Notes From Josephine Is One Year Old Today

This time last year, I began my blog with A Note To My Mother.  She had just recently died and this little project was a way of keeping her in my heart and honoring our shared love of perfume.

Ending this first year feels kind of sad; it's another sign that time is moving further away from Mom and herding us relentlessly into the future. 

I just realized that the 20th of March came and went and I didn't mark the day as one more anniversary of her death, as I have each month until now.

Life keeps moving.

Thank you to my family and friends who have followed this blog and encouraged me to keep going.  Your support means a lot to me.

And to you, my blogging friends around the world, thanks for your friendship and flat out love (I feel it vibrating off my computer screen).  

You are a wonderful addition to my life and I hope to meet you all someday and share an afternoon of perfume sniffing, laughter and perhaps a glass of wine.

Our own minipalooza.

Things have changed over the past year and I am different now than I was before.  But Notes From Josephine will go on, and I will continue to carry the torch for perfume that Mom lit first for me.

I hope she's reading, too.

photo from corbisimages.com

Perfumed Eras Of My Life

Do you believe perfume memories live forever?

I do.

All of the perfumes I have worn tell a story, but a few stand out because of the era they mark.

Pavlova by Payot

At 20 years old, I was in a terrible car accident. My boyfriend was killed and I was really lucky to survive. And yes, everything you hear about survivor guilt and post traumatic stress syndrome is real. 

Shortly after I returned home from the hospital, a package arrived from my favorite aunt.  It was a bottle of Pavlova.  I wore it constantly, but only for a while.  

Though I have never smelled it since, I would recognize Pavlova instantly, and it would transport me back to that time as if it happened yesterday.

Magie Noire by Lancome 

When this first came out, in the early 1980's, I didn't pay much attention.  My birthday was coming up and the man in my life (pre B-man) asked me what I wanted.  I told him I wanted to go shopping and pick out a nice perfume.  

He brought home Magie Noire.

Of course, I was pissed because I wanted to choose the perfume myself.  In hindsight, I realize that the original Magie Noire was lovely, but the circumstances surrounding this gift dulled my appreciation.

If only I had a bottle now...

 

Sung by Alfred Sung

This original beauty (pre-reformulation) marks one of the happiest times of my life.  B-man and I were a new couple and I was just coming to know the truth about being loved and being in love myself.  

Our early years were simply magic.  

On a joint shopping trip, I discovered Sung - right as it was being introduced - and knew it was the perfume to celebrate our happiness.  It provided the aromatic background to our wedding day and perfectly matched the delight and depth of our life together.

Now, Sung is a shadow of its former self.  But in the beginning, it was citrus and freesia and woods and simply divine. Sung was my signature scent - my only scent - for almost 10 years. 

Incanto by Ferragamo 

Our little Shih Tzu, named Josie, was a rescue dog that we adopted from a friend involved with our local shelter.  Josie was found wandering on a busy street, her fur matted as if she had been on her own for weeks.  

She was afraid of almost everything; lightning, wind and rain.  We fell in love with her immediately.

Taking care of her was always a priority and B-man made his regular appointment to get her teeth cleaned.  It was a Friday and we looked forward to that evening when we could spoil Josie. 

But she died during the procedure.

Numb and grief-stricken, we could hardly stand to be in the house because everything reminded us of her.  So we left and wandered around in our familiar places, holding hands like little kids, trying to find some peace.  I bought Incanto unsniffed, desperate to feel better.  To feel anything but awful.

Although very nice, Incanto is a perfume I rarely wear.  But I keep it close to remind me of our Josie.

Jungle L'Elephant by Kenzo

The moment I first smelled 'Jungle,' I fell in love. Spicy, rich suede filled my senses, which resulted in an immediate purchase.  Mom loved it, too, and I surprised her with a bottle for Mother's Day.

Several years before Mom died, we had a misunderstanding that resulted in silence between us for a couple of months.  When we began communicating, Mom said, 'I'm glad we resolved things because now I can wear Jungle again.'  She always understood the power of perfume as it relates to emotion.  

I miss that about her.

What perfumes mark significant times in your life?

Photo from catchtheasteroid.blogspot.com

Rant: Stop With The Hyphenated Last Names

Hyphenation is a bad idea.

And it bugs me.

First of all, I'm lucky if I can remember your first name, let alone your last name.  But two last names?  

Okay, Wang-Holder I'd remember. 

Anything else?  Fuggedaboutit.

I have to wonder what, exactly, one is trying to communicate through hyphenation.  Independence?  Strength?  Feminism?  

Because it doesn't accomplish any of those things.  Now, you bear the name of not just one man, but two.   

Not exactly a symbol of empowerment.

And why on earth would a woman hyphenate her name when a man doesn't? (This principle applies to same sex couples as well.)   For example, if she's going to be Susie Jones-Smith then he should be John Smith-Jones.  Or John Jones-Smith.  

Honestly, I hardly ever see men doing this, probably for the same reason they don't wear tube tops, fishnets or thigh high boots. 

Because it makes no sense and it looks stupid. 

Let's take it a step further.  Say Susie and John have kids.  Are they Jones-Smith, too? And when their daughter, Cindy Jones-Smith gets married, is she Cindy Jones-Smith-Brown?

I'm just sayin', think it through.

If you really want to make a statement about your identity, through your name, consider these option:

1)  Go traditional.  Take your husband's name or you and your partner decide whose name will be the official surname, then you both use it.  But never assume a hideous last name just to prove your love or to honor tradition.

