tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60355159323064047222024-03-16T01:08:14.126-06:00Notes From JosephinePerfume and life plain and simpleKaty Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.comBlogger503125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-56637512831819311862018-07-18T11:40:00.000-06:002018-07-18T11:40:15.795-06:00Notes From Josephine Live on YouTube<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7BSz_DAk26OpIa9V8pbRDcK5IA0DA3Slr3hudw_WtPGzkxeBUM05kOPpiVmWwLBekslpdlO8Dp78fOCx3VH_cf150QlJoLrM-5Y8OWr3e3iez-9ciNKii53T-0sMiCZ5rGRGXrv7FIWc/s1600/YouTube+thumb+print.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7BSz_DAk26OpIa9V8pbRDcK5IA0DA3Slr3hudw_WtPGzkxeBUM05kOPpiVmWwLBekslpdlO8Dp78fOCx3VH_cf150QlJoLrM-5Y8OWr3e3iez-9ciNKii53T-0sMiCZ5rGRGXrv7FIWc/s1600/YouTube+thumb+print.webp" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Please visit my channel on YouTube:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8CjnZwbqow</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Thanks for you ongoing support and shared perfume love!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image from youtube.com</span>Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-64955451546884062262018-06-11T19:00:00.000-06:002018-06-12T06:37:15.119-06:00I Want A Cat<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2OdhW6ayl9_piOY0UNYm15Fn368aXqBM0LDsP5RWAIf2H26bDWSEaAmX2H60D_6j-KQz53JPyUjrO_i5QukiWuT2gS-WihfpD0nw6JsN5as7ssxKpyImF2rb6U9uMr0cmkdtbJ3xg8FM/s1600/smelliecat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2OdhW6ayl9_piOY0UNYm15Fn368aXqBM0LDsP5RWAIf2H26bDWSEaAmX2H60D_6j-KQz53JPyUjrO_i5QukiWuT2gS-WihfpD0nw6JsN5as7ssxKpyImF2rb6U9uMr0cmkdtbJ3xg8FM/s400/smelliecat.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For years I believed - and told anyone who would listen - that as soon as I had the freedom, I would adopt and train a therapy dog so he and I could offer companionship to people who are living their last days. Now that I actually have the ability to fulfill this dream, all I really want is a cat. Something warm and fuzzy around the house that suffers from a chronic case of the fuck-its...makes me feel so optimistic and overall superior. Kittens smell good, too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image from google.com</span><br />
<br />Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-35456788889449706992018-05-21T08:21:00.000-06:002018-05-21T08:21:44.075-06:00Body Chemistry Perfume Profile: Is There Such a Thing?<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2gj1-MPf9TWy4yv3UbelbD5be04h8ZixRz5yM_VMU4eDLoTx6ou2ADi33ROk-YBCKY5atyh1Tpdpamc2sKquo2wB_zs1lwI6f18a1hQHiZ5arGUfL3hdDwU-ml7EK0ycQxOtUgPoty0/s1600/lab+test.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="612" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2gj1-MPf9TWy4yv3UbelbD5be04h8ZixRz5yM_VMU4eDLoTx6ou2ADi33ROk-YBCKY5atyh1Tpdpamc2sKquo2wB_zs1lwI6f18a1hQHiZ5arGUfL3hdDwU-ml7EK0ycQxOtUgPoty0/s400/lab+test.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My goal is to recruit as many people as possible to the world of perfume addiction, and to that end, m</span><span style="font-size: large;">y brother is coming along nicely in his fragrance junkie grooming. For example, he rocks Caron Yatagan, the fragrance that launched his perfume journey and fuels continued exploration. </span><span style="font-size: large;">As a business owner, his talents are both technical and aesthetic, which lend themselves to a unique and thorough perfume analysis. </span><span style="font-size: large;"> W</span><span style="font-size: large;">e have talked of planning a 1/2 day perfume outing (and still will), but in the meantime, my sister and I did a Sephora crawl to jump start the process and pick out a few scents we both thought he might like. Last week, I hand delivered these to his work for an impromptu sniffing session.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Bleu de Chanel Edt</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Atelier Trefle Pur</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Commodity Moss</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Commodity Book</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">YSL Y</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Terre d'Hermes</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Azzaro pour homme</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We sniffed and discussed and compared each sample, returning again and again to the paper strips during the drydown of each fragrance. His top choices for further skin testing at a later time were (in order of preference):</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Commodity Book</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">YSL Y</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Atelier Trefle Pur</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Bleu de Chanel Edt</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">During our sniff-off, he asked an interesting question. <i>'Is there a foolproof way to know what perfume will work on different body chemistry?'</i> I thought of all the largely useless perfume quizzes that include favorite place to vacation, favorite season, etc. He continues, <i>'what about the specific food people eat or the alcohol they drink?' </i> (My brother is a bourbon aficionado, which informed this question and also created an instant connection with Commodity Book.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm intrigued by this thought...is there such an analysis to know in advance how a perfume will mix with one's specific body chemistry? Hmm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo from iStock</span><br />
<br />Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-10019418889681877472018-05-13T15:54:00.000-06:002018-05-13T16:17:40.409-06:00It's Mother's Day...Again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIldIvbYETwrQDVi6_t9MichMtn8VugvPG0RVbZ1BsPnC1dWNqQ2N2Emxf4YO8F9vFcN-dWfDbsLIBji7m3pancVB5JCQpDVE6E-LSg7axlkxfbpqbj_iELs7tz41YpMq-Vkuifxm3Gwg/s1600/MDay+18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="840" data-original-width="1600" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIldIvbYETwrQDVi6_t9MichMtn8VugvPG0RVbZ1BsPnC1dWNqQ2N2Emxf4YO8F9vFcN-dWfDbsLIBji7m3pancVB5JCQpDVE6E-LSg7axlkxfbpqbj_iELs7tz41YpMq-Vkuifxm3Gwg/s400/MDay+18.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Big days are hard because I'm often overwhelmed by the expectations and end up just wanting to retreat into myself and do nothing. When Mom was alive, Mother's Day was inevitably one of unfulfilled desires and heaviness. Our relationship was complicated so the ease that allows for imperfection did not exist. And striving for the perfect day was not authentic to our relationship. So however the day was acknowledged, I was left either feeling guilt-ridden for not doing enough or tied to a commitment of false closeness that couldn't be fulfilled.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now that Mom is gone and I am left to pick up the mantle, that too feels awkward. My son and I are close and we regularly express our feelings for each other...no special day is needed to reinforce our connection. Because I didn't have this with my own mother it is now one of the greatest gifts of my life. Even so, when Mother's Day rolls around each year the guilt ghost of the past returns and I feel anxious about accepting some self-imposed duty to be more motherly, to be 'extra' something. As both a daughter and a mother the unease of this day remains.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I envy those who delight in spending a day with their mothers feeling comfortable and relaxed in the knowledge that nothing needs to be proven, that the important stuff has already been expressed. For others like me who face their own struggles - who strive to make the day meaningful but never quite hit the mark - I salute your efforts and wish you peace on this Mother's Day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo from USA Today.com</span><br />
