six months?”

In the meantime, I’ll keep doing the math every time someone asks my age. And with a little luck — and maybe a calculator — I might even get it right.

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
President and Publisher
Big Green Umbrella Media
shane@gctimesnews.com
515-953-4822, ext. 305
www.gctimesnews.com

“Open sesame” is one of those phrases that lives rent-free in your brain. You have heard it. You have probably said it. Maybe you have even whispered it dramatically at an automatic door, hoping for a little extra flair.

At first glance, it sounds like something you would say to an Amazon Alexa when you want to hear the theme song from “Sesame Street.” I tried it. Alexa did not open anything. Not even emotionally.

It could also pass as a polite request to a box of Keebler Toasted Sesame crackers. “Open sesame,” you say, preparing for a sophisticated cheese-and-cracker moment. The crackers, however, remain sealed. Cold. Unmoved.

But if your brain goes straight to “magic words that open a secret door,” congratulations — you are on the right track and possibly ready for a career in treasure hunting.

The phrase is most famously tied to “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,” part of “One Thousand and One Nights.” In the story, Ali Baba unlocks a cave full of stolen treasure with the phrase “Open, O simsim.” And just like that — boom — instant wealth.

Naturally, things go sideways. His brother tries the same trick, blanks on the phrase and starts guessing like he is on some ancient version of a game show. Nope. Still trapped.

There is a theory that “open sesame” came from “open, says me,” which sounds reasonable until you remember that magic phrases are rarely that grammatically cooperative.

Another idea is that sesame seeds — which pop open when they are ripe — inspired the phrase. Tiny plant. Big dramatic energy.

There is even talk of sesame being tied to ancient Babylonian magic. Because, apparently, sesame seeds weren’t content just being bagel toppings.

The truth? No one really knows where the phrase came from. Scholars debate it. Historians circle it. Meanwhile, the rest of us are out here testing it on garage doors and snack packaging.

So go ahead — say “open sesame” a few times today. Best case: You unlock hidden treasure. Worst case: You confuse everyone within earshot. Honestly, both feel like a win.

Have a fantastic Friday, and thanks for reading. 

“Built to last.” That phrase used to mean something. Now it sounds like a punchline.

These days, the routine goes like this: Buy it cheap. Use it. Break it. Toss it. Replace it. Repeat until your trash can files a complaint. But, every now and then, you run into something that refuses to die.

Take cast-iron skillets. Those things don’t wear out — they get promoted to family heirlooms. I swear my mom had one that predated electricity. That skillet didn’t cook meals. It survived eras.

Same with old garden tools. Shovels, rakes and hoes that just keep going. Meanwhile, I’ve had plastic tools snap if you look at them the wrong way. My garage is basically a museum of “they don’t make them like they used to” — and a graveyard of things they do make now.

And then there was my dad’s Thermos vacuum bottle. He took it to work every day, full of coffee. It had more dents than a freshman’s first car, but it never quit. I wouldn’t be shocked if it is still out there somewhere, keeping coffee hot and judging our modern life choices.

So what happened? Why doesn’t anything last anymore? Pick your theory. Plastic. Mass production. Or the crowd favorite: planned obsolescence — designing products with an expiration date just shy of “inconvenient.”

Consider the modern coffee maker. In a just world, it lasts forever. In this one, it lasts until the warranty card expires. Try finding one from the 1980s still working. Meanwhile, I have gone through three single-serve machines in five years — and I don’t even drink that much coffee. At this point, the coffee maker is working harder than I am.

And don’t get me started on extended warranties. You can’t buy a toaster without someone asking if you would like to insure it like it is a vintage sports car. Here’s an idea: Build the toaster so I don’t need a long-term relationship with customer service.

Maybe the biggest clue we live in a throwaway world is this: Where did all the repair people go? Fixing things used to be a skill. Now it is a financial mistake. Why repair something for $75 when you can replace it for $60 — and get a free headache included?

Technology has taken this to an art form. You buy a phone, a computer or a tablet, and it is already halfway to obsolete. The moment software updates stop, your device basically clears its throat and says, “It’s been a pleasure. Please see the newer model.”

And, of course, the new model requires new chargers. New cords. New accessories. Because heaven forbid anything actually be compatible.

So, no, “built to last” doesn’t describe much these days. But a few things still qualify. If you would like to experience one, you are welcome to borrow my cast-iron skillet. Just be careful. It’ll probably outlive you.

Have a marvelous Monday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
President and Publisher
Big Green Umbrella Media
shane@gctimesnews.com
515-953-4822, ext. 305
www.gctimesnews.com

“Don’t worry. Be happy.” Yes, that’s easy for Bobby McFerrin to say. He turned it into a hit song. The rest of us hit snooze three times, check our phones and immediately regret being alive before coffee.

