Canoe 


Vintage Canoé (Dana 1936) is one of those classic “men’s fragrances” that is actually quite genderless. The original scent is sublime with a brilliantly unique freshness. Musky, and perhaps a slight bit louder than not on the lemon it’s really a very blended concoction so it’s a little difficult to pick each note apart… I’ll have to look for the larger vintage bottle.  

Bon Voyage 

Bon Voyage (Dana 1960) is one of those rare vintages that catch you by surprise. It’s extremely spicy… If a hot pepper found its way into a bottle of a labdanum and oakmoss drenched green chypre it might resemble Bon Voyage. Although, it’s important to note that this scent, while very vibrant, is also well composed. The notes are rich, warm and pretty… 

Tyran 

Tyran (Dana possibly 1930’s – unknown) is spicy, fruity notes careen elegantly about eventually creating a powdery chypre. The few florals are lovely but dark and dense. This is a very intelligent and subversive scent perhaps best worn, as many of the scents in this vintage sampler, at night… 

Symbole 

Bright, beautiful tea-like green notes and gorgeous florals are flanked by truly smoky aldehydes and spice at the beginning of Symbole (Dana 1946).  It’s a robust chypre with definite styrax, rose, musk, and vetiver. The unique thing about Symbole however, is that it’s not particularly weighed down despite its depth. It’s an almost fun scent in a vintage lavender meets glitter sort of way… 

Platine 

Platine (Dana 1939) is extraordinarily earthy aldehydes. Intriguingly, the base notes of ambergris, patchouli, orris and eventually oak moss are bold, sensual and totally present from start to finish. The lily of the valley, vetiver and cypress emerge next, followed by ylang ylang, jasmine, and orange blossom. Truly, Platine is like an elegant vintage mink. It’s difficult to wear easily, especially for day, but certainly possible.
Into the drydown the wet earth patchouli meets a hint of narcissus, citrus and other florals in a springlike background. But it’s the heady base and rocky aldehydes that are bravest.

Top notes: aldehydes, bergamot, lemon, jonquil and narcissus.  Middle notes: orange blossom, lily of the valley, ylang ylang, jasmine, iris, tuberose and Bulgarian rose.  Base notes: ambergris, musk, patchouli, juniper, cypress, orris, vetiver, sandalwood, oak moss and styrax

 

Emir

image.jpeg

Emir (Dana 1936) is classified as an oriental fragrance.  It starts with a rich, warm aldehydic burst of unearthly powdery citrus, specifically citronella.  And, as it moves into an intense and vibrant floral heart it has an enormous but not overpowering presence.  Matter of fact, at times it is a bit like a good bottle of vintage Emeraude – balsamic but not coarse.  Sensual but never crass…  Into the drydown, this woody, spicy, musky and truly rare beauty is reminiscent of the camphor headiness in vintage Youth Dew but with a distinct powdery, blue allure…

 

Nose: Jean Carles

Top notes: aldehydes, citronella, lemongrass, bergamot, camphor

Middle notes: coriander, Bulgarian rose, iris, ylang ylang, frankincense, jasmine, carnation, galbanum, cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg, lily of the valley,

Base notes: orris, incense, vanilla, labdanum, tolu balsam, leather, musk, sandalwood, benzoin, patchouli, oakmoss, vetiver, cedar, civet, ambergris

Toujours Moi

2015-03-03 09.35.47 (3)

Like a sparkling glass of root beer, Toujours Moi is soft, sweet and fizzy.  With a mix of warm sandalwood, musk and a combination of somewhat heady florals it’s jovial and pretty.

Toujours Moi, a woody oriental, is sold in its reformulated state by Dana; the original was introduced by Corday in 1927 (Corday 1927).  The current version has a great deal of sillage and longevity and while it is now a “drugstore perfume” it still retains enough of its original charm to be worth a gander and sniff.

Notes: orange blossom, vetiver, jasmine, lilac, incense, musk, lavender, and sandalwood.

__

Summer Memories: Part III of IV
For the next four hours Gracie, Pat, George and I play in the water, drink root beer sodas and then Pat gets the idea to start a fire and roast weenies.  He and Gracie will walk into town and buy some and presumably George and I will stay here. They leave in good cheer.

When they’ve finally crossed the distance needed for George to start a private conversation he stops and looks into my eyes, then starts with, “I really am sorry Beth about the last two weeks. I did forget about the time.”

I’m silent, but look at him with an attempt at an understanding expression. He looks down and continues.

“I can imagine it’s hard to believe.” He looks off into the deep water. “I didn’t forget about you. Just what day it was.” He looks a bit sad now but smiles slightly to himself.