<br />Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-6650796952732014212018-05-11T08:26:00.000-06:002018-05-11T08:26:14.711-06:00Dreams of Letting Go<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpqDL6qYhoaCrzeKvuDUqrR4gNhtwLX7-36QRzy0VyS7RUcK_aHNM3lDmX6LWLMblYWr_l0RK_esNMZRZDDIY_qV6Gvkv3OirQND4rG0W9mqSduo9LWxwvPCeg0JyutHUHTjt4_NDe1z0/s1600/dreaming.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="1000" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpqDL6qYhoaCrzeKvuDUqrR4gNhtwLX7-36QRzy0VyS7RUcK_aHNM3lDmX6LWLMblYWr_l0RK_esNMZRZDDIY_qV6Gvkv3OirQND4rG0W9mqSduo9LWxwvPCeg0JyutHUHTjt4_NDe1z0/s400/dreaming.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As a clinical social worker, my job years ago was to work closely with physicians and nurses to meet both the physical and psychological needs of patients. Then my career started changing. At one point in my rise as a leader, a physician friend asked me, <i>'are you really going to squander your clinical talent to take that position?' </i> His words stung at the time and now they return to echo through my life again. I did set aside my clinical talent to fit the mold of business operations. At all points, I surrounded myself with people who could fulfill this function and disguise my disinterest in data analytics, tedious improvement processes and continual auditing and tracking of results. Pretending is hard work, and I begged the universe to bring about a change so I could feel alive again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That change has come in an unexpected way, and letting go is never as easy as it seems. For the last week, my dreams have revealed this fact through stories that haunt me through the night. Like the story of finding myself on a business trip across the country before realizing I no longer have a job...wondering how to flee the situation before being seen. Or sitting down with the CEO so he can explain the company cannot offer a severance package and I need to simply walk away with nothing but gratitude for having worked there in the first place. In that dream, I eek out one big alligator tear in response.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But it's not just dreams that haunt me. Even reports from colleagues of having made a positive and lasting difference sting unexpectedly when they are meant only to soothe. Perhaps that's because there was so little joy in my work during the final years when joy and meaning in my work has always been a priority. What ended up happening - advancing through the organization and placing my worth on those achievements - robbed me of what I want and need most in life; to make a difference in the world through the authentic passion of my heart. It's still my dream.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">image from google.com</span></div>
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Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-12112769704794287132018-05-09T07:50:00.000-06:002018-05-09T07:50:25.293-06:00Henry Day<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMyWhMRAIrfsss4F5t9G065PjC4ZtdejWTbwtpOQDAarThCW9_l04gUS1o6bwR9wfZYO5tpoKu_d5YLzJbzLQFBm1xTNZiZqxk0yLfL6FDlIBnBedsXmY8hZh2uJhXlXQgVMOMxPT6xbQ/s1600/Henry+15+months.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMyWhMRAIrfsss4F5t9G065PjC4ZtdejWTbwtpOQDAarThCW9_l04gUS1o6bwR9wfZYO5tpoKu_d5YLzJbzLQFBm1xTNZiZqxk0yLfL6FDlIBnBedsXmY8hZh2uJhXlXQgVMOMxPT6xbQ/s640/Henry+15+months.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Grandson, Henry</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Becoming a grandmother (Grammy) has turned my world upside down in the most wonderful way possible. Henry comes to our home on Sundays and - for now - on Wednesdays, too. Excited to see him today! This boy is a charmer extraordinaire and his love of laughing and engaging makes me remember the simple joy of being alive.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Henry likes to play with body sprays (start training him young, right?) and he reaches for them whenever he walks by my perfume cabinet. Now he understands they are for smelling, not eating.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo courtesy of Henry's father.</span>Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-25058144431668611112018-05-08T13:41:00.000-06:002018-05-08T13:49:48.153-06:00Next Chapter: Staring Into My Future<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt6EJVfT-7MC_zoO43WpH57-1KqoIOV6PWa-ywEU_-9wuF28v3YJF7mBOVLVD_pOi_FMDDICiUhh6qK21z07wH8SfQoxVYZe74dClWHAxsXdsTw_bDDOuIE_hWYPByrdnzXJIivJlVo-M/s1600/113458-Crystal-Ball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt6EJVfT-7MC_zoO43WpH57-1KqoIOV6PWa-ywEU_-9wuF28v3YJF7mBOVLVD_pOi_FMDDICiUhh6qK21z07wH8SfQoxVYZe74dClWHAxsXdsTw_bDDOuIE_hWYPByrdnzXJIivJlVo-M/s400/113458-Crystal-Ball.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I'm still processing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Five months ago, the organization in which I've built a 15 year career informed me that due to a major restructure, my role and many others would be 'sunset.' </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">That's corporate speak for shitcanned. After helping with the transition and finding no other fit, May 1st marks the beginning of a self-imposed one year sabbatical from work. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have no idea what to do with myself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Last Friday, determined to be useful, I come home with new comforters for the beds because it seems like the right thing to do. On Saturday, I return them, but not without visiting Burlington to cruise perfumes. Then I go to the Rite-Aid by our home...yet again...which is in the process of going out of business. Perfume discounts are 50%, but the lonesome check-out lady says everything will be discounted 90% the last two days before closing. That isn't for another week so I</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> keep stalking their cheap perfumes j</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">ust in case they pull a fast one and start the 90% off without telling me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Yesterday, my raison d'etre is to find a body lotion that smells mild and won't clash with the cheap perfumes I buy at Rite Aid. So I wander around Target with other people who wander around Target mid-day on Monday only to feel annoyed with both the people and their scintillating phone conversations:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>'What am I doing?'</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>'I'm just in Target doing a little shopping.'</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>'What are you doing? Uh-huh. Uh-huh.'</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>'I really shouldn't be much longer - can I call you then?'</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>'Okay...what? I didn't hear you...what?'</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">You're killing me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I first learn my job is ending, I try coping mechanisms that helped in the past: solitary time in the morning burning candles, writing in my journal and then brief meditation. One month in, my journal has become the Book of Misery and I start talking back to the guided meditation. <i>'YOU focus on your breath.'</i> It clearly isn't working. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Perfume is the only thing that always works.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nothing else enters my brain when I'm playing with perfume. It is the rest that I hope to get from meditation...focus without effort, beauty through aroma and a shift in mood. Since December, I have added 20-30 perfumes to my collection. Inner Farm Girl isn't happy, but most are mainstream and relatively inexpensive so she hasn't snapped just yet. If she does, I will blame YouTube...Shana J, Ami Loves Perfume, BeautyNotes, Tiff Benson and others. They have amped up my love affair with perfume, made me laugh and helped my anxiety come down so I could sleep at night. They don't know it, but they saved me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">This blog began as a tribute to my mother and a celebration of perfume. Now I am back to share my journey as a displaced baby boomer contemplating life's next step with the help of a little sillage.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Image from lovethispic.com </span><br />
