hortus conclusus

  It’s that time of the week again, and lo and behold, what do I hear with my own little ears, but a sphinxlike perfume bottle, galloping up to riddle you this and that. Who will be the great hero today, craking the code and naming the bottle who sings to you its siren song? A raging volcano covered with snow, a goddess in white pearls, row after row. A bright smile, a tender glance, a gauzy dress, a twirling dance across a brightly lit studio floor. This lady danced once—she will dance no more. A bright crown and a Barbizon cool, a castle and husband who made ladies drool, A hint of iris, a bit of leather and plenty of roses to remind you I’m clever like my idol—I never whip you too hard, but ever play my graceful winning card close to my magnificent chest. I share part of my name with one of the best bottles in the stable; you could say the same of the second half of my nostalgic name. Who am I? CREDITS: La Granja de san ildefonso, Sphynx,

5 years ago today, I married my husband, at my family’s cabin in Red Lodge Montana. I know you may all be tired of hearing me ramble on this week about our anniversary, but the 5-year mark has me thinking a lot about that day. It was a very homemade wedding—family members, friends, and I made all the food; my mother, mother-in-law, and I sewed the wedding dress, and a large contingent of friends arrived at our cabin about a week early to help decorate the place.   I loaded up my old station wagon with flowers, and we spent the day before the wedding making bouquets and corsages, among sundry other things….I will never forget the way my car smelled as  I drove up into the mountains. In the evenings, the intrepid wedding party relaxed from their labors with a hookah and some drinks down by the creek (I therefore always associate the sweet smell of hookah tobacco with my wedding. Go figure) And of course, I was a bit preoccupied and nervous about the big day.

Olympic Orchids’ Luzonica is a sour/tropical/musty/dusty beast of a fruit salad. I find it to be larger-than-life, vibrant, and intense—tropical fruit (pineapple?) spliced with tuberose and orchidesque flowers. It is very unique indeed, and exciting! The musky vanilla base is VERY sexy on my skin, drying down to a salty, animalic floral which really does seem dangerous! There is also a slight bubblegum quality to it, especially in the opening, but it doesn’t push the scent into the Lolita category as far as I am concerned. This is just a surreal, tropical, sexy floral that thrills me and gives me wee palpitations of the heart! I am definitely a fan of new perfumer Ellen Covey’s compositions, no doubt about it! She clearly has a fabulous imagination, and a creative nose. I am having a blast reviewing and enjoying her portfolio. CREDITS: Rousseu’s “Tiger in a tropical Storm” courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I am suffering from a glut of ‘ista’ suffixes. First, there was barista—annoyingly euro showoff, but ok…. Then there was the rise of the ‘fashionista’. Ok, what des that mean? Someone who likes fashion. Um hmmmm, like someone who is ‘fashionable’ or ‘fashion-conscious’ or trendy? DO we really need to call them ‘fashionistas’ if we have all those other ways of putting it? Something about the tone of that word just strikes me as wrong. Too Sex and the City , or something. Then of course, there we are, the ‘perfumistas,’ and maybe I’m biased, but this one makes a little more sense to me since there really wasn’t any kind of name for our group of weirdoes before—smell-obsessed? Nah. interested in perfume? Eew. perfume-lovers? noooooo! etc. SO I was willing to stomach the obnoxiously ubiquitous neologism for the time being, since it worked as a descriptive noun for our folk. But then, ‘recessionista’ happened… and a whole slew of similar new splic

I am a very lucky girl, I remind myself almost every day, especially when the annoyances of slogging though a busy graduate life seem especially irritating. I have a family who loves me and I love them. I have many interesting and intelligent friend s, who enrich my life daily. I have an interesting job, and I work on something that inspires me. I get paid to go to school and get a doctorate. I have many hobbies that keep me from getting bored. And I have a wonderful husband who loves me and spoils me rotten. I have nothing to complain ab out. Our 5 year wedding anniversary is on Friday, and as my husband came home from a three week business trip yesterday, we found ourselves exchanging gifts early, impatient to see the smiles of delight on each others’ faces. Granted, my present to him was not hideable—where, I ask you, does one hide a leather armchair in a small condominium? My husband’s presents to me were very sweet and thoughtful. First, a pair of Montana sapphire stud earr

well, here we are again—the night of the full moon, the night of my discontent. As usual, I am up at an ungodly hour, musing about this and that, to the great detriment of my students tomorrow morning, who will have to deal with a zombie TA… Ah well, I guess this kind of sleeplessness reminds me I am human, and a little bit nuts. Speaking of madness, I have found one of the best depictions of lunacy—and here, it is as literal as possible—on my new favorite show, “The Mighty Boosh” which is positively surreal, and beyond hilarious. IN each episode, the moon emerges in the sky, only to ramble meanderingly through a series of bizarre non-sequiturs—well, you have to see it to know what I mean, so luckily someone has posted a “Best of the Moon” montage on youtube. There is a long tradition of depicting the man in the moon as a madman , and Noel Fielding’s (my GOD right now, but more on t hat below) latest interpretation is but the latest of these. Perhaps you may remember the clas