I’m still silent, but I smile at him. He grabs my hand and rises suddenly. “Let me show you what my life has been like. Come with me.” Grabbing my hand he starts walking off, pulling me behind him.

“Where are we going?” I ask confused and curious.

“To the current love of my life, I’m afraid.”

We reach the shipyard in a few minutes of rather brisk walking. When we’re there we walk inside a cool, shady, muddy smelling sort of room with a lot of open space and a cement floor. Then there’s a door leading to a hallway that leads to another door and then a staircase. We go up the steps.

“Here we be.” He turns around and looks at me with an oddly surprised expression, as if seeing me for the first time. Then we walk into a dusty room where particles are flying about lit by sunbeams pouring in the window above a big mahogany desk. The desk is filled with papers, books, blotters, ink and pens. “That’s my desk.”

“It’s a pretty desk,” I say as I approach it, touching the wood.

He comes up behind me, “Beth,” he whispers.

I turn around and our faces are inches apart before our mouths reach each other and we kiss – my first kiss, and it’s lovely. The kiss lasts for a moment or two longer before we part. His hands are still at my sides and we stand facing each other quietly smiling for a few seconds before we speak.

“I knew I would kiss you the next time I saw you.” He smiles and shakes his head. “That’s why I forgot I think. I was scared.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh it’s silly Beth, but not at the same time.” He rubs his eyes. Then he sits down in a chair next to the door and leans back and peers at me. “I wake up at 4:30 every morning, arrive here at that desk and stay until 8 or so every night.” He looks bemused and off into the distance. “Mr. Cook has us all working a lot right now, and me in particular.” He looks off, “He says I have a lot of potential and I don’t want to disappoint him.” He looks solemn.  Then he looks at me quizzically. “I’m sorry Beth. I didn’t want to be dishonorable.”

“Oh. I understand.” I do too. “How do you feel now?”

“I don’t think I can stop seeing you. If I did I think it would hurt me in ways I’m not sure I can even put words to.” He looks a bit grave. He stands up and walks closer before grabbing my hand. “We should go back.”

We walk out the door and reach the steps. We’re two steps down when he stops, turns around and kisses me again. It melts me and we seem to float almost the entire way back to the shore, hand in hand.

Once we reach the beach, we find Gracie and Pat already starting a fire. “Where were you two?” Gracie asks, sounding confused.

“I showed her the shipyard, where I work,” answers George. I smile and agree brightly.

“Oh.” Gracie’s face lightens when she sees my smile.

“Say, how about helping me with these weenies,” says Pat to George.

The rest of the night goes by well. On the way home from the shore I hold hands with George until we reach the drugstore. Then he stops, lets go of my hand and walks a few feet ahead of us all. He lifts his arms and appears to be attempting to start a song that he wants us to join in singing with him, but instead a car pulls out of the Johnson house and roars down the path towards us. We all move out of the way, stand silent, wait and watch as the car passes us.

“That’s Mr and Mrs. Johnson’s I betcha,” announces Gracie.

“He rides in it to work every day.” George follows the car with his eyes. He looks down at the ground and rubs the dirt with his foot like he’s trying to rub something out of existence.

“I see him sitting in it too and I often wonder why he doesn’t just walk to work like everyone else.” Pat smirks and then continues. “You’d think he was royalty, but he isn’t. He’s just putting on a show.”

George explains, “Archie married for money. I can’t think he sees a better way to make it count than lording it over everyone.” George shrugs.

“He did?” Gracie sounds intrigued. Her pretty eyes focus on George intently.

Looking a bit surprised by her interest he continues with added emphasis on his words for dramatic effect, “Yes. He married her so he could buy his way into management. He aims to own the shipyard. I’ve talked with him about it.”

“Really?  Golly, you don’t say.”

George nods with great seriousness. We all continue walking in a group. The conversation shifts about until we reach the start of my lawn. Suddenly, George grabs my hand and leads me near the rose bushes. “Say, I should tell you, it’s nothing really, but the other day Archie was talking.” He looks off a bit, “He said that I should meet his wife’s cousin from St. Paul. Her name is Violet. I told him no of course, but he was really stuck on the idea.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure he meant well.”

George looks down. “I’m not so sure what he meant. He thinks it’s important in business to marry someone who’s your social superior. He often preaches to me about things a man should do to succeed and that’s one of them. He hardly sees his wife though, and I know he can’t stand her. You should hear the way he talks to her when she visits him.”

“Well, I suppose I could understand that, but it does seem one should marry for love. That’s so sad.  We saw Rosamund the other night, the night we met you. Gracie and I.  She looked unhappy.”

George falls silent before uttering, “Well, I’m a naive romantic but I certainly think love is important.”