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<br />Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-40379723110631283522016-08-11T12:02:00.002-06:002016-08-11T12:21:27.431-06:00Jimmy Choo: I Can't Fight It Anymore<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBlquvN1tgwBYoCwWWrizhuMRk9fBZ0ogUWM_h3B-r-Jfg6qM_ycm9Y6SsQAKr8ywENBdoc-zgXXjIr4Z31HMQ_lqj3e6kM3lVmt0b7wQhemvmi-tLdACSqQOFuxS2aICHpkAFer08xoY/s1600/Jimmy+Choo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBlquvN1tgwBYoCwWWrizhuMRk9fBZ0ogUWM_h3B-r-Jfg6qM_ycm9Y6SsQAKr8ywENBdoc-zgXXjIr4Z31HMQ_lqj3e6kM3lVmt0b7wQhemvmi-tLdACSqQOFuxS2aICHpkAFer08xoY/s320/Jimmy+Choo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Every time I take a 'what's your signature scent' quiz online, it points to Jimmy Choo eau de parfum. This started to annoy me because it's not that I hadn't ever tried Jimmy Choo, it's that I didn't get the appeal. At first, it seemed like just another fruitchouli, all mainstream and ordinary. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yawn.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The thing is, I couldn't get it out of my mind and thoughts of Jimmy Choo stalked me relentlessly until one day earlier this summer when I visited a nearby Ulta to decide - once and for all - if Jimmy Choo was for me. Every Ulta in the valley recognizes me because I can't seem to pass one without going in. <i>'Oh hi - we haven't seen you for a while.' </i> Or, <i>'Oh, hi - you're back again so soon.'</i> Introverts never want to be called out this way. You may greet me casually but don't comment on the frequency of my visits or ask if I need help. Just go about your business and never let on that you know I'm the crazy perfume lady that sprays paper strips and leaves them sitting by the appropriate perfume while wandering back and forth to smell each one at various stages of drydown. Just look away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">What's worse is I never actually buy perfume at Ulta, but instead turn to discount outlets online. Inner Farm Girl is nodding her approval. However, I do buy make-up, hair stuff and nondescript clearance items that I neither want or need, which end up in our hall closet on the shelf above the towels and underneath the toilet paper. Inner Farm Girl just shot me a dirty look. Point is, I buy enough stuff at Ulta that I felt comfortable that day as I sprayed Jimmy Choo liberally on both arms before walking out of the store with no purchase at all. My car was parked a short jaunt away and I braced myself for what I was sure would be sillage to match Paige's dog farts (thick, oily and cloying) once inside the car. Whatever happened, this issue would be resolved. The stalking had to end.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">First thing that hit me was the mint...like barely chewed Wrigley's spearmint gum. Then the toffee, smooth and deep and then, finally, the patchouli. Spoiler alert: it's not a bomb at all. In fact, I wish it had a little more blast to it, if you want to know the truth. Something about it reminded me of the smell of, well...me after a long walk in the cool, early morning air. That, or I am in complete denial about the allure of my body odor and morning breath. Jimmy Choo feels familiar.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">No one can smell it on me which, as a compliment whore, is a crushing blow. B-man did smell it once after I doused myself with it and sat right next to him on the deck. <i>'Mmm, what smells good, did you just put something on?'</i> Part of me wanted to say, <i>'Ya think? I've been wearing this every frigging day for weeks.' </i> But I was so giddy with excitement that he noticed, I couldn't help batting my eyes, leaning toward him and saying, <i>'Really? Do you like it? Really?'</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Jimmy Choo owns me. My first bottle is nearly gone, and I still can't leave it alone. </span><br />
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Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-6010100116309096152016-06-18T10:20:00.000-06:002016-06-18T10:26:39.735-06:00Wallflowers: Scented Anxiety<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMyl2yy37Q6YhoqJ6lKfEpdWrYzv-T6uoR6YmVS8aZajI_OudFNBOHu7WQ81y5-VAXWFHuqlb1r5wJ4t21_Xpri4PVn15p0Pxgukwacqpf1Wy_soMHiFXL6vepYNzdbYDghyphenhyphenZ57uXZviw/s1600/Bath-Body-Works-Scentportables-Wallflowers-for-Spring-2012-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMyl2yy37Q6YhoqJ6lKfEpdWrYzv-T6uoR6YmVS8aZajI_OudFNBOHu7WQ81y5-VAXWFHuqlb1r5wJ4t21_Xpri4PVn15p0Pxgukwacqpf1Wy_soMHiFXL6vepYNzdbYDghyphenhyphenZ57uXZviw/s400/Bath-Body-Works-Scentportables-Wallflowers-for-Spring-2012-3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Bath and Body Works is having its semi-annual sale again. These events make me crazy because 1) I can't stay away even though I swear I will, and 2) I end up buying stuff that I don't want, making at least one return trip necessary. So far, I have visited four stores. You have to shop around because they all have their own cool stuff. Everybody knows that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This year, just to shake things up, I have ventured into a new area: wallflowers. Until now, they seemed too scary to assemble, but I figure what the hell, I'm a big girl - I can handle this. The scent holders themselves are puzzling...I can't imagine under what circumstance I would want a 5-inch anchor jutting out of my wall, or a seashell. Or a turtle. And what scents are best? By my count, there's five thousand and forty options. Baffled, I stare at them for a long time and wonder how I want our rooms to smell. Like fruit? Flowers? Cinnamon rolls? They have 'em all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After sniffing the matching candles, I settle on three scents: Vanilla Beach Flower, Georgia Peach and Frosted Cupcake. When I get home, just for fun, I read the reviews of these room scents and promptly decide that they all suck. By relying only on my stellar instincts alone, I have chosen three of the lowest rated scents on the website. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">According to reviews of long time wallflower warriors, Heirloom Pumpkin is a stunning scent with 'throw' and longevity. B-man likes the smell of pumpkin, which emboldens my decision making. Certain I have avoided a <i>what stinks </i>debacle, I trade the three losers in for three of the pumpkin saviors and hurry home to plug in my very own wallflower, waiting to swoon in delight. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I hate Heirloom effing Pumpkin.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">More smells might be tested, but the process already has me stressed out and gearing up for an Oscar worthy anxiety attack. There's a reason I stayed away from wallflowers all these years.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">photo from musingsofamuse.com</span><br />
<br />Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-19361177323773157882016-06-10T20:34:00.000-06:002016-06-12T07:11:02.179-06:00Ode to the Flu...My Week in Review<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHPfAlZ5Knot9V5KWIZgAaN9G5-6D8_C8tMDQ56LgQM5uWvpN8Mg-A5mtE4X0ktOq1XtlhQLWZpb3Jc0JLj0hk2HXl5OvT0F6S5hq1hRS9-IWbgEpMDfYXQhoBl_rRLwQl9NpbPboyYvo/s1600/Flu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHPfAlZ5Knot9V5KWIZgAaN9G5-6D8_C8tMDQ56LgQM5uWvpN8Mg-A5mtE4X0ktOq1XtlhQLWZpb3Jc0JLj0hk2HXl5OvT0F6S5hq1hRS9-IWbgEpMDfYXQhoBl_rRLwQl9NpbPboyYvo/s400/Flu.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Stale breath</span></div>
