Missing My Mother

Mom would have loved sharing this week's work drama.  Together, we would have analyzed it from every angle.  She might have said things like, 'I think you're pushing yourself too hard,' or 'are you sure you want that position?'  In the end, though, she would have said what I most need to hear, 'know how much you're loved and I wish you the very best.'  

Tuesday, the night before my interview, I longed to call her so that my experience could be reflected through her eyes.  I had no idea how much I valued this until now, when life is in flux and I need the grounding connection that only a mother can provide. 

Knowing I will never again be able to draw her into my world, or that whatever I might achieve, she will not be here to see it, is a lonely feeling indeed.

Wednesday night, I called Dad, just to check in and see how he was doing.  I knew that if I talked about my day, and missing Mom, I would just blubber into the phone, which didn't seem helpful to him.  So instead, we chatted for some time about his week and his plans for the upcoming weekend.  Then he said, 'so what happened in your day?'  

I lost it.

When I could, I told him exactly how I felt while he listened and empathized.  Then I began sharing my day with him; the interview, the process and my feelings about it all.  Even though our conversation was different than one I might have had with Mom, it was comforting and helped me feel less alone.  As our talk was winding down, nearing goodbye, Dad said, "know that I love you and always wish you the very best.'

Even in grief, gems emerge.

photo of my mother in May 2008

It's Thursday and All is Well

I survived Interview Wednesday. 

After considering many different perfumes, and pondering some excellent suggestions, I end up wearing Agent Provocateur.  With a crisp white shirt and my favorite, 'Get Smart' jacket, it's perfect.

The red shoes are a bonus.

If I owned it, I would have seriously considered Chanel No. 19 with its androgynous, 'don't fuck with me' allure.  Perhaps my next Must Have perfume.

Today, feeling more relaxed, I wear Amber Sultan (following a perfume reminder from a fellow blogger).  It matches my mood and also seems more comforting (somewhat gourmand) and less herbal than usual. 

Tonight, Ambre Sultan lives on as B-man and I hang out on the deck, take in the scenery and reflect on our world.

Paige's squeaky toy hedgehog peppers our conversation.

Life - Full Speed Ahead

Staycation is officially over. 

Entering the hospital this morning, after lounging about for Nine Whole Days, was like accidentally hitting the fast forward on the remote control after pausing my favorite program to go take a pee.

There is no easing back into my work. 

Agent Provocateur is the Scent of the Day, but I found myself wishing I had worn something a bit snappier, like DKNY or Chinatown. 

Wednesday is a very important day - a critical day in the life of my career.  My perfume must be perfect; inviting but not seductive, confident but not overbearing, female but not necessarily feminine.

What would you recommend?

Saturday's Perfume Bombs

Perfume is a bust today, for me and for B-man.

After we decide to 'hunt and gather' this afternoon, I shower and apply Geisha Rouge, by Aroma M.  This, along with Borneo, is a perfume I bought in Seattle last December. 

I have worn it exactly once.

You all know how may times I have over-applied from my zealous perfume memory, so today, I am extra careful. Small dabs inside each elbow and an even smaller dab on my neck. 

I'm talking minuscule here.

After about five minutes, the skin inside my elbows is burning.  Hurrying to get ready, it doesn't immediately register that the burning could be caused by my perfume oil.  Finally, pulling out of my hair drying trance, I realize that what's burning is Geisha Rouge.

WTF?!

On top of that, I reek like a giant cinnamon stick, even after rinsing it off. 

Wait, there's more.

B-man has acquired nine scents of his very own.  True, I bought most of them for him, but he wears and appreciates them all.  (Actually, he has a great nose and first identified the chocolate in Borneo while I was still swooning over the dusty patchouli.) 

Shortly after we met, 23 years ago, he began wearing Gendarme.  We were together when he bought it and we both fell in love with the scent.  B-man wore it daily as he suited up for work and it reflected his elegant, understated style.  He hasn't worn it for quite some time.  Until today.

Our noses have obviously changed because we hate it now.

Fortunately, I'm not focusing on the Gendarme because I smell so bad myself.  Even as I write this post, I'm considering a quick shower.

What is your Perfume Bomb moment?

