My Perfect Sundays
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Days of Quiet Joys and Simple Pleasures
There’s a particular magic to Sundays. For six days a week, my life revolves around the whirlwind of running a candle business—crafting scents, coordinating shipments, and connecting with customers who share my love for cozy, sensory moments. But Sundays? Sundays are mine. They’re a sacred pause, a day to step away from the to-do lists and lose myself in the rituals that nourish my soul. No agendas, no spreadsheets, just the quiet rhythm of a day designed for rest, reflection, and a little indulgence. Here’s how I spend my perfect Sunday.
Morning: The Art of Slow Beginnings
My Sundays begin without an alarm. The morning light filters through my curtains, soft and golden, as I stretch under the weight of my coziest quilt. I rise and head for a hot shower. I'm awake and fresh and ready to ease into my lovely day. The first order of business? A glass of freshly squeezed orange juice—bright, tangy, and sipped slowly while I linger by the window, watching the squirrels frolicking in the trees. My orange juice isn’t just a drink; it’s a promise to myself to start the day with intention.
Next, I light a candle. (Of course I do.) One of my own creations, usually something clean and uplifting, like a citrus-and-herb blend. The flicker of the flame and the subtle scent create an instant sanctuary. With the ambiance set, I curl up in my favourite armchair, dog-eared novel in hand. Lately, I’ve been revisiting classic authors like Jane Austen and Gabriel García Márquez—stories that feel like conversations with old friends. Reading is my meditation, a way to quiet the mind before the world wakes up.
Around 10 a.m., my dog, a little Boston Terrier cross named Chew, nudges my knee with his wet nose. His version of a polite alarm clock: It’s time. Our morning walk is non-negotiable, rain or shine. We amble through the neighbourhood, Chew sniffing every corner and I soaking in the quiet streets. Sundays have a different sound—fewer cars, more birdsong, the occasional chime of a church bell. These walks ground me, a reminder that joy lives in the mundane: the way sunlight dapples through oak trees, the smell of freshly cut grass, Chew's tail wagging at the sight of a squirrel.
Mid-Morning: Stretching Into Stillness
Returning home, I take a moment to stretch—a ritual that bridges the gap between movement and calm. Rain or shine, this practice centres me. On drizzly mornings, I’ll crack a window and light a candle like Black Sands (sandalwood and black pepper) to echo the moody atmosphere. Here’s my go-to routine:
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Neck Rolls: Sitting cross-legged on a floor cushion, I drop my right ear toward my shoulder, then slowly roll my head clockwise. The tension from hunching over candle molds all week melts away. Tip: Imagine your head is a heavy bloom, swaying in a gentle breeze.
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Cat-Cow Stretch: On hands and knees, I arch my back like a Halloween cat, then dip into a swaybacked “cow.” Chew often joins, mimicking me with comedic downward dogs.
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Child’s Pose: Knees wide, forehead to the floor, arms stretched forward. Here, I breathe deeply—inhaling the rain-kissed air, exhaling the week’s clutter.
Stretching isn’t just about flexibility; it’s about listening to your body. Some days I linger here for 10 minutes, other days just two. The key is to move with the day, not against it.
Afternoon: Nostalgia, Snacks, and Old Hollywood Glamour
By noon, I’m hungry and ready to lean into the guilt-free laziness of the day. Lunch is a laid-back affair: a plate of salty crisps (sea salt, cheddar and chives, sometimes) and a bar of dark chocolate with almonds. I’ve never understood the urge to “eat clean” on Sundays—this is a day for savouring, not striving.
If rain taps against the windows, all the better. There’s something divine about being cocooned indoors while the world washes clean outside. I’ll light Golden Pinecone (pinecone and honey), its warmth mirroring the flicker of the hearth in an old English cottage. Curled on the couch with a chunky knit blanket, I queue up a classic film marathon. Today’s lineup? Casablanca (because Humphrey Bogart’s world-weary charm never gets old) and Roman Holiday (for Audrey Hepburn’s whimsy and the dreamy backdrop of Rome). The patter of raindrops harmonizes with the crackle of black-and-white dialogue, a symphony of comfort.