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Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-40570499314829865672016-06-04T13:34:00.000-06:002016-06-04T13:36:20.973-06:00Perfume That Made Me Eat Crow: Heiress by Paris Hilton<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2eVZ2rwEFnaqbckhefWx2zP4TOgnGmBaBprMRfYqmSl2lwzhuZEGzAWgXWbTKTwKu6VdBHOa9teW_BAAFZmBuqUevucLzS2a7gGFKaCYvOG33KUUWOdsrh2c6obvaKufNkxkg3k1Qn_E/s1600/Heiress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2eVZ2rwEFnaqbckhefWx2zP4TOgnGmBaBprMRfYqmSl2lwzhuZEGzAWgXWbTKTwKu6VdBHOa9teW_BAAFZmBuqUevucLzS2a7gGFKaCYvOG33KUUWOdsrh2c6obvaKufNkxkg3k1Qn_E/s400/Heiress.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Paris Hilton's Heiress has popped up several times on this blog. I thought if I mentioned it in passing, like 'I wear it, but only at night,' or 'I bought the body spray because I was bored and it was there,' no one would judge me or confiscate my ID card to the <i>Perfumista Club</i>. Probation is a constant threat, but I still use words like 'flanker' and 'sillage.' That's got to count for something.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">To demonstrate my loyalty to said club, I scoffed at Paris Hilton perfumes for years so that everyone would know I had higher standards than they did and was therefore superior. And I scoffed out loud, not in my head like usual. I'm talking audible pshhh-ing plus an eye roll with my nose in the air. Chortling may have been involved.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then came Heiress, which produced an almost obscene OMG moment. Maybe it was the skittles-wrapped-in-dryer-sheets vibe or maybe the feeling that I was walking past a lilac tree while peeling an orange and chewing bubble gum. Either way, Heiress is a girl crush in a bottle. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Bad news is the journey from scoffing to swooning requires eating a few helpings of crow, which sucks because I almost had the chortling thing down. And crow tastes nasty. But I must be getting used to it because I just bought two more Paris Hilton perfumes unsniffed: Passport Tokyo and Passport Paris. The most embarrassing part, other than standing in the checkout line forever so everyone knows I'm buying Paris Hilton perfumes? I actually like them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">What the hell...I faked the ID, anyway.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Picture from fragrances.com</span><br />
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<br />Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-18046460851135553842016-05-31T17:46:00.001-06:002016-06-01T20:03:53.348-06:00Sweet Dreams: My Bedtime Scent Routine<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Fux_mHOXnaqk-et8MP87ptRmkvejbIa2oiheiwww-7TySq4F7uWa6bwezzMrSGcogMqvz9eJRhH1EwixZlmslzboKK-HK4-nJoOd1EoUCZg8ujcUa5CcGg0b_LAgrqf99KNrHsW9gTQ/s1600/sleeping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Fux_mHOXnaqk-et8MP87ptRmkvejbIa2oiheiwww-7TySq4F7uWa6bwezzMrSGcogMqvz9eJRhH1EwixZlmslzboKK-HK4-nJoOd1EoUCZg8ujcUa5CcGg0b_LAgrqf99KNrHsW9gTQ/s400/sleeping.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Good dreams depend on good smells at bedtime. Otherwise, one risks anything from evening ponies (dreams that trouble or mildly annoy) to full-blown nightmares.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Night mares...Evening ponies. Work with me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Thank God for Bath and Body Works. As Inner Farm Girl would have it, all of their beauty products are reasonably priced and easy to access. Plus, they layer well with each other (and lots of other stuff) to create a comforting, smushed up sort of smell. This is perfect at night when my brain is fuzzy and I speak with a lisp even though I'm not trying to be funny.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In order to pile on as many products as possible, and justify the run amok purchase of non-essential stuff, I try to make my routine look as strategic as possible. It goes something like this:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">1. Remove make-up and then shower at night - always. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">2. Some type of face serum (Clinique, Ellen Tracy, Oil of Olay) followed by St. Ives moisture rich face lotion, which is creamy and lightly scented. Inexpensive and not the least bit posh.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">2. Bath and Body Works Moonlight Path lotion mixed 50/50 with Dial 7-Day Moisture Rich lotion (my favorite to soften a stronger lotion without changing its scent...great texture, too).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">3. Body spray - White by Kenneth Cole, Heiress by Paris Hilton or Marshmallow Pumpkin Latte by B&BW (now discontinued...argh). All work beautifully with the slightly diffused Moonlight Path.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">4. Vaseline mixed with whatever body butter is in my nightstand for my feet (currently Wild Madagascar Vanilla), then socks, which get thrown off in the middle of the night.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">5. Cherry Chapstick on my lips.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">6. A final layer of Trader Joe's Coconut Body Butter on my hands and forearms.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Once I am sufficiently greased up and smell something like musky vanilla cake batter, I read or channel surf until I can no longer make sense of whatever episode of Alias I happen to be watching. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lights out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">What's your bedtime smell routine?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo from littlebeetkids.com</span><br />
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<br />Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-53590875840817084252016-05-21T15:33:00.000-06:002016-05-22T20:47:54.555-06:00They Called Her Glo<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAIA-tz27FLAt9cFVipb7FtKN7mGbtIiXcCMtmT7XQqKwLMgTtI5x8wrTIOMmYWskQzAU60kJ2lo4IiTxzWCmUwvKEA3NVkSxPP83zeI1REnEn4aNd0cG-LlUsnPWKIrM3q-ur2At4w5c/s1600/Campfire_Pinecone.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAIA-tz27FLAt9cFVipb7FtKN7mGbtIiXcCMtmT7XQqKwLMgTtI5x8wrTIOMmYWskQzAU60kJ2lo4IiTxzWCmUwvKEA3NVkSxPP83zeI1REnEn4aNd0cG-LlUsnPWKIrM3q-ur2At4w5c/s400/Campfire_Pinecone.png" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday, I went to a funeral in my hometown for the mother of one of my childhood friends. Her name was Gloria, or 'Glo' to those who knew and loved her. She was legendary for her generosity, her off-color humor, her too-loud laughter and above all, her kindness. My mother, introvert that she was, didn't fully understand Glo's charm, and it irritated her to no end that Glo could be seen by all mowing her lawn on Sunday morning when everyone else was driving to church. Glo did whatever the hell she wanted. And she was happy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Glo operated a beauty salon in her home in a community so small it doesn't show up on a map. Women from surrounding non-map-showing areas came to get their hair done, listen to Glo's free flowing advice and sample treats of brownies or chocolate popcorn. Bonfire parties in her back yard were famous, including people the family didn't even know simply because Glo had met them somewhere earlier the same day. She knew how to draw people in and treat them like family.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The last two times I attended funerals in my hometown, I was there to accompany Dad; once when Mom was too sick and again after she died. Now, as I made my way to the church entrance alone, an elderly woman I didn't know walked slowly toward me from the opposite direction. We greeted each other and made small talk about our latenes</span><span style="font-size: large;">s, as time for the viewing </span><span style="font-size: large;">was coming to an end. Together by circumstance, we stood in the receiving line and chatted about where we had grown up and any relatives we might have in common. Her name was Sharon, and as it turned out, she went to school with one of my dad's cousins. <i>'What's he doing now?'