Easter Perfume at the Cemetery

Today, B-man and I spend the day in Park City, an easy 40-minute drive from our home.  First, we go shopping (you can imagine how successful that is...), then meander to the old mining cemetery just west of downtown. 

Cemeteries are my thing, even though I cannot stand the thoughts of burial and all that goes into the process. (Our local newspaper regularly features an ad that shows a young-ish couple smiling joyfully, promoting their mortuary.  As if it has nothing to do with dead people.  Creeps me out.)  

Nevertheless, I find cemeteries meditative, soothing and high drama all at once.  Today, we revisit headstones of mothers and fathers who died young in the 1800's, surrounded by the smaller headstones of their children that lived a day, a month or sometimes a year.   

Few things have the same ability to add immediate perspective to my over-analyzed life and encourage me to take everything a bit less serious. 

Mom was a cemetery junkie, too.  Fortunately, she got to visit this one - my favorite - a couple of years ago.

Scent of the Day?  

My Easter blend:  Sur le Nil and Tea Rose.

Photos taken today at Glenwood Cemetery in Park City

Dirty English and Perfume Obsession

Today is lazy.  Really lazy.

B-man leaves this morning to get a haircut and do some 'hunting and gathering' (his phrase for shopping).  

When he comes back, his first comment, upon seeing me unkempt, with an ugly gray and black bandanna on my head - wash woman style - is, 'did you pick all the potatoes?'  

Smart ass.

I'm helping him understand how much time I spend ruminating about perfume when I have no other distractions to occupy my mind.  For example, in preparation for a soiree with my sisters last night, I sample three perfumes to determine which is most appropriate for a hot, breezy evening on the deck. 

The Candidates are:

1)  Gucci eau de parfum

2)  Bandit

3)  Dirty English

As you can see, I'm diverting from typical summer scents because I'm feeling persnickety and entitled.

Staycations mess with you that way.

As it turns out, the Gucci EdP is just too 'root beer' and it seems syrupy sweet.  I read somewhere that this is meant to be a modern take on Femme.  Perhaps because of that, it is quickly deemed All Wrong.

Bandit is a perfume that I love for about 30 minutes, then it just pisses me off.  Seriously, every time I wear it, I find myself thinking, 'why am I so cranky?'   My most charming self has limited tolerance for inconvenience, and Bandit shortens the fuse.  Not wanting to risk my party mood, Bandit is a no-go. 

Dirty English wins.  

Disclaimer:  In general, I dislike all things Juicy Couture and feel the apparel is overdone and overpriced.  The perfume marketed to women is overwrought.  In fact, had I not run across it accidentally, I may have avoided Dirty English, knowing it was a product of Juicy Couture.

Marketing power in reverse.

As it turns out, Dirty English is quite pleasant, with a leathery vibe throughout the perfume's journey.  Actually, it's not all that dirty, with top notes of bergamot and cedar.  Dirty English gets brighter (meaning more floral) in the heart notes and ends with a trail of leather, amber and musk.  It brings to mind Frederic Malle's French Lover in the drydown.

Dirty English works well in hot weather, marries nicely with food, and it doesn't piss me off.

I like it.

Azuree with a Little Something Special

Today is the Best Day Ever.  

Dad and I visit Mom's grave (today is the five month anniversary of her death), we go to lunch and then ride the 3-wheeler and play with the John Deere tractors.

I had so much fun.

We have already made plans that, next time I visit, I will ride the 4-wheeler - while Dad rides the the 3-wheeler - to the shooting range in the lower field.  Dad will then instruct me on the Beretta.

That's right, Josephine Has A Gun.  

Scent of the Day is Estee Lauder's Azuree.  Readers of this blog know that Azuree was my Mother's Signature Scent years ago.  If ever a perfume captured the best of life on the farm, and Mom's feisty spirit, it's Azuree.

Even though it starts out all Lysol, Azuree gradually mellows to a beautiful, worn leather with an herbal, earthy drydown.  

Grain in burlap sacks.

Barley and wood.

Diesel exhaust.

Feeling sweaty and sticky, after a 91 degree day on the farm, I come home and spray Tea Rose, hoping to feel refreshed until I shower before bed.  The combination of Azuree and Tea Rose is amazing.

Dewy freshness paired with old leather, woods and vetiver.

It's a good day - Mom would be happy.

