My search for a new go-to perfume has been much more interesting than I could have ever predicted. I've long since given up the spray-and-smell method of fragrance selection as being not at all sufficient. Stalking my local perfume counters got me a whole bunch of nothing but a headache and some boring conversation with sales folks who know not much more than I outside the marketing materials plastered all over every glass and chrome surface. Even more frustrating is the fact that any given perfume counter sports exactly the same perfumes as any other (why I thought it would be otherwise when stores all seem to have the same clothes I couldn't tell you). Turns out there's a whole world of perfume blogs and books and websites and...did you know that the New York Times has a perfume critic? It does, in the dreamy Chandler Burr.
Googling phrases like how to pick a perfume and what perfume should I wear if I liked Magie Noire brought me to Perfume Smellin' Things. An excellent beginning, this blog helped me frame my search more as a quest for how I want to feel alongside how I want to smell. From there I ended up at Bois de Jasmin and spent hours reading review after review and then moved into a third perfume blog with a great post sharing the 411 on how to get testers. See? I'm not alone in my disinclination to shell out for a scent that might be a disaster (Angel? I'm looking at you.)
Finally, I ended up at The Perfumed Court (TPC). Score! These lovely folks decant bottles of expensiveness into smaller portions of the merely indulgent. Registering for their newsletter I found myself in possession of a coupon code that allowed me to try six teeny bottles of promising perfumes selected via blog reviews cross-referenced against TPC's "scents by notes" study guide and my lists of Brainiac's and my favorite smells. Mine: roses, pepper, leather, port, almond. His: roses, chocolate, leather, Scotch and cigars.
Most of what I ordered from TPC didn't work out as I had hoped, although they were perfectly pleasant (with a notable exception that was more Deep-Woods Off than anything else). One, though, came through in a way that I could not have possibly predicted having read about it - I'd ordered more as a dare to myself than with any real expectation of success. As I type I'm wearing Rose Poivree (by The Different Company) and keep stopping to smell my wrist. It's rosy - but not in a tea-rose-boutonniere way, it's something more genteelly decayed and altogether less cute - and peppery and a wee bit naughty smelling (this article by the aforementioned scrumptious Chandler Burr explains why, but trust me that YOU DO NOT WANT TO READ IT. Consider yourself warned and don't come crying to me if you get grossed out. It's interesting, though.)
Not unlike myself, Rose Poivree has a bit of a mixed reputation. Some consider it a masterpiece, others a catastrophe. In the article linked above (which, remember? you don't want to read) Chandler Burr calls it "...unsettling and gorgeous, the perfume that Satan’s wife would wear to an opening at MoMA", a perspective that makes me laugh since I am so very far from embodying that kind of menacing glamour. The companion review gives Rose Poivree 5 stars. On me Rose Poivree smells deep and rich, peppery but not very spicy and rosy but not at all sweet. I love it.
The downside is that Brainiac can't smell it. Either I go around like a romance novel heroine smelling of peppered roses all the time and he can't tell the difference or it's just not a fragrance that registers for him (there's a word for this, but I can't think what it is). I'm keeping it anyway and will likely order a slightly larger bottle soon since my itsy decant is nearly gone and I'm feeling proactively bereft.
Rose Poivree is for me so I can smell my wrist all day long and be deliriously happy and just a teensy bit not-office-appropriate. But what of my quest to replace Magie Noire for encounters more romantic than sitting at my desk? I'm not giving up. The next round of contenders has been selected. Seeing as they involve more roses and spice and perhaps a surprise or two, something more ladylike, almost the exact opposite of the Rose Poivree?
This is so insanely fun.
No Place Like Home
On a recent post I noted my disinclination to travel despite my interest in seeing new places and meeting new people. As much as I'd like to do these things, the desire to do so doesn't outweigh my dread of the process of traveling. (I was once a girl who spent weeks at a go living out of a backpack but I haven't seen her in a while.) And so, since one never does anything for which one's interest doesn't make the hassle worthwhile, I rarely go anywhere.