</i> she asked. </span><span style="font-size: large;">It pained me a little to tell her he had died several years ago. <i>'Oh, yes,'</i><i> </i>she said, as if just realizing her own age. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">To move the reception </span><span style="font-size: large;">process along, Glo's daughters left their post by the casket and began working backward through the line, greeting and hugging each person. They talked about their mother in a warm, but real way...the difficulty of her Alzheimer's and the awfulness of her final weeks. No pretending, no 'she's in a better place now,' or 'it was her time,' or 'it was God's will.' Just the raw truth of loving and then losing their mother. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sharon and I found a good spot in the chapel for the 15-minute wait until the family entered and the funeral could begin. She told me about her son who was killed in a snowmobile accident 25 years ago during a family reunion. She told me about visiting another son on Thursday in the hospital and her frightening drive home late at night in the rain. Sharon told me about her husband who died five years ago. She said there were many times when another breath from him seemed impossible, but he kept living for months after his terminal cancer diagnosis. Then one day - a good day for him - Sharon was holding him in her arms while her daughter re-arranged the pillows on the bed when he simply died. <i>'I could tell he was gone because he was suddenly lighter,' </i>Sharon said. <i>'I didn't know until then that a person's spirit has weight.' </i>We looked at each other and leaned in, touching foreheads as she wiped a small tear with her slightly crooked finger.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After a brief and poignant service, Sharon and I hugged, thanked each other for the companionship and said our goodbyes. I found my friend - Glo's daughter - one last time to express my love for her and my appreciation for her mother's life. She said, <i>'I have to tell you, for whatever reason my dad has been talking about memories of your dad all week...I can't really figure out why, but his name has come up several times.' </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">It would be just like my dad to comfort a friend with memories as he faced the hardest time of his life. Or to send Sharon to keep me company, knowing I would be lonely there without him. I miss you, Dad.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> Say hello to Glo.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">photo from wikipedia.com</span><br />
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Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-73857837184156992712016-05-10T07:07:00.001-06:002016-05-10T07:09:50.665-06:00The Magic of Rain<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY_COsSc63YvTHvuiCEMGNfQNaHqBWBkC8cPksC177ZjyLqI6JIyBSJcnZST4BrfKdWhyphenhyphenP_Om1xbIUUMeH0QB33BkntMyRrzhUGQIlntSkgpjxpZHXIqNGCue8baHwM_JmXQw39F0VSB8/s1600/Rain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY_COsSc63YvTHvuiCEMGNfQNaHqBWBkC8cPksC177ZjyLqI6JIyBSJcnZST4BrfKdWhyphenhyphenP_Om1xbIUUMeH0QB33BkntMyRrzhUGQIlntSkgpjxpZHXIqNGCue8baHwM_JmXQw39F0VSB8/s640/Rain.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rain on the deck last night</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For the past week, it has been raining at least part of every day. There is no amount of rain that would be too much for me, and it poured again last night after a deceptively sunny morning. In my ideal world, each week would include five days of rain and two days of partly sunny skies. Maybe one day of full-on sun, but certainly no more than that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Rain mirrors that cozy feeling in the middle of the night when it's chilly and I have snuggled into a warm blanket. And rain is reflective - the introverted partner of the sun's growing power, a vacation from the predictability of the sun's rise and set. Dark rainy days blur the lines between day and night, teasing my senses and adding the drama of midnight into the day's earliest hours. Rain interrupts the predictable and makes me believe anything is possible. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then there's the smell...wet rocks and evergreen, sweet dirt and cedar. When it rains, I crave perfumes with patchouli and oakmoss, licorice and mint. All of my senses are heightened and more alive on dark, wet days. Rain brings with it a break in life's pace, a slowing of my heartbeat and a nostalgia that never fails to calm me and bring me joy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pluviophile - A lover of rain; someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo my own</span>Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-51099430325743079502016-05-04T17:42:00.000-06:002016-05-04T17:42:28.959-06:00In A Mauboussin Mood<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDMaCdnn3mHxpC18UILf1LAc2NUUCyP2L5z8fLQAoqcC8xoba1zHEsGudZOhbrONl5Bo2YQdZj1b33_Ix3kbiNZIBiQHQtypnkh32xLe4902JZ8uwct5c1bEvSUilOnH8yZSDcMmWdAKQ/s1600/Mauboussin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDMaCdnn3mHxpC18UILf1LAc2NUUCyP2L5z8fLQAoqcC8xoba1zHEsGudZOhbrONl5Bo2YQdZj1b33_Ix3kbiNZIBiQHQtypnkh32xLe4902JZ8uwct5c1bEvSUilOnH8yZSDcMmWdAKQ/s400/Mauboussin.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mauboussin was one of those rare perfumes that upon first sniff sent me to the land of Oh. My. God. Stale morning breath mixed with allspice, vanilla and benzoin make it an aromatic wonder. Sometimes Mauboussin assaults my nose with full-on patchouli (hints of Borneo 1834), and sometimes it knocks me out with plum and amber. But when the mood is right, as it is on this reflective Wednesday evening, Mauboussin hits the spot like nothing else.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Several months ago, in a clean-out-this-damn-perfume-cabinet frenzy, I bequeathed B-man with Mauboussin. <i>Bequeath: hold the item far out in front of you with both hands and bow as you hand it to the other person. </i> Knowing the great importance of the perfume - because of the bequeathing and all - B-man wore it occasionally. It's actually quite nice on him, lasting well into the next day, through at least one shower. But after a while, like any self-respecting middle child, I started getting jealous, certain that if Mauboussin smelled good on B-man, it would smell even more amazing on me. Yesterday out of the blue, I worked up the nerve to <strike>ask if he would please, oh, please consider giving it back</strike> tell him I wanted it back. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Me: Hey, you know the Mauboussin?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Him: Uh...what?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Me: You know, the perfume I gave you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Him: Oh yeah, what about it?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Me: What if I wanted it back?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Him: You want it back?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Me: Yeah, I'm pretty sure I do. Did you throw the box away?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Him: No, I have it somewhere.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Me: 'Cause I noticed it's not in its box. In your drawer. Not that I was looking in your drawer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Him: Take it - I have more stuff than I can possibly wear anyway.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Me: So I'm kinda doing you a favor.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Him: You're doing me a huge favor.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">B-man understands the role that perfume plays in my life. This evening when I got home from work, my Mauboussin was neatly boxed up and sitting beside my perfume cabinet...bequeathed back to me. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Sure, we could share, but sharing is for well adjusted only children.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Picture from 99perfume.com</span><br />