Perfume - and Life - at Leisure

This week, I'm on Staycation. 

Lady of leisure, doing whatever I want, whenever I want.

All week.

Years have passed since I took unstructured time off.  Last Thursday, I had an epiphany where I realized that, a) the hospital will not close its doors without me and, b) I really need a break. 

My work is fast-paced and high drama, which is one reason I love it.  Usually, this is the perfect compliment to my tranquil, perfume filled routine at home.  

However, in light of this year's life changing events, my energy reserves are down.  In fact, the last time I took a week off was to help plan and attend my mother's funeral.

Of course, perfume is a comfort and an indulgence that I will enjoy all week; sampling, blogging then sampling again.  

And blogging again.

Scent of the Day is Niki de St Phalle.  I ordered this in the Last Killer Sale, thinking it was a chypre.  In my defense, many reviews list the notes of oakmoss, vetiver, woods and other chypre-ish things, so I made an easy assumption.

It is so not a chypre.

Having said that, it's not half bad, either, but it could replace all of the oxygen in a room if over-applied (not that I would ever...).  Plus, my skin tends to sweeten everything just a bit, so I'm sensitive to the precious factor in all perfumes.  NdSP is sweeter than I hoped.  

Woods?  Barely.  Vetiver?  You wish.  Oakmoss?  No.

To my nose, NdSP is primarily jasmine and ylang ylang with enough other stuff to make it interesting and wearable. What that 'stuff' is exactly, I'm not sure.

It's not oakmoss, that's all I'm sayin'.

I'll be Nosing Around all week.

Agent Provocateur - New Love

I'd like you to meet my new perfume love, Agent Provocateur.  

All day, I've been jonesing for AP, but didn't put it on until this evening when I showered and got cute for Sunday Champagne on the deck.

Clean and rosy, with a touch of metal and vetiver, AP is warming the cockles of my heart, big time.

Plus, the saffron.  Wow.

AP is the mother of 'Purchased Unsniffed' victories.

Cuir d'Arabie - Almost Great

Following Michael's mention of Montale's Cuir d'Arabie, over at From Top to Bottom - Perfume Patter, I simply had to apply it this morning to see if my second impression was different than the first.

I initially sampled CdA several months ago.  For 30 minutes, I was blown away, certain I had found the Next Great Leather Perfume.

Today, along with aoud, tobacco and leather, CdA produced a distracting spice undercurrent that I don't remember from the previous wearing.   

It's so unnecessary.

To CdA's credit, the top notes are leathery from the get-go, and the leather remains throughout the drydown.  This is no small feat.

While CdA is technically beautiful, it just doesn't blow my dress up and I've spent the entire day wondering why.  Perhaps it's not weird enough to be truly compelling.  Or maybe it's because, on me, CdA is a close-to-the-skin perfume that lacks 'throw' and, therefore, dramatic impact.

I may wear it on occasion, but it won't threaten Black Aoud's position in the Top Five.

Other thoughts on Cuir d'Arabie?

Bra Shopping and Chanel

What could possibly be more annoying than bra shopping?  Go ahead, think it through.

I told you.

Add the fact that I suck at shopping.

Nevertheless, we've reached That Point, so I leave work early and decide to look for 'foundation' garments because the state of my underwear is really kind of sad.

Let's start with bras.

If I am lucky enough to find one that fits (adequate support, minimum back fat and no boob squishing out the sides), I hang onto it forever, wearing it long past its shelf life.

And underpants?  OMG, that's a whole other story.  (The only thing I like about them is that B-man calls them 'panties,' which is both sexy and embarrassing.)

Plus, let's face it, I'm a practical girl.  No lacy, frilly numbers, no thongs, none of that.  I have worn Jockey underwear for as long as I can remember and have no intention of changing now.

But today, I have a shopping experience that rocks my underwear world.

On the way home, I stop by my favorite department store, just to wander and check out the latest sales.  After finding nothing but printed, colorful, items (where the hell is the black, beige and gray?), it dawns on me that I might feel less annoyed if I go to the third floor and get on with looking for new underwear. 

Armed with at least 15 bras in a range of sizes, determined to find the perfect sonofabitch, I ask the sales associate if I can try them on.  She is older, with a strong middle eastern accent and a take charge manner.  She looks at me, then at the bras and says, 'these bras no fit you, because you a between size.'  Without measuring or asking the size I usually wear, she pulls one bra out of the crowd and says, 'thees the perfect bra for you.'  'Go try bra and I come check on you. You see, it be perfect.' 