Still, happy people exist. You have seen them, possibly even before noon. So, what’s their deal? I’ve narrowed it down to five traits. Brace yourself — some of these may require effort. Or worse … self-awareness.

1. They smile … a lot. They are not just “camera smile” people. Not just “someone said cheese” people. These folks are smiling in line at the grocery store. At 7 a.m. On a Monday. It’s unsettling but also kind of impressive. Meanwhile, the rest of us look like we are auditioning for a documentary about mild disappointment.
2. They have a “thing” that keeps them sane. Prayer. Meditation. Music. Nature. Deep breathing. Screaming into a pillow. Whatever works. Happy people have figured out how to hit pause on life’s chaos. The rest of us? We just keep hitting refresh and wondering why everything still feels chaotic.
3. They don’t overdo the bad stuff. Food, alcohol, scrolling, shopping, complaining — pick your poison. Happy people somehow know when to stop. This is deeply suspicious behavior. You are telling me you can eatONEcookie? Just one? Are you OK?
4. They avoid gossip. Yes, apparently some people hear juicy information and keep it to themselves. Wild concept. Happy people don’t need to dissect other people’s lives for entertainment. They have got their own lives to enjoy. Imagine that — being busy living instead of narrating someone else’s drama like it is a reality show.
5. They know happiness isn’t automatic. This might be the most annoying one. Happy people actuallyworkat it. They choose perspective. They process tough stuff. They look for good things even when life hands them a flaming bag of nonsense. And, somehow, many of the happiest people have been through the worst, which means they are not ignoring reality — they are just better at dealing with it. As McFerrin put it, “In your life, expect some trouble.”

So, here is the bad news: Happiness isn’t magic. And, here is the good news: It isn’t reserved for those mysterious morning people either. We can all get there. We just might have to start with one radical step: Maybe, don’t hit snooze tomorrow. (OK, let’s not get carried away.)

Have a happy Friday, and thanks for reading.

Most of us have questioned the need for the penny — and not quietly. At this point, finding one feels less like luck and more like spotting a triple-yolk egg: technically possible, but are we sure it’s worth the excitement?

We now know it costs more than a cent to make a penny, which feels like the financial equivalent of paying $5 for a $1 bill. So, aside from the old “Find a penny, pick it up…” jingle — which, let’s be honest, hasn’t improved anyone’s luck since 1987 — there’s really no reason to bend over for one. If anything, we’re just preparing ourselves for a future where everything that costs $9.95 magically becomes $10.

My own introduction to this harsh economic reality came early. As a kid, I proudly approached a vending machine with a fistful of pennies, ready to make a life-changing investment in sugar. The machine rejected me. Repeatedly. I wasn’t happy. The vending machine operator, somewhere out there, probably still isn’t either.

The nickel, though — now there’s a coin with some dignity. Solid. Dependable. No ridges. No nonsense. It’s the cargo shorts of currency: practical, underrated and easy to find without looking. And yet, like the penny, it is drifting into irrelevance. “Nickel candy” is now a historical phrase, like “rewind the tape” or “be kind, please rewind.”

Then there’s the dime — tiny, slippery and apparently committed to disappearing at the worst possible moments. It is the only coin that can vanish while you’re actively holding it. As a teenager in the 1980s, my friends and I discovered an important social truth: If you ask someone for a dime, they will just give it to you. No questions. No paperwork. No Venmo request. Ask for a quarter, though, and suddenly it is a loan negotiation. Try that experiment today, and you’ll hit a bigger problem: No one has cash, let alone a dime. The evolution from dime stores to dollar stores tells you everything you need to know about inflation — and optimism.

And then we have the quarter. A big jump, both in value and confidence. Why 25 cents? Why not 15? Or 20? At some point, someone just said, “Let’s make it a quarter,” and everyone else nodded like it made perfect sense.

The quarter also doubles as entertainment. My friends and I once turned it into a game: Trace a circle around a quarter on paper, and then challenge people to roll the coin off their nose and land it inside the lines. What they don’t realize is they are also drawing a lovely graphite racing stripe down their face. It’s a game of skill, deception and mild embarrassment. And, yes, the ridges matter. This is not a job for the smooth, overconfident nickel.

So, sure, pocket change may not buy much anymore, but it can still teach life lessons, start strange experiments and, occasionally, decorate your face.

Try getting that from a credit card.

Have a terrific Tuesday, and thanks for reading.

Shane Goodman
Editor and Publisher
Times Vedette digital newsletter
shane@gctimesnews.com
641-332-2707