2)  Keep your original surname and use that forever and ever, regardless of the name of your husband/partner.

3)  Use only your first name (Madonna, Rihanna) or your first and middle name, ditching the surname altogether. 

4)  Choose any damn name you want - just because you like it - and use it consistently.  

But please, don't expect me to remember, nor admire, the fact that you have attached another last name to your signature with a hyphen.  

In return, I promise never to wear a tube top. 

photo from damnfunnypictures.com

Ode to Muscs Koublai Khan

Barbasol Shaving Cream

Hamster Cage

Nutella

Rumpled Bed

Burnt Autumn Leaves

Brylcreem

Old Leather Shoes

Picture from Luckyscent.com

Standing In The Sun Once Again

Has the feeling of relief ever taken you by surprise?

Over the past couple of months, we have been dealing with a health concern of Dad's.

From the beginning, I told myself it would most likely be 'nothing,' meaning a simple condition with an equally simple treatment. 

Always the pragmatist, I held my fear at bay, knowing there is much beyond our control.  Knowing, too, that worry does little to help anyone and nothing to reverse the course of life.

This I learned when we lost Mom.

Last Thursday, I was set to accompany Dad to the hospital for further testing, which included an ultrasound and a biopsy.  Working in a medical environment, I hoped to help him navigate the system and glean all of the information he wanted and needed.

I was cool as a cucumber.

Right up until Wednesday night.

That's when it hit me that I could be shielding myself through denial; that we may well be heading down a path that wasn't simple at all.  I contemplated losing him, the parent to whom I feel the closest connection.

In bed that night, I cried - a little kid, sobby cry - feeling afraid for myself and so very protective of him.

Please, not Dad.  Not yet.

Feeling inadequate to provide the comfort and companionship he needed, I talked with Mom and asked her to help Dad and me in whatever way she could.

After falling into a deep sleep, I woke up Thursday morning ready to face the day.  Knowing I needed a boost of comfort and strength, I reached once again for Montale's White Aoud.  Its medicinal top note added a wink and a nod of good luck to our hospital visit.

Once the testing was over, which included significant physical pain for my dad, we came away with reassurance and optimism.  Regardless of the final results of the testing, which we will have later this week, Dad's condition is treatable and not life threatening.  

He's going to be okay.  We both felt Mom was there.

Until now, I didn't realize just how much fear I was carrying under the surface of my emotions.  Suddenly, everything feels lighter and more vibrant, like a new path has opened before me and the sun has come out again.

first image from klue.com

second image from trekearth.com

Daphne's An Annoying Little Princess

You remember Daphne, my nose, right?

Well, she's being rather high maintenance at the moment, fickle and bored with everything.

Except Montale's White Aoud.  

That's all she wants to smell.  Every day.  Like a baby who only eats strained carrots and spits anything else on the high chair tray. 

Yup, just talk to the nostril.

Look, I've tried.  I've offered lots of variety.  Exciting perfume samples have visited in an attempt to pull Daphne out of this funk.  Hell, I've even 'flown' perfume samples and bottles to her nose while making airplane sounds. 

It hasn't worked.  Check it out:

C&S Dark Rose -  'Black Aoud's dimwit cousin.'

La Myrrhe - 'ewww, girly.'

SL's Chene - 'scrubbing bubbles.'

SL's Musc Koublai Khan  - 'yeah, if you like farts.'

That's the other thing: Daphne lacks diplomacy.

But we don't necessarily agree.  For example, I don't find Muscs Koublai Khan 'farty' at all, and it actually wears sexy and mild on my skin.

And La Myrrhe?  Sure, it's kind of girly (a little more myrrh, a little less Chanel, please), but I like the way it dries down to remind me of Aimez Moi by Caron.

Sadly, I do have to agree when it comes to Dark Rose and to Chene.  While it doesn't reach the Comet Cleanser pitch of Encens Flamboyant, I still believe Chene could do a hell of a job on my shower.

Fortunately, I've been down this road with Daphne before.  It's best to just go along and wear White Aoud to the edge of Signature Scentville.

Then, when it's clearly her idea to begin exploring, we'll resume the pursuit once again.

Jeez, what a baby.

photo my own

Save The Gator

Meet Paige's new friend, Gator.  Well, friend might be stretching it a bit.

Paige has never been a destructive dog.  Even in her puppy stage she didn't chew things up.  And now, as an adult, she takes treats politely from our fingers.

I know, cowboy up.

Her vast array of stuffed, furry toys has remained intact through growling fits and mouth shakes for which B-man and I provide the dialogue:

Why, I'll shake your ass good, stupid hedgehog!

Take that, you idiot tiger!

Entertainment is cheap at our house.

But for some reason, Gator has brought out the worst in Paige and he (we know it's a 'he' because B-man looked) ended up in emergency, stitch-him-back-up surgery after being split open.

Not just once, but twice.  Paige denies it, of course, but the evidence is clear.

 I didn't do it...for realsies

With Gator fresh out of post-op, we're watching Paige to see just what it is about him that pisses her off.  Okay, he's green, but what else?  Together, we decide a little surveillance is in order.

What?  Gator makes a nice pillow

I feel so misunderstood

Hey, how did Gator get outside?

I'll be right here watching for the perp

Gee, thanks 'O.J.' but we're pretty clear on the identity of the 'perp.'

photos my own