I'll be damned if it wasn't perfect. 

After purchasing that bra in every color, then renewing my supply of Jockeys ( graduating to the silky leopard prints), I walk away with the new confidence of a grown up woman with great tits. 

Perfume was my next stop.

Aside from Sycomore, I'm not in love with Chanel, but today, I make a bee-line for No. 19 and Cristalle, simply because I think I am All That and need an extraordinary perfume to match.  For the first hour, Cristalle is my favorite, with its herbal, mossy jasmine heart.  Ultimately, No.19 wins me over through its musty, leathery iris.

Chanel is the exclamation point that ends the horror of bra shopping, thanks to the magic of my new friend.  There's nothing I can't do now.

Top Five Perfume Lottery

For approximately the past six years, I have been accumulating perfume, sometimes more, sometimes less.  Recently, I decide to reduce my full-bottle collection to fifty, so I inform B-man of this decision with great emphasis.

Samples and decants have no limit, of course.  

Read the rule book.

The thing is, I've been on a binge lately and my collection has doubled what I intended.  B-man, in his ever tactful way, simply says, 'it looks like you're running out of room.'  Thankfully, he has never discouraged or dismissed my perfume purchasing, even when I occasionally go off the deep end.  His usual response to my obsessing about the latest 'must have?'  'So get it.'

Enabler.

Sometimes, when I'm playing with my perfume (you know you do, too), I pretend that I must select only five to live with forever. 

While the list changes slightly from time to time, I have sentimental favorites to which I always return.  This evening, I would choose these perfumes in exactly this order:

1.  Jardin en Mediterranee

2.  Borneo 1834  

3.  Sycomore

4.  L'eau du Navegateur (this rotates with Black Aoud)

5.  Fracas

Even as I make the list, I feel guilty for all those that I have left behind.  Of course, Inner Critic is having a field day, chiding me and acting like a pompous ass.  

Nevertheless, I stand by my list.

If you had to choose five perfumes that you could spend your life with, what would they be?

A New Era Begins with Agent Provocateur

This new era (B-man's term) - without our cat, Leo - begins with a new perfume, Agent Provocateur.  It also includes our sheltie, Paige, officially crowning herself as the 'Queen of the Universe.'

This was only mildly unclear before.

Bloody Frida (read here) piqued my interest in AP awhile ago.  Then, I missed the opportunity to order it in the last Killer Sale.  Not to be defeated, I purchased it last week and it is now, finally, in my posession.

The great thing is, it's working for me.  AP is not the sillage monster that some claim, and it changes throughout the drydown, which is precisely what I was hoping for.  An olfactory road trip.

Metallic rose is the first note that greets my senses, bringing Fembots to mind (pausing for mental digression...).  Soon after, saffron emerges, gracefully assuming a leadership position.  We all know who's in charge now.  

No, Paige, not you.

Saffron holds court for some time before vetiver steps up for a challenge.  Leather clad homeys hang back, ready to step in if vetiver gets his ass kicked.  Saffron simply chuckles, pulls out a deck of cards and offers everyone a beer.  Their co-mingling creates the weirdly pleasant mustiness of a damp cellar.

Finally, after the sweaty boys have gone home, AP changes once more with a drydown infused with cardamom.  Herbal and musky with just a hint of spice.

Agent Provocateur is comforting only in the fact that it seems in control of itself.  Unabashedly metrosexual, it exudes 'elegant butch,' which is surprisingly sexy.

What's that, Paige?  Yes, I know you are elegantly butch, but you're not wearing my perfume.

Goodbye, Sweet Boy

Dear Leo,

This morning, we said our final goodbye to you.  Your dad and I hoped you could die at home, but as things progressed, we decided that helping you die was the last gift we could give you.  Many tears were shed making this decision.  We hope you understand.

I remember vividly the day you came home more than eleven years ago.  J-ster (your human brother) and I had been looking for the perfect cat.  It had to be raised by its mother, patient with kids and beautiful.  When we found you, I called your father and said, 'We found the perfect one!'  