Still, there are places I'd like to go and may well do so if I can get beyond the shudder-inducing thoughts of baggage claim, carbon footprints, finding a pet-sitter, an ever-increasing fear of airplanes, keeping track of the kids in a jungle or bog or whatever, getting lost in a new language (I cannot adequately press upon you how likely I am to become lost in any given place), convincing Brainiac that the cost is worth expanding our collective horizons, and so many other anxieties and neuroses that seem to plague me. If I'm able to overcome this not inconsiderable list of obstacles, I think I'd like to visit:
1) Scotland. Duh, where else am I going to find an immortal Highland warrior of my very own? Of course, not being unavailable for the intimate company of immortal Highland warriors, what with being married and all, I'd introduce him to a single pal right away, making a mental note to press shamelessly for all the details after they do...whatever it is that one does with immortal Highland warriors. And then I'd buy Brainiac a kilt.
All joking (mostly) aside, I think that Scotland must be a beautiful place and I have tremendous respect for its history and what has been endured there through the centuries. And? Scotch, golf, castles and salmon. Score.
2) Thailand. My dad lived in Thailand (in that in-the-Air-Force-during-a-war kind of way) before I was born and his stories of his life there captivated my sisters and me as children. Although I understand that he has held much of the truth of that time to himself, the portrait he created for us was of a wondrous and beautiful country with riches counted in ways beyond those I've come to understand. I'd like to see for myself if reality matches what I see in my head.
3) The "Fairy Tail Road" through Germany. I once spoke German more-or-less well (depending upon my mood at the moment) but now remember virtually nothing save a conviction that it might be about to rain. This would be woefully insufficient for spending some time exploring the towns and villages where the Grimm Bros. collected the stories and legends that have become so well-loved (if in slightly less macabre forms than the originals). I'd like to know if I have the mental grit to dig deep and remember enough to enrich a visit and not annoy anyone. Not too badly, anyway.
4) Vienna and Budapest. I bet they're fabulous and wear the weight of history exceedingly well. And? Pastries.
5) Marrakesh. I just...the past...so much...swoon. Yes. Marrakesh.
6) Canadian Rockies. On a train. Wonderfully huge and iconic and magnificent, an excellent place to feel small.
There are other places - Hadrian's Wall, Pyramids, the Acropolis, among others - I might like to see in a perfect world of safe and affordable on-time travel with no environmental repercussions or lost luggage. The above contenders, though, are those that might just provoke me to get outside of my head and on the road.
Still, there are places I'd like to go and may well do so if I can get beyond the shudder-inducing thoughts of baggage claim, carbon footprints, finding a pet-sitter, an ever-increasing fear of airplanes, keeping track of the kids in a jungle or bog or whatever, getting lost in a new language (I cannot adequately press upon you how likely I am to become lost in any given place), convincing Brainiac that the cost is worth expanding our collective horizons, and so many other anxieties and neuroses that seem to plague me. If I'm able to overcome this not inconsiderable list of obstacles, I think I'd like to visit:
1) Scotland. Duh, where else am I going to find an immortal Highland warrior of my very own? Of course, not being unavailable for the intimate company of immortal Highland warriors, what with being married and all, I'd introduce him to a single pal right away, making a mental note to press shamelessly for all the details after they do...whatever it is that one does with immortal Highland warriors. And then I'd buy Brainiac a kilt.
All joking (mostly) aside, I think that Scotland must be a beautiful place and I have tremendous respect for its history and what has been endured there through the centuries. And? Scotch, golf, castles and salmon. Score.
2) Thailand. My dad lived in Thailand (in that in-the-Air-Force-during-a-war kind of way) before I was born and his stories of his life there captivated my sisters and me as children. Although I understand that he has held much of the truth of that time to himself, the portrait he created for us was of a wondrous and beautiful country with riches counted in ways beyond those I've come to understand. I'd like to see for myself if reality matches what I see in my head.
3) The "Fairy Tail Road" through Germany. I once spoke German more-or-less well (depending upon my mood at the moment) but now remember virtually nothing save a conviction that it might be about to rain. This would be woefully insufficient for spending some time exploring the towns and villages where the Grimm Bros. collected the stories and legends that have become so well-loved (if in slightly less macabre forms than the originals). I'd like to know if I have the mental grit to dig deep and remember enough to enrich a visit and not annoy anyone. Not too badly, anyway.
