Ode To Rose 31 by Le Labo

Ammonia over Grapefruit

No. 2 Pencil

Biscotti

Lemon Bars

Jergens Hand Lotion

Quaking Aspen

Sweet & Sour Pork

Image from thecandyperfumeboy.wordpress.com

The Downside Of A Signature Scent

She can only smell her perfume up close, too

It's official - I can no longer smell Rose Essentielle.

This, of course, is the sucky side of a signature scent (say that fast five times).  It's been a long time since I wore one perfume every single day, but I remember this phenomenon.

Inner Critic has tapped me on the shoulder to ask, 'didn't you just buy a new bottle of Rose Essentielle?'  

Thank you, King of Stating the Obvious.

Yesterday, I enjoyed a glorious 60 seconds after spraying it on - quite generously, I might add - and then...nothin'.  Others can still smell it, but what's the point if my own damn nose has checked out?

Sorry, Daphne.

If I press my nose to my arm, it's still there, beautiful as ever.  But I used to get random hits of sillage through the day accompanied by thoughts of, 'OMG, I smell goohoohood!'

Now, it looks like the jig is up, the fat lady has sung and that's all she wrote.  I'm already contemplating the next rose perfume in the seasonal rotation.  

Not to worry, I'll be back in the spring.

Image from alloy.com

Eating Like I'm French

You may remember that I've been on the Get More Fit, Thin and Hot plan for approximately six months.

Six months this Thursday.

At noon.

In addition to being preoccupied by food, I am also convinced that somewhere out there exists the Perfect Way To Eat.  With enough research and experimenting, I am sure to find it.  

Let me go on record to say that B-man is the most patient person on the planet.  If I were him, my constant phases, experiments and epiphanies would send me screaming down the street.

For example, I currently eat like a French person, and I'm reading a book about how the French don't diet.  In spite of the rich food and wine, the French continue to have less heart disease and rare cases of obesity.  

They simply relax and enjoy great food in moderation.

Mais Oui.

Through all of my food adventures, B-man remains cool as a cucumber...which the French also eat, by the way.

B-man:  I thought you were on the Paleo diet plan.

Me:  That was so last week.

B-man:  What about the eating six times a day plan?

Me:  I'm eating like a French person now.

Him:  Does that mean you will keep eating butter?

Me:  Yeah, the French eat butter.

Him:  Because we have a lot of butter in the fridge.

Me:  I know, but the French prefer unsalted butter.

Him:  What do you suggest we do with the salted butter?

Me:  Do we have any cheese?

Him:  You said you weren't eating cheese.

Me:  But the French eat cheese.

Him:  I suppose you're going to drink red wine, too.

Me:  I am, actually.

Him:  You don't even like red wine.

Me:  Well, I do now.

Him:  Why don't you be in charge of buying the cheese?

So far, this new way of eating is everything I dreamed it would be.  As I've told B-man, I'm certain I have found the Holy Grail of food.

I'm on day three.

image from greevilledailyphoto.com

What Is Your One Big Thing?

With my 52nd birthday just around the corner, I've been doing a lot of thinking.  Time ticks away quickly and I have a new sense of urgency about figuring stuff out.  

Like, what is going to make me happiest and create a positive impact in the time I have left on earth?  What do I most want to accomplish?  What makes my life meaningful?

What is the One Big Thing that makes all the difference?

Hmmm...mulling.

  

How about you?  What is The One Thing you must have to make your life meaningful?

Image from flickr.com

Coming Back To The Rose

If you asked, I would say I'm an Iris Girl when it comes to perfume.  Iris is my favorite flower because it's dramatically beautiful,  gloriously fragrant and it will forever bring forth thoughts of my mother.

But you know what?  I hardly ever wear iris perfumes.  Hiris, I wear layered most often with others.  Iris by L'Occitane is nice, but a bit too sweet.  Dzongkha, I would like to own because of the incense note.  But Iris Silver Mist just bugs me.  Too 'irisy.'

Even though I've been on a perfume hiatus, this has been a great time to analyze my collection and my wearing habits.  Before now, I never in a million years thought I was a Rose Girl.

But I am.

As it turns out, the perfumes I love...I mean Really Love...all revolve around rose.

Let's consider Black Aoud and White Aoud, different and exquisite interpretations of rose.  I would sacrifice nearly my entire collection before letting them go.  

And most of my everyday, go-to scents are rose based.  Bvlgari's Rose Essentielle has been my signature work perfume this summer.  Kelly Caleche and Agent Provocateur are also wonderful.  Cabaret by Gres is a fantastic soapy rose, and perfect for all occasions.

So why have I denied my rose identity for so long?  Well, before my perfume obsession began, I associated all rose perfumes with something like Ombre Rose, which I own but cannot bear to put on my skin.  The smell of the spray nozzle alone scares me off every time.

