Pestle, Mortar, Pratchett

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With my pestle and mortar, I began to grind lavender blossoms and orange leaves.

“Oh Maga,” Lorelei’s message echoed in my head. “We have lost Terry Pratchett.”

He died surrounded by family and while still remembering who he was, I thought. I hope he got his glass of brandy. I continued pulverizing blossoms and leaves until I had enough to make the biggest cup of tea in the universe.

But I didn’t feel like drinking tea. In fact, I had been sipping French vanilla coffee while pressing pestle to mortar and watching orange leaves and lavender blossoms become something new… and thinking about Terry Pratchett being gone.

I’m not exactly sure at what point in time I decided to put my grinding tools aside, and chose to recycle some left over bits of wax into a new candle.

I started melting the old wax and…
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… grabbed some lavender sprigs…
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…a recycled coffee filter, a pencil, scissors, three pennies and an empty jar;
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I cut the coffee filter into a wide strip, and wrote “You will be missed and remembered…”
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…twisted the strip into a wick, anointed it with rosemary oil, tied one end of it to the pennies, and the other to the pencil, which was balanced over the mouth of the jar;
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I poured the melted wax into the jar, and added three sprigs of lavender when the wax began to set… I stared at the cooling candle for a long time, inhaling its scent, trying not to cry. García Márquez last year and now Pratchett… Death must happen in order for life to continue happening. If not, we’ll run out of room.
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The practical thought didn’t dam my tears, so I repeated the previous process in the making of a smaller candle…
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After removing the pencils and trimming the wicks, I melted a wee chunk of recycled lilac candle, topped the new candles with the purplish liquid, sprinkled some of the lavender/orange powder over the wax, and brought them into my bedroom to finish cooling by me… as I wrote this post…
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The small candle is shining in front of some of my Knight Writer’s books. I will save the one in the golden jar to light on April 29th, Terry Pratchett’s birthday… after he has had his first long conversation with Death; and perhaps, a drink or three with the ghost of Gabriel García Márquez…

Terry Pratchett
Sir Terence David John “Terry” Pratchett, OBE (28 April 1948 – 12 March 2015)
image via,

30 thoughts on “Pestle, Mortar, Pratchett”

  1. His stories made such an impression on so many people I care about. I am saddened I discovered his stories very late, but it would have been awful never to have read them at all. A wickedly funny and brilliant man.

  2. Wonderful tribute to Sir Terry. My husband brought the amazing Terry Pratchett into MetLife 15 years ago in the form of a clumsy wizard, a crazy and very much alive piece of luggage, and of course Death.. The Color of Magic was my first Pratchett book, but not my last.

    I am so saddened by his passing, but I take comfort in knowing every time I pic up a book and travel on the Disc that he is there too.

  3. Did you see the concluding tweets on his twitter account? “AT LAST, SIR TERRY, WE MUST WALK TOGETHER. Terry took Death’s arm and followed him through the doors and on to the black desert under the endless night. The End.” Very fitting.

  4. My favorite writer. I wept all day on and off. I also wrote a poem about him. I have many books on tape, as well as having read about fifty or so. Just loved him. Thanks. Glad to find another fan. k.

    • One of my three favorites. I grew up with his work, Gabriel García Márquez’s and later on Neil Gaiman’s. It hurts to know him gone…

      I shall fly to your cyber-home and read your poem!

  5. This is a beautiful tribute to a wonderfully creative gentleman.

    Your recycled candles are gorgeous, and I bet they smell divine!

    Your heading made me think of Baba Yaga ♥

    • That he was, wasn’t he? *sigh*

      The small candle is still burning–that’s way more than 24 hours! and yes, it smells yummy.

      Baby Yaga, huh? I might have to read a bit of Fables tonight. 😉

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