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<br />Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-42570900010258953902016-04-30T10:20:00.000-06:002016-04-30T19:00:37.526-06:00If Paige is Happy, Everyone's Happy<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paige with her favorite toy, Hedgie</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">B-man and I are looking forward to taking a few 'let's break out of our homebody routine' trips this year, which means leaving our doggy, Paige, for several nights at a time. For years, we have taken her to a boarding company that employs young people tattooed from head to toe to care for the dogs that run free in an indoor/outdoor playground. Paige</span><span style="font-size: large;"> insists on herding everything and when we check on her by webcam to see how she's doing, we get mere glimpses of her running back and forth with her tongue hanging out. Other dogs are lounging on their sides and watching her like, <i>'who's the crazy bitch?'</i></span><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Last time we boarded Paige, she came home an absolute mess. She had scratched the skin above her eyes until it was infected, she was anxious (howling in the car on the way home), and she smelled bad, like stressed out doggy B.O. Think Muscs Koublai Khan with more ass.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After a bunch of research, we just found a new place...a family that will involve her as their own and work her into their busy lives. Yesterday was Paige's first trial daycare at her new home away from home. Even though she was a bit 'skittish' according to her new family, we all feel confident that she will settle in nicely as she gets to know everyone. When she got in the car to go home, she settled right onto her blanket without a peep. Best of all, she smelled like her sweet doggy self. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mission accomplished.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo my own</span><br />
<br />Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-14381266307345290012016-04-21T20:22:00.002-06:002016-04-22T04:33:52.917-06:00Hyacinth in the Air<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogPTyiReaVwDckszFLvHK3gd-GULN8pw124BFRGWGDTgL8T70E9XoZwGqN1A_LUUM_DOSNobJBOKuAscCuB6twnbjnU9LpFa_YZk1OkDSvWSAEJihVhcR2s3KArWts4bp9Vc3h1uC3PU/s1600/Josephine.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogPTyiReaVwDckszFLvHK3gd-GULN8pw124BFRGWGDTgL8T70E9XoZwGqN1A_LUUM_DOSNobJBOKuAscCuB6twnbjnU9LpFa_YZk1OkDSvWSAEJihVhcR2s3KArWts4bp9Vc3h1uC3PU/s400/Josephine.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Every day this week, I have walked outside. This was a ritual for years, walking alone, walking with my sister, walking with B-man...negotiating the hills and staring at the mountains that have seen endless lifetimes and still remained the same. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lately, though, I've become a treadmill girl, logging necessary workouts early in the morning before trudging into the office. But this week, I've come home early to walk in my neighborhood again. Water bottle in hand, I take off up the hill, breathing in the scents of leaves, fresh dirt, geranium and...hyacinth. Stopping to smell them is never the same as passing their scent in the breeze. Hyacinths were meant to sway back and forth, filling the air with their sillage.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">At the end of every walk, I return home and shop my perfume cabinet to find something that best matches the smells of the outdoors. I know I've found the right one when it is such a perfect replica that I can hardly detect its scent when holding it up to my nose. Yesterday, a</span><span style="font-size: large;">s soon as I got home, I started searching for a perfume that carried the hyacinth magic. One after the other, I opened the box, sniffed the nozzle and replaced it on the shelf. Then, like the thought of a familiar face, I remembered a perfume that was tucked away in the sock drawer B-man recently donated to hardly-worn-but-still-admired perfumes: Josephine by Rance.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Josephine is not a perfume I reach for, and honestly, </span><span style="font-size: large;">I bought it for the name alone. But yesterday, its sweet, tweedy hyacinth extended the pleasure of my walk and helped me remember what I'd been missing. Josephine presents hyacinth combined with orris, which emphasizes the old fashioned powder of the dry down and then gently fades away in a cloud of dusty vanilla. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Josephine by Rance: I bought it for the name, never suspecting that spring lived inside.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">picture from www.woodfordes.perfumery.co.uk</span>Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-83559118221656435452016-04-16T20:37:00.000-06:002016-04-16T21:04:13.497-06:00Ode To Oxygene by Lanvin<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pencil Lead</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Boardwalk</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Orange Rind</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Prom Corsage</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Newborn</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Picture from Overstock.com</span></div>
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Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-88588390575997446802016-04-12T20:53:00.000-06:002016-04-13T19:32:16.716-06:00Oh, To Have A Mother Again<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHDX5cqGUypy1V8iB7CY3MN1g-3HAT_hyphenhyphene2wLwA0JumxeBSdVUL2xTLz2RvKH6ligfXAE_nJ1U3z1h2E2imLScp5_TjWo9S9vb3KiRhoaEWVXhy24oXTwSwab5VRlnskxppNkLMl4QoBc/s1600/Gloria+Vanderbilt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHDX5cqGUypy1V8iB7CY3MN1g-3HAT_hyphenhyphene2wLwA0JumxeBSdVUL2xTLz2RvKH6ligfXAE_nJ1U3z1h2E2imLScp5_TjWo9S9vb3KiRhoaEWVXhy24oXTwSwab5VRlnskxppNkLMl4QoBc/s400/Gloria+Vanderbilt.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I just finished watching, <i>'Nothing Left Unsaid: Gloria Vanderbilt & Anderson Cooper.'</i> The prevailing feeling I'm left with is...jealousy. I would give anything if my mother and I could have had a similar conversation; an honest reflection on her life, her challenges and her loves...what an absolute treasure that would have been.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As I watched this documentary, all I could think was, <i>'he has no idea what it will be like when she's gone.' </i> Children imagine the loss of their parents and talk themselves into thinking they will grieve briefly and then go on with life, resilient and whole. But the absence of a parent is profound, and it leaves a permanent hole in the fabric of life, regardless of closeness or conflict. It is the death of one's roots, and if the truth remains unspoken, it is forever haunting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The truth is, I don't know much about my mother. Her fear of transparency and my insensitive response to her honesty left us virtual strangers. Now she is gone, and the authenticity of her life died with her. This loss will always be with me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Dear Anderson Cooper: I hope you treasure the great gift of your mother's story. In the end, it's the only thing that matters.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image from google.com</span>Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-24602651974367303322016-04-09T13:00:00.000-06:002016-04-10T02:45:59.497-06:00Rant: Conference Food Is A Bitch<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Richard Pryor nailed it when he said,<i> 'I'm in love with a bitch I can't stand.' </i> That's exactly how I feel about conference food.