You and I were an instant chemistry match and no one but me (and your Cat Princess auntie) was allowed to pick you up and love on you.  

You were aloof and discriminating from the very beginning.

Oh, how I will miss the way you pranced along the railing on the deck to wherever I was, hoping that I would scratch behind your ears or run my hand over your back.  Then, in the winter months, I rolled over in bed to discover that you had found your way under the covers and were snuggled up against me.  

A mini heater, purring.

You tried to fit into every space, including your dad's pants.  We often found you in a drawer, an open cabinet or in the clothes hamper.  You must have spent your days - and nights - looking for new places to hide.

Thank you for putting up with all of my pet names for you:  Mini Monkey, Little Fuzzy Guy, Baby Head and many others equally embarrassing.  I could call out 'Lee-Lee' in my high, sing-song voice, from anywhere in the house and know that you would eventually appear, unable to resist the opportunity for a cuddle.

When Paige came to live with us, you taught her about boundaries and manners.  Even though she grew to three times your size, you would stand on your hind legs and slap her around if she misbehaved.  When that didn't work, you bit her nose, which would end all disputes.

In pictures, you look like a big cat, but we know you were just a little squirt with long hair, barely 8 pounds soaking wet.  Nevertheless, your beauty and your big attitude made you appear regal and in charge of most everything.

This weekend will be one of  sadness and laughter as we talk about you, think about you and mourn the fact that you are no longer with us.  But we will never, ever forget you.

Now, and forever, you are Momma's Precious Boy.

Rest in peace.

White Aoud and the Moody Nose

Reading this blog, you will find contrasting opinions about Montale's White Aoud (like this).  We have a tumultuous relationship and it smells different to me every time I wear it.  

Come to think of it, I have a love-hate relationship with the entire Montale line.  And I'll be damned if I can leave them alone.

Today, I have an important one-on-one meeting, so I think carefully about the SOTD. Whatever I wear must communicate intelligence, warmth and a bit of drama, just in case the meeting takes an unexpected turn.  

For some reason, I choose White Aoud over regular crowd pleasers like Kelly Caleche, Jardin en Mediterrannee, Rykiel Woman or even Burberry Brit.   

(Yes, I know, Brit is quite pedestrian - and a fruity/floral for chrissake - but I get so many positive comments each time I wear it that I continue to whore myself.)

Every morning, B-man walks our dog, Paige, while I'm getting ready for work.  When he comes back in the house, he takes a deep breath and tries to guess which perfume I have chosen for the day.  Next to reading the paper and chatting over coffee, this is our favorite morning ritual.

At first, I'm afraid White Aoud is a mistake because the top notes have a sour, diaper tinge that is killing my morning mojo.  B-man might walk in and say, 'what smells like pee?'  Thankfully, he returns to amazing heart notes of aoud wood and vanilla surrounded by the secondhand smoke of menthol cigarettes.  
 

Yum.

Today, White Aoud delivers. Next time, however, I reserve the right to have a completely different experience.

I'm naming my nose Sybil.

Yatagan In The Mountains

Today, B-man and I decided to get out of the heat and go to the mountains.  We already live in the mountains, so it's only a 30-minute drive to the top of one of the canyons that surround us.  Early on, I decide that Yatagan by Caron is the scent of the day.  

 "I will be wearing the Yatagan," I proclaim to B-man, using my best Jean-Luc Picard voice, which is pretty good if I do say so myself.  This announcement is necessary because, as you know, he has been hogging it for quite some time.

Let's face it, the first spritz of Yatagan smells like feces floating in rubbing alcohol.  Not my feces, of course - this would call to mind delicate white flowers - but someone's.  

Someone who had curry for dinner last night.

You know it's true.

Nevertheless, I forge ahead, knowing by now that the top notes will subside just before the panic attack and subsequent shower sets in.

As we head up the mountain, Yatagan does its thing and turns completely to pine; pine trees, pine needles and pine cones.  Fortunately, not PineSol, but it's a near miss.

Right before we reach our mountain lake destination, Yatagan introduces the oakmoss, which mellows the pine and moves us into the wood section.   Wormwood is listed as the prominent wood note in Yatagan, but it actually reminds me of broken willow branches that are difficult to peel from the tree, being green, alive and still attached to their source.  Yatagan is content with this drydown and it clings to my skin for a very long time. 