But rose done right rules the perfume world.  And if I honestly look at the perfumes I wear most often, I'm a Rose Girl. 

Finally.  I admit it.

Image from thundafunda.com

What Will Be My Birthday Perfume This Year?

My birthday is only two weeks away!  This is significant because it just dawned on me this morning that I haven't yet chosen my birthday perfume. 

Usually, I obsess about this for months before my special day.  But I find myself smack in the middle of a perfume 'interlude.'

Nevertheless, the show must go on and I'm not about to break one of the few traditions of my own creation.  

My nose, Daphne, would pout for weeks.  

Due to the changing weather, colors and smells that September brings, I tend to seek birthday perfumes that possess depth and a touch of nostalgia.

Past choices include:

Black Aoud

Cabochard

Ambre Sultan

Narcisse Noir

Gris Clair

Knowing

Today, as I consider perfumes that interest me, the following list comes to mind:

Le Labo Rose 31

L'Artisan Dzongkha

Muscs Koublai Khan

Ineke's Field Notes From Paris

Ormonde Jayne Woman

Let the obsessing begin.

What perfumes represent early fall to you?

Image from freegraphics.com

The Weirdness of Being Watched

It's weird to realize you're being watched. 

Oh, I know, I've already said I like attention, and it's true.  Attention is great when it's my idea and I'm working to accomplish a goal.  

And comments about my perfume are always welcome.

But the day-to-day observations by my direct reports, and other staff members, wear on me over time.

Last week, on Friday, one of my department leaders asked how I was doing.

'Great,' I replied, which was the truth. 

'You sure look less stressed today.'

'Less than what?'

'Than Tuesday,' she said.

I can't for the life of me remember what happened on Tuesday or why I would look more 'stressed' then than on Friday.  And what does that even mean, anyway?  No color in my face? Bad hair day?  

Lettuce in my teeth? 

People walk by my office and comment on the fact that I sit at my desk without slumping.  They make a big fuss if I wear a different color top.  They notice my toenail polish or new earrings. 

Fascinating stuff, let me tell ya.

Honestly, I don't notice, or care about, those details on others unless it's really pronounced.  Nose hair that is hanging out of one's nostrils will get my attention.  So will raggedy flip-flops worn the day our CEO decides to visit my leadership meeting.

 

Otherwise, not so much.

I'm craving a vacation where I can be an anonymous part of the crowd where no one cares what I wear, what I say, or the color of my toenails. They might observe, but they don't have to tell me about it.

Until then, I suppose the curious will just have to pull up a chair and watch what happens next.  Hopefully, I will look 'less stressed' than I did on Tuesday.

image from marlamaraska.com

Ode to Messe de Minuit by Etro

Machine Shop

Gingerbread

Chalk

Folding Fan

Sweet Pipe Tobacco

Backstage

Empty Wine Barrels

Image from perfumeshrine.blogspot.com

Scent Memory Gone Bad

I love the smell of fresh mint.  Almost as much as I love the smell of leather.  In my memory, both of them exist quite nicely in Cartier's gender bender, Roadster.  I scored a sample at Nordstrom some time ago and haven't worn it since.

Yesterday, I started jonesing for Roaster and meant to put it on last night before walking with B-man and Paige.  This way, I could lure B-man with my scent as he carried the pooper scooper behind us like a clown at the parade.  

It seemed romantic at the time.

My hopes were dashed when, after one sniff of the sample, Daphne said, 'oh, hell no.'  It didn't smell anything at all like I remembered.

When was the last time a perfume didn't live up to your memory of the scent? 

 

image from uae.souq.com

Just Chillin' On A Monday

Last week, I asked for advice from my boss' boss, our almost new CEO.  Never do this if you're having one of those hormonal days where a commercial for Lays potato chips makes you cry.   Do it on an equally skewed day when you think you're All That.

Honestly, up until now, I've rarely received valuable feedback at this job - even when I've asked for it.  That's because, in pediatrics, we specialize in being nice.  We love everyone's children, smile as we walk down the hall and live by Thumper's Rule:  If you can't say somethin' nice, don't say nothin' at all.

'Oh, everything's great, you're doing great, we love what you're doing!'  Honestly, it gets annoying.  I don't need my ass kissed.

Well, not constantly.

Now, our leadership has changed, and a new openness abounds.  Everyone's all glasnost, which means information is transparent and the chain of command went down the toilet.

I like the chain of command.

 
Braced for the same dog and pony show I usually get when I ask, I posed the question to our soon-to-be CEO: 'Do you have any global advi...'

'Just relax,' she blurted out before I could finish my question.

Huh??

