Sunday Perfumery

When I make perfume I like to listen to Joanna Newsom. She's odd & quirky and her singing makes me get into a zone that is perfect for listening to the essence of smell. That probably doesn't make sense but it works for me.
However, Joanna Newsom is not the most appropriate retail background music and we are retail even if I am geeking out in the back room.

Today, Sunday, I went in with the intention of working on a blend that I have been thinking about and tinkering with for a good long time, something along the lines of two years, in fits and starts.
In all that time, it has been with me, all of the scents that I dream up live with me. I carry them around like so many small children.
Perhaps that's why Joanna Newsom is so right for the work. She is the perfect serenade for so many small aromatic and at times slightly vexing children.

Today the store's computer crashed and the computer guy (my guy) was fixing that up and Sadie was covering my shift so that I could try to get this blend made up and even with all of the chaos I just gathered my ingredients and started blending. And figuring.
As I always say: "it's mostly math". Don't fool yourself. The magic of perfumery is totally there, but if you don't keep very diligent track of every tiny detail, it's a one time thing.
If you want to recreate something, even if it is just to change it, you have to mark down the measurements and the source of each oil and so on and so forth.
As I was dropping aromatics into tiny beakers, there was a moment in which I was questioning Sadie's choice of music and a split second later I was reminded as I often am of the perfect match of all the lovely people who work and help at Flora and how amazing it all is and how it always works out. Sadie had chosen for this Sunday at high noon none other than Joanna Newsome. Perfect.

The perfume, you ask? Yes, of course.
The blend is in two at this point or it is two separate scents. I am not quite sure.
They are similar and have a kindred nature, but they are each their own distinct selves.

I was going for a masculine scent. One that is warm and rich, that will give comfort and be sexy all at the same time.
I love the femmy scents of rose and jasmine but I also love the earthy and deep vetivert and oak moss.

One of the images for the scent is of campfires, open sky and dusk falling.

I was imagining what an iconic masculine scent would be and I thought of my dad.
The scents that I remember most about him are cigarettes, sawdust and coffee.
My dad was a man's man, whatever that means and the scent I am going for evokes a past that is reminiscent of an ideal.
This is the scent of the Marlboro Man or Don Draper or the dream of being a little more manly than you really are, or of bringing out something hidden in you.
Cicero wrote "A man's chief quality is courage."

The scent has dignity and strength and it smells great on women as well.

One of the scents is a bit sweeter than the other and we are tentatively calling it "bandito nights"
The second is darker and moodier and tentatively named "Middle Earth"

My brother and sister-in-law came into the store later in the day and my sis-in-law asked about the scent on the counter. I let her smell it and she swooned. She had my brother smell it and he seemed surprised by how much he liked it.
She wanted to buy some for him. It was just the in-store tester that we were playing with and trying to set a name to. But what could I say? I poured half of it into a bottle for her to take home.
Even though I didn't give them the story behind the scent, it seems fitting that my brother is gifted in a magical way with a scent inspired, at least in part, by our dad.

San Francisco

I recently had a little personal getaway to SF. Sweet little town, a lot like Portland, but away from my chores.





These iridescent fish, I love.










I'm pretty sure these are
fern fronds,
but there were several things in Chinatown that no one would identify for me.
My curiosity would not rest, so I bought many odd things just to be told what things were.
Folks were more helpful when I was spending money. One of the things that was never able to be explained except to say in a long conversation where neither of us spoke the same language that it was made very clear that I should never eat it. The mystery item looked like a dried hoof but smelled of the sea and burning tires.





This is a mallow sanctuary apparently. An entire building site chained off for the love and preservation of the beloved malva neglecta.

Even an herbalist likes a nice cappuccino every once in a while.














This is an amazing piece at Anthropologie.













I would have loved to have brought this home, but besides the $12K price tag, there were no lids. How practical is that?

late for work

OK. I always think I’m going to post something witty, thoughtful, clever, enlightening even.

I have decided to try to get over it.

The thing is, I’m a storyteller, not a writer.

I gesticulate, use great expressions & sound effects, so who knows if the essence of the story will even come across remotely how I had intended.

Here goes:

So I’m late for an appointment this morning, I try for a spot at the parking lot that is cheap after 9:30am not the one that gets more expensive after 9am. They’re pretty close to each other, I don’t get it.

Thursday for some reason is the busiest day downtown. It is always hard to find a place to park and inevitably this is the day that I am the latest.

So I see one lone parking space at the very far end of the lot. I decide to go in. I’m late for my 10 o’clock appointment already. It’s a tricky spot, up against the 5 foot high cement wall, a red convertible (who would notice if I even touched their car with a feather) on the other side and to boot there is a giant white truck blocking me from getting in at good angle.

I should say that I am a fabulous parker, is parker a word? I’m great at the parking of cars. I have managed an amazing angle that I’m sure will get me into the spot, then I panic and think maybe I misjudged and then my second-guessing-I’m-late-for-my-meeting freak-out steps up and I have lost my confidence. A guy walks by and sees from where he is up above the sidewalk that I need a little help. He says simply “I’ll help you”. I look at his eyes, put the car in neutral, pull the parking brake and hop right out of my car, he sets his coffees down and scooches through the bars on the street down into the parking lot and his look tells me he meant to verbally help me. Oh well, he hops in and decides to follow my lead. Then he pauses to look at my open purse, the keys in the ignition. I am also thinking on the one hand how great it is that I can trust this guy with my car, car keys, purse full of credit cards, cash, cell phone and all the odd personal and intimate details one carries around every day with such thoughtlessness.

I am happy to have help when the sweet helper man starts backing out very quickly (towards the exit!) and I think maybe I have made a mistake. After a few moments I actually run after him and when he slows down I reach in and touch his shoulder the way one does to a friend and say “you’re not going to take my car, I’m not being an idiot am I?” he looks as if I had tempted him and yet of course I can trust him and yes maybe I am a fool. But he just tells me that he needs to back my little car in.

I know this is a long story and I think it would go faster if you could see my hands and I'm also talking really fast but alas.

Finally the car is parked and we are both smiling except he’s not and I think maybe I've offended him after all, but he says sadly that someone took his coffee. He is really disappointed, and very sad. I looked in my wallet to give him the money to cover his drinks but of course I had a single hundred dollar bill and a single dollar.

And remember I am late for my appointment.

I asked him what drinks he had and told him I would bring coffees to him in an hour.

Because the coffee he had stolen was two tall lattes from Starbucks it seemed only right to get him two tall lattes from Starbucks in their place.

I am now late for work, 11:10. It’s my store but still I’m late.

It’s not like there are hordes of people standing outside my store at 11am on the dot, but you never know.

There is a local coffee shop a few blocks closer but I am replacing something specific that I was responsible for getting stolen. I go the few blocks get the lattes, and a weird cookie bar with toffee as a meager gesture while I am thinking would I eat this? I should be baking him cookies.

I’m now walking down the street with a beverage tray of Starbucks thinking, I’m an herbalist, I make tea for a living, I am the queen of tea, I’m all about the local, and here I am advertising with what at the moment makes me feel like the largest Elizabeth in the world of coffee.

I find the parking garage that this guy works at, (not the one he helped me at) and he looks equally happy and surprised to see me like a vision walking across the parking lot towards him in slow motion with two tall lattes.

It’s not so bad being late.