I smile and give him a kiss on the cheek. He grins in his warm way and then places a kiss on my cheek before we part.

Of course, it’s days before I hear or see George again. I can’t say what it is exactly, but there seems to be a growing discontent that increases as the summer progresses and despite the many good times we have together, I’m always on edge. Then, one night, just after my mother serves her second helping of homemade ice cream on the front porch and leaves us alone for a few minutes, he begins, “I received a letter from home a while ago.” His face falls into a distant expression.

“My father is very ill. We’ve known he wasn’t doing well for some time, but recently his condition has deteriorated. They don’t think he will get better this time.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear.” I look into his face and feel his sadness.

Mother comes out the front door with glasses of lemonade. There’s a silence and then, “I might have to go back to Minneapolis at the end of the Summer if I can’t get a raise from Mr. Cook. My family needs the money.”

My mother, who has apparently heard the entire convesation so far, chimes in with, “Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to coax Mr. Cook into giving you a higher wage. You’re such hard worker, George.”

“I sure hope so. They’re awfully hard up.” His sensitive features look hardened, as if he is losing a battle he badly wants to win.  That’s the last George speaks of it to me until one dreary Saturday a week later.  We were holding hands.  A storm had come up and there we sat alone, huddled by a rock on the shore.

“I can’t stand it anymore, I have to tell you.” Then turning to me, “I don’t think we can see each other anymore.”

“Why?”

“I can barely stand myself, but I… ” He looks off. “I’ve been seeing Violet for a week and she’s keen on going steady and I think I should. I should go steady with her, that is.”

“I don’t understand. I thought we were going steady?”

“Well, I suppose we were.”

“Then, what is this?” I stand up. He looks so small and scared, curled into himself like a bird waiting out a bad wind. “George.” I’m practically yelling now. “I do not understand. Not one bit.”

He looks up at me.  His magnetic blue eyes are watered with tears.  His face is ruddy with emotion.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going with her?” It seems pointless to ask, but I have to.

He looks at me and in a resigned, worn tone says, “I don’t think much of Violet. I don’t like her one bit, actually. But my choices are to either return home and work at the tire factory, and lose my chance, or stay here and see Violet. Mr. Cook refused to give me a raise, and I asked him three times.”

“But how does seeing Violet help you with Mr. Cook?”

“Her uncle owns a large share of the company. He owns a large share of many companies.”

“So that’s all? That’s the end? You would rather lose me than lose your chance?”

“I’m trapped.”

“No. You’re not. You’re not trapped at all, unless you decide to be.” I breathe heavily. Nothing.

“I do care. I really do.”

I feel the chill of the air and the rain falling on my head. I hadn’t noticed it was raining until just this moment. But it’s a quiet, soothing rain.

“I don’t think you do, and that’s fine. Just don’t ruin Violet’s life unless she wants you to.  I’m sure she has feelings too.”

“I’m not trying to ruin anyone’s life.” His anger is evident.

“No, of course not. Of course not,” my voice trails off. I decide my two choices are to stand here and argue with him trying to convince him that he should keep seeing me, or to walk away. If I walk away I’ll surely lose him, but I won’t lose myself. I walk away.

That night I cry for hours alone in my bedroom. I try to be quiet, but I can’t help it. Then, I hear a knock at the door. “Come in,” I shout.

It was my little brother Matthew. His face is gentle, sweet and compassionate. “Why are you crying?’

“I’m ok, Matthew. I just heard some very sad news today.”

“Oh. Well, is there anything I can do?”

“No, thank you though. You’re very kind.” He is too.  He nods his head in empathy and then closes the door.

I lay on my bed, close my eyes and try to fall asleep. Sleep comes, but it isn’t easy.

So, my son had a severe reaction to having low blood sugar Monday morning and we had to bring him to the emergency room. We called 911 because of how bad it was and the paramedics thought he had had a seizure.  Thankfully he hadn’t. He’s very healthy but apparently when kids are really little low blood sugar can affect them severely.  He eats a lot, but now we feed him a snack before bed too.  And, my husband was supposed to have a final interview for a job on Monday morning too.  And I was supposed to have a cavity filled….

It’s been an interesting week.

Oh, oh, and my mother’s friend decided to tell an estranged relative who none of us have seen in over ten years that we were at the hospital…  And they just showed up in our er room while the nurse was trying to administer an ekg to our son.

Soap opera.

So…   Sorry I didn’t post anything on Monday.  Haha.

Anyway.  Thanks for reading.  🙂  🙂

Heaven Sent

2015-03-03 09.42.20 (2)

Heaven Sent (Helena Rubenstein 1941) is a powdery, sweet but tangy, elegant gem, even in its current formulation by Dana.  It’s the sort of fragrance a muse would wear.

