hortus conclusus

Hi all! I am working on the second installment of my medieval perfume story, trying to finish a draft of a dissertation chapter by Friday, teaching 3 hours a day, grading papers and finals for the super-intensive medical history class I have been TA-ing for the past three weeks, and frantically preparing for our upcoming anniversary voyage to Morocco and Spain (starting Saturday) so today’s post will be regrettably short. Luckily, you are all probably familiar with the lovely Eau d’Hadrien , so I needn’t go into great detail, only present my impressions of it. It really is lovely is Eau d’Hadrien ; its nose-tingling lemon zest—yes, a little like a lemon drop—reminds me of my trips to see concerts with my mother. She’d always buy me lemon drops at the orchestra hall,  although she was fundamentally opposed to ‘store-bought’ sweets. That was the only time I was allowed to ‘buy candy’, and so the flavor of those lemon drops always reminds me of our happy and frequent visits to the...

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 ...

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...

I’ve been hanging out wi th my two cellist siblings a lot this summer and it has gotten me thinking about cellos. Well, cellos and people. Well, cellos, perfume and people. You see, to me the cello is the instrument that most resembles the human voice. In shape, it most resembles the human form. Its voice is mostly male, its form mostly female, and thus it is fundamentally androgynous, a quality which has done much to keep it in the collective unconscious of pop culture. Even the act  of playing the cello is intimate in a way unlike any other player’s relationship with his instrument. The female player titillatingly holds the cello between her thighs when she performs—my sister has trouble finding black clothing appropriate for performance for this very reason—and their union results in the birth of music itself. The male cellist, too, is locked in a creative embrace of his beloved. The color of the cello—as well as its tone—is the richest warmest honeyed amber, in one of the mos...

Well, here we are at the last Tauer review (at least for now, until Andy releases his new fragrances) and I feel a little melancholy to have completed this project! It has been a blast exploring this exotic and fragrant world with you. But since we are at our last review, I chose to try something a little different. I am going to review Lonestar Memories through the lens of my own memories of my artist/cowboy uncle, whose face immediately came to mind the first moment I smelled this sagey, western fragrance. My uncle Bruce started out as a talented artist making his living painting watercolors and creating pots, table tops and other useful and decorative items o ut of fiberglass. Then in the late 1980’s he designed and directed the building of Transisco tours’ "The 49er Express", a dining/tourist train which ran in northern California and Nevada. He and my aunt Roxanne were the owners of Dr. Hoys, a line of body products  that he developed, manufactured and sold for man...