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Last week, I attended a conference with two lunch options: chicken with mashed potatoes and veggies, or Alfredo bow-tie pasta with veggies and sun dried tomatoes. In the picture, it looked delicious, so I chose the pasta. Soon a plate was slapped down in front of me so fast that the bottom spun like a top. On the plate was cooked bow-tie pasta with no sauce, three steamed pieces of broccoli and not one effing sun dried tomato. I glanced around the table, hoping to catch someone's eye and give the look that says, <i>'can you believe this??'</i> But like pod people, they were forking the crap into their mouths as if it was the best meal they had ever eaten. Then I realized all the plates looked alike - there wasn't a sun dried tomato anywhere on the property. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Those. Lying. Bastards. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Even if I wanted to throw a fit, which I was THIS close to doing, they couldn't have fixed it. Instead, I put leftover salad dressing on the pasta, added salt and pepper, and started forking the crap into my mouth like a good little pod person.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Next week, I'm going to a conference in Dallas. Honestly, it doesn't matter whether it's Dallas or New York City, I'm convinced event planners all refer to the same manual, <i>Food For Constipation and Bloat.</i> Of course, there's the token yogurt in big bowls of ice placed strategically at break time - probably to avoid a lawsuit - but let's get real, no one eats yogurt at a conference. And speaking of real, if you eat real food on a regular basis, and then eat conference food for a few days, your body will rebel by puffing up like a blow fish and slamming your ass shut. I have learned to wear comfy, stretchy clothes at conferences to accommodate the walking fat suit I've become while I'm there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Worst of all, the effects of conference food last way beyond the conference itself. It takes at least two days to recover from these processed sodium and sugar debacles. Every time, I swear that I'll do it different. That I won't even eat the food. That I'll fill my purse with Kind bars, nuts and other healthy options. But as soon as I get to the conference hotel, I put the snacks on top of the dresser and think, <i>'I'm not eatin' that crap.'</i> Stuffed from the greasy breakfast buffet, before the keynote speaker is even introduced, I have only one burning question on my mind: what are we going to eat next?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Picture from coastguard.com</span><br />
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<br />Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-21556308211789323652016-04-05T18:15:00.000-06:002016-04-05T18:15:54.982-06:00Aura by Jacomo: Perfume Pacifier<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My nose, Daphne, is a bratty little kid. She wants what she wants when she wants it. The problem is, as soon as she gets it, she doesn't want it anymore. I cannot tell you how many perfumes I have bought (because of Daphne's whining) that ended up in the 'rejected until I figure out what to do with it' box in the spare bedroom downstairs. Kind of like the Island of Misfit Toys.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Last week's perfume shopping frenzy wore me out. The fresh, springy scents I tried left a screechy after-smell, and </span><span style="font-size: large;">Daphne would not stop badgering me about her craving for a sweet floral perfume. So I started sniffing through the perfumes I already have. Smelling one after the other, Daphne said, </span><i><span style="font-size: large;">'no!'</span></i><span style="font-size: large;"> just like the annoying toddler she is. After plundering through my cabinet, I went downstairs and started on the box of misfits.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The moment she saw the yellow package, Daphne gasped and pointed so I knew it was the one: Aura by Jacomo. It's a sweet floral perfume with freesia, mimosa and honeysuckle, finished by sandalwood and musk. And butter. Yes...melted butter. Aura was an inexpensive add-on to qualify for free shipping, which might explain why I set it aside. Now, a forgotten treasure suddenly found, it has assumed a prominent spot in my cabinet with the more popular perfume crowd.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Changing into my sweats after work last night, I noticed that my weekend 'lounge on the deck' cami still reeks of Aura from the clothes hamper. And finally, Daphne is down for a nap.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo from 99perfume.com</span><br />
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<br />Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-44691574794914304112016-03-31T18:25:00.000-06:002016-04-01T05:08:27.548-06:00New Perfume For A New Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB3Qyd6TJSJo0wUMa6c7pBMAfHrKfd7Myuq38Ll1dEeAUYxcnEKgSmMIYjLqgWz49S0JJgf770e4HyxvwNyVwffhXaJpzQE5TleAyQ0CN5Q4_Pxp5KHNN3s5oRTMBvhp66NrOY4G3hh8Y/s1600/sunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB3Qyd6TJSJo0wUMa6c7pBMAfHrKfd7Myuq38Ll1dEeAUYxcnEKgSmMIYjLqgWz49S0JJgf770e4HyxvwNyVwffhXaJpzQE5TleAyQ0CN5Q4_Pxp5KHNN3s5oRTMBvhp66NrOY4G3hh8Y/s400/sunrise.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Life has taken a turn for the better in several ways and I'm feeling kind of...new. Which of course, means a new perfume. But choosing a brand new perfume for a brand new time is harder than it looks. After a Sephora extravaganza earlier this week, I'm thinking perhaps Jean Claude Ellena's latest - and reportedly last perfume for Hermes - might be the one. </span><span style="font-size: large;">As much as I love Jean Claude, several things about his perfume are pissing me off. Like the name, Un Jardin de Monsieur Li. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>'What are you wearing?' </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>'It's Hermes Un Jardin de Monsieur Li.' </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yeah, I don't think so. My 14-year-old self is still snickering at Un Jardin Sur le <strike>Twat</strike> Toit. It's the same reason I don't drive a <strike>Vulva </strike>Volvo. Plus, Monsieur Li has no staying power, so even if I were to talk myself into wanting it, Inner Farm Girl has already said no. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">She said No means No. She's mean.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">During an Ulta visit on my way home the other night, I start thinking my new 'it scent' might be Jimmy Choo eau de parfum. You know those cheesy online quizzes to find your perfect perfume? <i>(Do you prefer romantic evenings, walks on the beach...or casual nights at home in soup stained sweats covered with dog hair and no bra?)</i> I'm pretty sure that's what it said. Jimmy Choo must be a 'sweats with dog hair' kind of guy because this perfume is a frequent recommendation. Until a few days ago, I had never tried it on my skin because it has a hefty dose of patchouli, and my nose Daphne, is spoiled by Borneo 1834, the greatest chocolaty, dry roast beef patchouli of all time. Jimmy Choo smells too much like a colleague at the office who wears Coco Mademoiselle, a squeaky clean, twin set sweater kind of patchouli. Great patchouli is dirty, everyone knows that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've even tried going backwards to revisit perfumes I have worn during happy times in the past. This accounts for over-spraying myself with Victoria's Secret Heavenly last Saturday morning after a 20-minute stint on the treadmill while watching Pioneer Woman make fried chicken sliders on Food Network. And is it just me, or do you find yourself liking or hating a perfume more after reading reviews from Fragrantica and MakeupAlley? How else would Eternity Summer end up all over the collar of my favorite long black sweater?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Taking a little breather from my perfume search can only be a good thing at this point even though it's hard. I need more perspective before making a final decision about what perfume will mark this Very Special Time. Sit. Stay.