4) Vienna and Budapest. I bet they're fabulous and wear the weight of history exceedingly well. And? Pastries.
5) Marrakesh. I just...the past...so much...swoon. Yes. Marrakesh.
6) Canadian Rockies. On a train. Wonderfully huge and iconic and magnificent, an excellent place to feel small.
There are other places - Hadrian's Wall, Pyramids, the Acropolis, among others - I might like to see in a perfect world of safe and affordable on-time travel with no environmental repercussions or lost luggage. The above contenders, though, are those that might just provoke me to get outside of my head and on the road.
Iron Lady
I once read a quote, attributed to Margaret Thatcher, that sticks with me these many years later. The gist of the idea goes like this: Think of a day that finishes with you very happy and satisfied and you will note that it's not a day when you did nothing; rather it is the day when you had everything to do and did it all.
Being a woman disposed to action, I found in these words something of a motto. I weary of navel gazing, long bouts of speculative cogitation without execution and the "ready, aim, aim, aim..." without ever reaching "fire" that typifies so much of life. My patience is short with those who have more excuses than accomplishments (note that I'm not talking - necessarily - about financial and/or professional success; I take a broader view). It is not in my nature to let the wind take me where it will; I have a plan. I have lists. I have flow-charts and forms and all manner of organizational savvy. This is my comfort zone.
So when the times come, as they inevitably do, when I forget a birthday, write but don't mail a thank you note, let my sharpish tongue loose ill-advisedly, I will call up the memory of a day like today. Today we had everything to do and we have done it. Every last line on the list (started by me and Brainaic on Thursday, as is our custom, adding to it right up until we arrive home on Friday evening when the checking-off begins) has been struck and I am considering framing the the result, one slightly worn and very much scribbled-upon piece of repurposed memo.
From remembering the scarves for the Seamen's Church Institute as we breezed out the door for church to defrosting the freezer to changing my car's oil to five loads of laundry washed and dried/hung, I am full of the warm glow of achievement. Food has been made and packed for the upcoming week of football practice, scout meetings, committee meetings, school events and preschool lunch bunch, and broth has been created from the remains of this evening's chicken. I managed to buy a much-needed purse (on sale! Thank you, Columbus) and Brainiac remembered his promise to take the Boy to the driving range, enjoying the fine weather of a perhaps-early Little Summer. I staged a family story time, painted the Girl's fingernails a lovely soft pink, and cheered Brainiac's latest protoyping project. A more glorious day would be hard for me to imagine for we not only were able to do these things but so very appreciative and a grateful for the privilege of having them to do.
And yet. The sun set several hours ago now and in the quiet night my thoughts turn to wondering what trouble or dismay, personal and not, may meet me tomorrow. The twin specters of private fears and public dread fight to crowd my satisfaction in what I know to have been a wonderfully productive time. Still. Whatever the week brings, in my family or in the world, my essential nature is comforted in knowing that life's lists are never totally scratched complete. We have done much and there is much to do. We will do it.
Being a woman disposed to action, I found in these words something of a motto. I weary of navel gazing, long bouts of speculative cogitation without execution and the "ready, aim, aim, aim..." without ever reaching "fire" that typifies so much of life. My patience is short with those who have more excuses than accomplishments (note that I'm not talking - necessarily - about financial and/or professional success; I take a broader view). It is not in my nature to let the wind take me where it will; I have a plan. I have lists. I have flow-charts and forms and all manner of organizational savvy. This is my comfort zone.
So when the times come, as they inevitably do, when I forget a birthday, write but don't mail a thank you note, let my sharpish tongue loose ill-advisedly, I will call up the memory of a day like today. Today we had everything to do and we have done it. Every last line on the list (started by me and Brainaic on Thursday, as is our custom, adding to it right up until we arrive home on Friday evening when the checking-off begins) has been struck and I am considering framing the the result, one slightly worn and very much scribbled-upon piece of repurposed memo.