Heaven Sent is tremendously lovely with a fizzy citrus laced carnation that seems to be drenched with champagne. The drydown is just as stunning with a perfect blend of delicate warm patchouli and joy. It’s such a pretty fragrance…

Top notes: bergamot, lemon, orange, neroli and spearmint.   Middle notes: rose, carnation, ylang-ylang and lily of the valley.  Base notes: amyris, patchouli, vetiver, sandalwood, oak moss, musk and benzoin.

Part IV of IV – the end of My Reunion is in June 

After I heard that I had “just missed” Ryan in every way you could possibly imagine, the entire gathering became a total joke. Total joke you say?  Why, Yes. Yes, it did.

I’m realizing right now that he was the only reason I went to my reunion.

I look around and see sweaty people dancing to music from the late 1990’s. One man in particular is singing the lyrics to the Britney Spear’s song playing. “Oops! You think I’m in love.  That I’m sent from above.  I’m not that innocent…”   He wiggles a bit on that last line.  Wait…  I knew him!  Chris Jacobson. Wow.  He gained a bit of weight and all in his belly.  And he grew a decent looking goatee too…   Anyway, he’s dancing really exurberantly and is clearly drunk.  But he’s having fun and his shirt fits him really well considering his belly.  Good for him.

And there is his wife.  She is so pretty.  They look happy.

I’m the only one sitting here at this table now.  When did that happen?  And good grief this lunch table is so freaking old (for a lunch table)…  Look at it!  It’s from the early 90’s.  Doesn’t this school system have money for lunchroom tables that aren’t falling apart?

Anyway.

What the hell do I do now?

How about I just leave?  I could do that.  That would work!

No, no it wouldn’t.  I would feel like I had missed something, probably because I would likely miss something…

How about I just go for a walk around the school?  Nobody else will be doing that.  You would think that they would but they won’t.  I’ll be alone, but I won’t leave…

I get up and walk away from the lunchroom; from everybody.  As I’m walking down the halls, past lockers and old drinking fountains I feel like I’m falling through a wormhole.  Well, that is, until I see the posters up on the walls for upcoming events and the new carpeting in the main hallways. Otherwise, it smells the same, it looks the same and it feels the same.  It certainly is my old high school.

I just keep walking until I reach the spot between the women’s restrooms and the rooms where they taught social sciences.  I remember walking into this bathroom many times.  Sometimes I would look in the mirror and feel proud of what I saw and then see someone else next to me who I thought looked better.  Other times I would pull out a paper I had shoved in my backpack to check and see what my grade was.  Sometimes I was pleasantly surprised and it would make me smile for the rest of the day, and other times I would work over and over again in my mind where I had gone wrong. And sometimes, during class, I would just come here and be alone for a minute to process my thoughts.

I sit down on the ground by the lockers and rest my head against the cold green metal doors.  It’s nice to just sit here.  It’s good to let my mind wander right here, right now, even if it’s only pain and nostalgia that I feel.  It’s cathartic.  It feels horrible and yet it also brings a sort of peace.

Of course, I have no idea why I was late.  I mean, it’s odd that I had the impression the event started at 7.   And it’s very odd that Ryan was making such a big deal about seeing me…  But was he?  I mean I heard it all second-hand from Annie and everyone was being so weird and quiet about it all.  Plus, why did Annie act so giddy when she was first telling me the story if she didn’t remember my crush on him?  It didn’t all make sense…   And actually, it all reminded me of something that would easily have happened to me in high school.  Fitting I suppose.

Maybe it was all “nothing” and I just totally messed up my timing…    And that’s nice that Ryan’s happy.  I would never have thought of him as a doctor in high school, but when I stop to think about it, I can see it.  He really was a smart guy despite the image he created for himself back then.

Sigh.

Well, whatever the case may be I’m going to savor this moment of solitude and just be…   Deep breath.  Quiet.

So last night I was watching CNN and I saw the granddaughter of the late Rev. Clementa Pickney.  She was fantastic!  What composure.

She’s starting a campaign on Instagram that I joined called the hatewontwinchallenge.  As the Instagram account states, “This is devoted to people all over the world displaying acts of love, breaking tension between racial, economical, religious and sexual differences.”  The idea is to capture a moment when you’re showing love that crosses typical lines of divison and post it on Instagram or Facebook.  It’s a really interesting challenge.  What would a truly loving act that “drives out hate” be, and how could social media be used in such a circumstance? It’s a great thing to consider and participate it.

I hope you’re having a pleasant week so far, dears…

🙂