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image from google.com</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<br />Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-69031595307550388922016-03-27T10:31:00.001-06:002016-03-28T05:58:23.644-06:00Easter: When Small Things Matter Most<span id="goog_968069509"></span><span id="goog_968069510"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImqaPzMeo5ov9CgiqNEZTqlp0BGgKUurPVKbCAx3fvCmqJWIN7spSRDL0Lg6ITG7JPEG0FKWM17SPF_U9Bq8Kml5HofkTa8FcYk7iXH2kZzjQpEW7Qkfc67hzOJRy3hIxnhX5tR5qQ2U/s1600/easter-bunny-images-5-1+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImqaPzMeo5ov9CgiqNEZTqlp0BGgKUurPVKbCAx3fvCmqJWIN7spSRDL0Lg6ITG7JPEG0FKWM17SPF_U9Bq8Kml5HofkTa8FcYk7iXH2kZzjQpEW7Qkfc67hzOJRy3hIxnhX5tR5qQ2U/s400/easter-bunny-images-5-1+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Easter makes me think about everything I love; my family, my health and a rich life that constantly changes and evolves. People I love that are gone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">On Good Friday, B-man and I take a little road trip to buy lotto tickets just across the border of a neighboring state, and to drive by the farm where I grew up. We buy the tickets - and beer for later - then wind around the small country road to the farm. Walking through the barnyard, surrounded by collapsed buildings and rusted equipment, I can't help but think of the movie Titanic. Just like the movie, scenes in my mind go back and forth from the wreckage of the present to the past when the farm is at its peak, brimming with life. Now bird songs fill what would otherwise be complete silence.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My grandparents' home remains on the property and it is now owned by a woman who spends her summers here and her winters in Arizona, She arrives earlier than usual this year, which becomes obvious when her two tiny dogs begin barking in the house and Paige, our dog, joins the chorus from outside. B-man and I wander separately around the farm, and I try like always to push my nose against the shed that holds the tractors so I can pick up the scent of diesel, old metal and wood that reminds me of Dad and of home. But it's shut up tight, which keeps the smell locked inside. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As we stand around like sheep separated from their flock, the woman inside comes out and says, <i>'Okay, which one are you?'</i> (She is used to my family visiting the property.) I tell her I am the second daughter and she says, <i>'you had dark hair last time I saw you, so that threw me.' </i>Then out of the blue, she asks, <i>'do you want to come and see the house?'</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Much of the house is the same as I remember. Because of the addition of a new deck and new landscaping, I assume that more will be different inside as well, but I am wrong. Everything from the living room, the narrow hallway, high ceilings and entrances to the basement and attic are all the same. Still intact is the porch grandma enclosed to do her oil painting, and so is the built-in vanity of her bedroom that held all sorts of magical perfumes and make-up. I cry and the new owner hands me a tissue. She says when she's ready to sell the house, she will offer it to my siblings first. <i>'I'll take care of it until it's back in your family.' </i> I hug this woman I barely know and we leave the farm once more.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Throughout the two hour drive home, I keep telling B-man that I love him. I guess it is my way of saying what the day has meant to me and my gratitude that I can share it with him. At one point, I say, <i>'it's been at least 20 minutes since the last time I said it, but I still love you.'</i> B-man says, <i>'Yeah, I was beginning to think the honeymoon might be over.'</i> Then he smiles and kisses my hand.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Happy Easter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo from eastersundayquotes.com</span><br />
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<br />Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-91389305587887605282016-03-19T08:02:00.000-06:002016-03-19T08:02:26.916-06:00And The Truth Will Set You Free<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't claim to understand God. I am not religious and have no faith whatsoever in traditional dogma. Whether God is a guy in the sky, a beautiful sunset or the perfect meal doesn't really matter to me. Yes, sometimes I think God is food. However, I do know the spiritual sense of purpose I feel when I can say, 'this is what I was meant to do in the world.' It's been a long time since I felt that.</span><span id="goog_486892163"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As my career in health care has progressed and changed over he past 15 years, I have become more and more removed from the type of human connection I find meaningful. Like a slow leak, it was hardly noticeable at first, overshadowed by my need to conquer the next challenge, and then the next. Denial worked its magic, assuring me that the stale air of corporate life is important, even though it is often filled with activity that is mundane and...pretend. Gone are the days of pulsating drama inside the hospital when I could see and feel where I was needed most and respond to that need in the moment. Never did I feel more radiant and alive. Never have I felt closer to my interpretation of God. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Since my parents died, I am haunted by their unfulfilled dreams and the shortness of life, especially in light of my own quiet desperation. I have explored other work, or moving out of state to find my lost sense of purpose. Then suddenly, an epiphany. Someone else saw it first, as if this person looked inside my soul and spoke the truth that I knew was there, but couldn't clearly see. And the truth, as it always does, set me free. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo from desertpeace.wordpress.com</span>Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6035515932306404722.post-83662061651919135982016-03-13T18:23:00.000-06:002016-03-13T18:31:39.066-06:00Hermes Hiris: A Perfume for Introverts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">This morning as B-man and I walked our dog, Paige, I got the distinct vibe of iris in the air. Some yards even showed the green stubby beginnings of iris blossoms to come. Irises are pure drama with their unique shape and earthy smell. Think about it this way, how many times have you received a bouquet of irises? They are far too wild to be in the 'Valentines Day/sappy romantic/I screwed up will you forgive me/sorry I didn't buy you cheese instead' category. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Iris stands alone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And you can't choose iris perfumes willy-nilly, like you might grab Paris Hilton's Heiress <i>(my current guilty pleasure body spray...if you tell anyone, I'll deny it).</i> No, you have to be in just the right mood to wear iris perfumes or they come across all baby powder and dirt, which is a real bummer on the wrong day. Plus, these perfumes are introverts that don't like people all that much. Never wear an iris perfume if you're a compliment whore or you are hoping to get laid. It won't work. Iris perfumes were invented solely to show introvert solidarity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">During our walk I decided on Hermes Hiris as my scent of the day, and touching the frosted blue bottle when we got home made the back of my neck tingle. </span><span style="font-size: large;">In true iris fashion, </span><span style="font-size: large;">I've played it cool today, doing introverted stuff like making chicken salad, watching the last half of Titanic and sending a few work emails.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">Now I'm enjoying a glass of red wine with B-man. Quietly, of course.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Picture from pinterest.com</span>Katy Josephinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504394399778675539noreply@blogger.com0