Around 3 p.m., I swap orange juice for matcha tea. The ritual of whisking the vibrant green powder into frothy perfection is almost as satisfying as the tea itself. Matcha is my afternoon lifeline—a calm alertness that carries me through the day without the jitters of coffee. I sip it slowly, often while jotting down thoughts in my journal. Sundays are for reflection, and writing helps me process the week’s chaos and clarity.
Rainy Day Interlude: The Magic of Transition
When the rain slows to a drizzle, I pause to watch the world glisten. Chew presses his nose to the window, tail thumping at the sight of birds shaking droplets from their wings. I throw on a raincoat, and we venture out again. The post-storm air smells electric, alive—a mix of wet soil and ozone. I breathe deeply, imagining how I’d bottle this scent: Silken Plum & Oak, perhaps, with its velvety fruit and grounding woodiness.
Back inside, damp but invigorated, I slip into dry clothes and return to the couch. The post-rain sunlight slants through the windows, casting prismatic streaks on the walls. It’s in these moments I’m reminded: Storms don’t last, but the peace they leave behind does.
Evening: Wine, Twilight, and Letting Go
As the sun dips lower, I trade my sweatpants for something marginally more put-together (a linen dress, maybe, or soft jeans) and head outside to my tiny backyard garden. This is my “golden hour” ritual—a glass of Merlot in one hand, a book in the other. The wine is rich and velvety, a reward for a day well-spent. I’m partial to bold reds, and Merlot’s balance of fruit and earthiness feels like a toast to life’s contradictions: busy and quiet, ambitious and content.
Chew joins me, sprawled at my feet as I watch the sky turn from peach to indigo. I don’t rush this moment. There’s a lesson Sundays teach me again and again: You don’t have to earn rest. It’s okay to sit, to stare at butterflies and spider webs, to let the to-do list wait.
Dinner is simple—a homemade charcuterie board with crusty bread, olives, and whatever cheese I have on hand. I eat outside in the spring and summer, candles flickering on the patio table, as the first stars appear.
Night: Embracing the Quiet
By 9 p.m., the house is silent save for the hum of the floor fan. I pour the last of the Merlot and slip into a bubble bath, this time lighting Midnight Blooms (gardenia), its creamy floral scent a lullaby for the senses. Baths are my final act of rebellion against productivity culture. No podcasts, no planning—just steam, silence, and the occasional addition of too many bath salts.
Afterward, I crawl into bed with Chew snoring softly on his fluffy rug on the floor beside me. I might read a few more pages, or I might just lie there, replaying the day’s small joys: the way Chew chased a butterfly, the bittersweet ending of Casablanca, the way sunlight looked pooled on the kitchen floor. Sundays aren’t about grand adventures; they’re about noticing.
Why This Ritual Matters
You might wonder why I’m sharing something so personal. As a small business owner, it’s easy to let work consume your identity. But my Sundays remind me that I’m more than my candles, my sales, or my to-do list. This day of rest isn’t just about recharging—it’s about remembering who I am when I’m not “on.”
And isn’t that what candles are all about, too? Creating space to be. Whether it’s the matcha-sipping quiet of afternoon or the wine-soaked twilight, these rituals are my way of honouring life’s fleeting, fragile beauty. When I stride across the landing to work in my studio office on Monday, I bring that stillness with me—into every scent I blend, every email I write, every connection I make.
Your Turn: Crafting Your Perfect Sunday
I’d love to hear how you unwind. What does your ideal Sunday look like? Share your rituals in the comments below—and if you’re craving a little ambiance for your own day of rest, explore our Core Collection, designed to turn ordinary moments into something luminous.
Three Tips for Your Sunday Sanctuary:
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Embrace Transitional Moments: Light a candle like Citrus Vanilla Blush as rain gives way to sun—its zesty warmth mirrors nature’s renewal.
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Stretch Like a Cat: Even five minutes of gentle movement can reset your mind. Try the child’s pose with a Vetiver and Oud Noir candle burning nearby for grounding.
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Let the Weather Inspire You: Rainy day? Queue up Singin’ in the Rain. Sunshine? Picnic with Fig & Magnolia Blossom to sweeten the air.
Here’s to slow mornings, old movies, and the magic of doing nothing at all.
Candles mentioned in this post are available in our Core Candle Collection, perfect for gifting or gifting yourself. Enjoy....