ZUT ALORS! It is time again for a riddling perfume bottle to sing you a little song! Who can it be this time? Kudos to the first to guess correctly: I’m the best of a lot of second rate spinoffs from a first-rate perfume house, I guess that’s the tradeoff when the bee-bottle people must needs pay the bills; they must create potions that give girls sweet chills of delight when they spritz my citrus elixir. They’ll think; it’s like breakfast, or perhaps in a mixer for cocktails, that juice, so sour and so ruby. That’s me indeed; I’m the fruit with the mostest, acidic and pulpy, I please every hostess-- on her skin, in her belly, it is all the same. By now I imagine you have guessed my name. If not, I’ll give you another sweet hint: I come in a bottle with a netting of glints of gold so special you’ll shell out the lucre for me though I’m named for a medieval genre of literature distinctly au passé now. You’ve guessed me, I’m sure, so I’ll take a bow

My beloved, who has been away on a business trip for two weeks now, sent me this in an email last night as a sweet gesture. I was charmed, of course, but now I’m musing about the way Frank can seem both interested and uninterested in what he’s singing at the same time.  Can you guys do that? I know I can be both into something and not all at the same time…..

Let’s all go to the seaside together, shall we? We can splash in the surf, make sand castles, drink green coconut milk and talk about fragrance! What scents do you all associate with the beach? image found on http://misswallflower.tumblr.com/post/760203127

From an email sent to me from my perfume pen pal, Tamara: Ok...so I gotta tell yah what happened to me today! I got a generous sample from a new PPP [perfume pen pal] of mine- God bless her! In these samples is thee infamous Mitsy edp! And whoa bebe, I'm excited to try her on for size. I've read so many threads on her and reviews galore. I am ready to dive into her legend that is alive and well in  Perfumistaland. I'm puttin' on my 'big girl panties' for this one! I get her on me. And.. It's Mitsouko Mayhem to my nose. I recognize the smell of too many a lady in a too small office, so much peachy spicy Mitsouko love these women had! Where is that love now- on me?  She is murdering me, assaulting me with her delicious d eath moan. I do my best to fend her off- "Be nice Mitsy, love ME Mitsy!" I try to scream at her but she attacks my open mouth , I shut it and quit huffing her. But to no avail- she clobbers me  nearly t

Jameel is ready to go on a postprandial stroll, so he calls ringingly out to his friends with a fresh green citrus shout! Once they have all convened, he opens the hike through the southern Mediterranean citrus groves with a brace of bitter petitgrain or neroli,  but then, just as quickly, he kicks up some dust, then squats down in the middle of the dirt path. He Isn’t going anywhere till he gets his lemonade. And a brandy and a cigar. For he is a well-travelled and coddled sophisticate, this Jameel , even if he is a bit indolent. Credits: James Tissot , the holiday, courtesy of Wikipedia Commons

I have been away visiting my best friend and his cousin, who owns a French bakery up in Crown Point NY, which is right on the border, practically, of Quebec. I had a blast helping Yannig (his name is an old Breton one, from his dad’s side)  to bake his  artisanal bread in the great stone oven he built by hand, even though it was like 110 degrees in the bakery. To the right you can see Laurel, my best friend Robert’s girlfriend, getting ready to load unbaked dough into the oven. When the oven door opens, a blast of fragrance explodes out with the incredible heat, redolent of woodsmoke, whatever spices and fruits may be in the bread and pastries inside, and the yeasty, supremely comforting fragrance of baking bread. when the bread comes out of the oven, my nose can differentiate between the different kinds; Crown Point Bread’s signature pain rustique,with its hearty, full, wheaty smell, the more delicate, tantalizing odor of baguettes, and, the absolutely irresisti

Excerpted from a personal email written to me by Tamara, my guest commentator: Things that make you go hmmmmmmmmm? :p Bvlgari Black is not bad but I do not want to smell like a vanilla condom. Amen to that, Tamara! CREDITS: Paintings, both entitled “A Priestess” by John William Godward Courtesy of Art Renewal Center at www.artrenewal.org                        

Some of you may remember I really liked the mystery a nd dark depth of Ormonde Jayne woman , but complained that its longevity left too much to be desired to justify Full Bottle Status? And then the lovely Mrs. Trefusis recommended OJ man to me in the comments, suggesting that might give me the satisfaction I crave? Well, a long, lingering encounter with OJ Woman’s masculine counterpart has lead me to conclude that this is the real candidate for possession! As witchy as Woman, but considerably more bold, this is a soft, sweet, dusty, cardamom, vetiver, birch tar party. A good, mysterious scent, perfect for any shaman you know, or you could wear it yourself, whoever you may be. I see it as definitely unisex, as well as well-composed—no component or note stands out from the rest in the composition. T he oudh--sometimes a stand-out centerpiece in fragrances in an annoying way-- is blended in here very well—it does not scream oudh. Rather, I find myself wondering—what IS that faint woo