For today's adventure, it is perfect.

We had an amazing day, even though, in this picture, B-man looks like the best time he can envision is sawing women in half, just for fun.  

Our adventure ended with champagne on the deck, laptop in tow, searching for the next outdoor escapade.

Photos taken today at Silver Lake in Big Cottonwood Canyon and off our deck in the evening.

Timbuktu - It's Unstrung

Timbuktu by L'Artisan is a perfume I enjoy most when I'm feeling wild and rebellious. 

Don't you just love those occasional, 'if you don't like it, you can bite me' sort of days?  

That's what I'm talking about.

Timbuktu starts out clean, but not 'squeaky clean.'   More 'freshly chopped wood' clean.  Very early into the heart notes, vetiver and and cardboard make an appearance, walking hand-in-hand, looking dreamily at each other. One must wonder what they've been up to. 

Timbuktu's journey is not predictable - that's the unstrung part.  At each stage, I anticipate what's coming next, but I'm always wrong.  Just when I'm certain we're headed for something warm, Timbuktu takes a different turn, getting even drier than before. 

Timbuktu is a very bad minder.

The final drydown reminds me of being at the zoo on a warm summer day.  One part animal, one part hot concrete and one part freshly cut hay.  Sounds weird, but after the 'catching a greased pig' difficulty of defining it, Timbuktu settles into something kind of comforting.  

Go figure.

Star Spangled Perfume

Happy July 4th weekend!  

The weather is stunning this morning - crisp (60 degrees), crystal clear and bursting with what I like to call 'Happy Air.'  

Later today, my sister is hosting a holiday party for our family.  She always pays special attention to the details of decorating and creating a theme for our get-togethers.  I'm in a feisty party mood myself!

Of course, I'm already wondering what might be the perfect perfume for this evening's event.  I could play it safe with something fresh and summery, like DKNY, Jardin en Mediterrannee, Sur le Nil or Kenzo's Summer.  

Or I could shake it up.

Borneo, Ambre Sultan, Azuree and even Rumba all sound exciting.  Rumba, I have never worn, owning it primarily because it is an early composition of the brilliant Jean-Claude Ellena.  (Wave a lighter over your head for Ellena if you're a fellow groupie.)

What is your perfect Fourth of July perfume?

Tea For Two by L'Artisan - Oops, I Did It Again

I applied too much.  

Yet again. 

Let this serve as Exhibit A for rotating perfumes and wearing them more than once every year or two.  Otherwise, I base the number of sprays or dabs on my memory of its sillage and lasting power.  Judging from my recent miscalculations, I must face the painful truth: I can't remember shit.

Alone in Philidelphia, three years ago, I came across Tea for Two in the Blue Mercury boutique downtown.  The day was dark, rainy and I was giddy with the thought that no one on earth knew exactly where I was or what I was doing at that moment.  All of this heightened my illicit love-at-first-sniff affair. 

The first spritz of Tea for Two took me back to the smell of F&F cough drops on my dad's breath when he was fighting a cold.  I loved that smell.  If you watched JFK's funeral on TV as a toddler or can hum the theme song to Lost In Space, you may remember them, too.  If not, let me try to explain the aroma.

Imagine the blackest, most bitter licorice possible, tossed in axle grease and Dijon mustard, then rolled in smoky ashes.  Mom thought they tasted nasty and, Oh, My God, they did.  She tried to tell me this.  Still, convinced I would love them, and that Mom was unfairly withholding them from me, she finally gave in to my whining.  The cough drop lasted about 10 seconds in my mouth before I walked into the bathroom and threw it in the garbage.  Then I said to my mother, ' if you think I threw away my cough drop, you're wrong.'  

This might explain why B-man has always cautioned me against pursuing a career in espionage. 

Once the top notes fade, Tea for Two gets spicy - chai tea on steroids.  Honestly, it starts to bug me and I begin wondering if we aren't facing a break-up due to irreconcilable differences.  Fearing another Parfum Sacre moment (read here) I attend the day's meetings sitting as still as possible to prevent rogue sillage from taking over the room.

Now, hours later, left with the drydown of lukewarm, formerly iced coffee, I wonder if Tea for Two is another lost love.  The perfume itself may never live up to the memory of its discovery.