She continued, 'You can be a little formal at times, and everyone wants to know they're working with a real, down-to-earth person.'

Wow.  Stunned by her honesty, and relieved to get real information from someone I respect, I simply said, 'thank you for letting me know.' 

Today was not so different from any other day.  I testified in a court case, had a successful pep talk with one of my struggling teams and helped a mother who was crying in the hallway.  

Several times, I thought back on the advice to 'just relax.'  If today is any indication, Mondays are going to be fun again.

image from bethelderlcsw.com

Happy To Be, Well...Happy

Free Day Brunch: Veggie burger with melted cheddar cheese, whole wheat angel hair pasta, marinated artichoke hearts and fresh salsa

 

 

 

Yesterday, as I read a post from this time last year, I was struck with one thought: Wow, what a difference a year makes.

Maybe it's because I'm healthier and my body is changing in positive ways.  Maybe it's because the weather is stunningly beautiful this summer; not too hot, with regular thunder and cloudburst drama.

Or maybe it's simply because almost a year and a half has passed since Mom died and I'm beginning to feel like myself again.

Driving to work one day this week, I got the impression that Mom was happy, too.  This comforted me because she always struggled with depression, insecurity and fear.  I believe she had moments of happiness, but much of her time and energy was spent dealing with her own anxiety, which was difficult for her and for us.

Now, I sense she's happier.  Of course, I might just be projecting my healing onto her.  That's okay, too.

A year ago, I couldn't envision feeling this way ever again.  I was afraid that part of me was gone forever, lost to the black hole of grief.  But today, my gratitude for life and love is simply through the roof.

Finally, my 6-year-old self, who would spin with joy for no particular reason, has returned.

Photo my own

Perfume In The Nick Of Time

Finally, a second bottle of Rose Essentielle by Bvlgari is on its way.  In the last ten years, I have re-purchased only one perfume, Un Jardin en Mediterranee.

Until now.

Yesterday, I was debating whether or not to complete the order (Rose Essentielle has been loitering in my online shopping cart for a week), even though I have been wearing it constantly. 

Honestly, I dithered, wondering whether or not ordering a second bottle will mark the end of my loving it.  B-man has all sorts of examples of exactly this, particularly where food is involved.

Him: 'Hey, I got more of that granola you love.'

Me, two days later: 'Oh, I'm tired of that now.'

Seriously, living with me is tons of fun.

But then, this morning, as I'm walking through the hospital, a man passes me, stops, and comes back to ask, 'what is that perfume?'  

I tell him.  

'It's wonderful,' he says.

Nothing like a 'praise me' moment to end my procrastination.

image from talkaboutmarriage.com

A Bratty BlackBerry Morning

You already know I'm a Morning Person.  Chances are, I would piss you off because I am convinced - no, I'm quite certain - that I can accomplish anything before noon.  Seriously, anything.

Bring it on.

This morning, I'm ready to walk out the door with my lunch, jacket and keys, convinced I look smokin' hot (all part of the morning delusion) and ready to take on the world.  B-man unplugs my phone from its charger and goes to place it into the leather case.

I hear a crash and parts flying across the hard kitchen floor.

Morning Girl Interrupted.

'God, what an idiot,' B-man says.

My day flashes before me; I won't be able to call Dad on the way to work, and my team won't be able to contact me this afternoon when I go to another hospital for a meeting.  If Murphy's Law holds true, I will certainly run over a rogue board with nails and end up stranded on the freeway.

B-man puts the battery in, replaces the back piece and turns it on.  It's getting power so we both hope it will be okay.  While I'm not exactly upset with B-man, I am annoyed and have a hard time hiding it.

'Kay, bye, love you,' I say in a sarcastic, sing-song voice.

In my car, BlackBerry is taking forever to power up.  I sit there for awhile with the engine running, adding greater emphasis to my inconvenience.  

All the way to work, I keep looking at the phone's frozen screen and tossing it onto the seat between my legs.  For whatever reason, it makes me feel good to keep looking at it and letting it free fall. 

F-ing thing, anyway.

Miraculously, I get to work unscathed and immediately call B-man to let him know that my phone is dead.  I'm still playing the role of the Put Upon Princess.

B-man says, 'Oh, no, really?'

As soon as I hear his voice, I realize how bad he feels. And what a brat I am.

Everything in my life is better, and made easier, because of the B-man.  Yesterday, while I was putzing around the house and doing my thing, he went to my office and stocked my refrigerator, swapped out one plant for another and left treats that I gave my staff this morning.

Simply because he knew it would help me.

As it turns out, one of our techs at the hospital is able to fix my phone.  I can't wait to let B-man know everything is fine, certain that he is worried and blaming himself for what happened.

I also say, 'I love you.'  Never have I meant it more.

image from competitions.clove.co.uk