From remembering the scarves for the Seamen's Church Institute as we breezed out the door for church to defrosting the freezer to changing my car's oil to five loads of laundry washed and dried/hung, I am full of the warm glow of achievement. Food has been made and packed for the upcoming week of football practice, scout meetings, committee meetings, school events and preschool lunch bunch, and broth has been created from the remains of this evening's chicken. I managed to buy a much-needed purse (on sale! Thank you, Columbus) and Brainiac remembered his promise to take the Boy to the driving range, enjoying the fine weather of a perhaps-early Little Summer. I staged a family story time, painted the Girl's fingernails a lovely soft pink, and cheered Brainiac's latest protoyping project. A more glorious day would be hard for me to imagine for we not only were able to do these things but so very appreciative and a grateful for the privilege of having them to do.
And yet. The sun set several hours ago now and in the quiet night my thoughts turn to wondering what trouble or dismay, personal and not, may meet me tomorrow. The twin specters of private fears and public dread fight to crowd my satisfaction in what I know to have been a wonderfully productive time. Still. Whatever the week brings, in my family or in the world, my essential nature is comforted in knowing that life's lists are never totally scratched complete. We have done much and there is much to do. We will do it.
Not Strange At All
Even as I typed the thing in the last post about French fries I had the thought to stop and delete. It is kind of an odd thing to do, after all. In the end I consoled myself with the conviction that if that's the oddest thing about me then I suppose I'm just fine. A nice, normal, sliding-into-middle-age woman with no terrible neuroses or eccentricities.
That was Tuesday. Flash forward, if you will, to last weekend.
We celebrated the Boy's eighth birthday on Saturday. As part of party preparations, Brainiac was charged with procuring beer (the grade schoolers are much more...pliable with a few beers in 'em*) and salty snacks like chips and pretzels, sold along side the beer at distributors.** Among the other treats he brought home were a package of Necco wafers, one of my favorite sweets. Yay, Brainiac!
So on Sunday after company left and (most of) the cleaning up had been done I sat down to blogsurf and enjoy my Neccos. As I drifted from Smart Bitches, Trashy Books to Angry Chicken to goodness knows what else, probably LOLCats or something similarly invigorating, I happily opened the pack and began to...separate the Neccos into piles by color and eat them two-by-two, green first followed by yellow, then orange, then pink, purple, brown then white. At one point, I think during the oranges, Brainiac came up behind me and I gushed my thanks that he selected such an awesome roll - heavy on the purples, browns and whites. He watched me eat a couple pairs, remarked at what I was doing, shook his head and fled for the relative sanity of the family room.
"If you think this is strange,"I called after him,"You should see what I do with French fries."
* Kidding! Kidding! The beer Brainiac bought was much too expensive to give to kids, what with their uneducated palates.
** Where I live, beer can only be sold at what are essentially beer stores. These stores cannot sell wine or spirits, which can only be sold in "state stores" run by the Liquor Control Board. Strange, but there you are.
That was Tuesday. Flash forward, if you will, to last weekend.
We celebrated the Boy's eighth birthday on Saturday. As part of party preparations, Brainiac was charged with procuring beer (the grade schoolers are much more...pliable with a few beers in 'em*) and salty snacks like chips and pretzels, sold along side the beer at distributors.** Among the other treats he brought home were a package of Necco wafers, one of my favorite sweets. Yay, Brainiac!
So on Sunday after company left and (most of) the cleaning up had been done I sat down to blogsurf and enjoy my Neccos. As I drifted from Smart Bitches, Trashy Books to Angry Chicken to goodness knows what else, probably LOLCats or something similarly invigorating, I happily opened the pack and began to...separate the Neccos into piles by color and eat them two-by-two, green first followed by yellow, then orange, then pink, purple, brown then white. At one point, I think during the oranges, Brainiac came up behind me and I gushed my thanks that he selected such an awesome roll - heavy on the purples, browns and whites. He watched me eat a couple pairs, remarked at what I was doing, shook his head and fled for the relative sanity of the family room.
"If you think this is strange,"I called after him,"You should see what I do with French fries."
* Kidding! Kidding! The beer Brainiac bought was much too expensive to give to kids, what with their uneducated palates.
** Where I live, beer can only be sold at what are essentially beer stores. These stores cannot sell wine or spirits, which can only be sold in "state stores" run by the Liquor Control Board. Strange, but there you are.
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