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.

Shirley Temple Cherries aka organic maraschino cherries

When I was little we rarely went to restaurants and when we did it was generally for a special occasion.
We would always wait to see if a grown up would suggest for us to order something to drink. The girls would get Shirley Temples and the boys Roy Rogers. It never occurred to me to want a Roy Rogers, even though I liked lots of other "boy" things.
It's funny to realize the only difference between the two is clear soda (ginger ale or 7up) versus dark soda (coke or pepsi).
A few years ago we went to an event where cocktails were being offered and our children were with us and as I was waiting in line I was reminded of the Shirley Temple.
We ordered them for the children and as I was watching it being made I could see that it was just a couple of ingredients.
I quickly tasted the simple concoction, much to the dismay of my waiting daughter and was immediately transported back in time.
Unlike many beloved childhood tastes, this one stayed true for me.
The children order them every so often when we're out and they're so lovely that I thought I'd get the ingredients to make them at home for birthday parties and other celebrations.
However, one of the key ingredients is maraschino cherries. One of those super poison foods I reluctantly let my children have every so often.
So here goes:
Step 1 make a non poisonous and still fun and yummy preserved cherry
step 2 make grenadine syrup
step 3 buy ginger ale and straws
step 4 assemble and indulge

Today I made a version of preserved cherries, it goes like this:
Pit 2 cups tart & sweet cherries
In a small saucepan add 1 cup organic sugar and 1 cup water, bring to a boil and stir. Boil until all the sugar is dissolved.
let cool a bit, add 1/2 teaspoon almond extract and 2 teaspoons rose water
pour liquid over cherries, stir
pour it all into a glass jar with a lid
should keep for a month or so refrigerated

Now I need to make the grenadine syrup before my children return from summer camp, so we can celebrate with Shirley Temples.
I already have ginger ale and bendy straws!

Rose Harvest & Conserve of Roses

I was at a potluck dinner with my family last evening and took a little tour around the amazing garden that my friend Joel tends. He wanted me to identify a few weeds, it was of course my pleasure as I love the weeds. One of them was a lemony sorrel that we nibbled. As we continued around the yard and gardens I found myself enamored by all the roses. One of them was an enormous climbing rose from a mountain house of my past that is still close to my heart. It had been transplanted a few years back and is absolutely magnificent.

As we wandered I was listening to my guide tell about the cippolina onions, the fava beans and all the fabulous plantings, but my mind was on the roses. After we rounded the house leaving most of the vast gardens behind, we came upon even more roses.

I asked if I could harvest some of them. “Of course” he said.

As I was walking into the house to get something to harvest them into, I found my oldest daughter and three of her friends chatting away on the porch swing. “Come with me” I said. I think they thought I was going to have them set the table or some other unwanted chore, but they did follow. I grabbed a paper grocery bag and took them to the largest rose bush, the climber.

Two of the girls are exchange students so I was a bit concerned about the language barrier, but with my first sentence I realized they could understand me perfectly. “Find the yummiest looking rose you can. One you would want to eat if it were candy or a piece of fruit.” They looked at each other and giggled.

Once they all knew what they were looking for (yumminess) I had them each harvest* 15 roses from the climbing rose, then one each of the big roses from the fancier varieties.

It was such an amazing and timeless image of these young girls, young women really, harvesting these flowers of love on this last day of May. The lyrical cadence of their voices moving together in harmony was like heaven. I thought for a moment of getting my camera, but let the thought go just as quickly. The moment would have been lost if any external attention was brought to it.

They stood together after finishing their task amongst the roses for some time. Whether it was in the teenage distraction or the scent of the roses making them linger, I don’t know, but for me (observing discreetly from a distance), it was a golden moment and perhaps one that will be remembered by them as well.

"Their lips were four red roses
on a stalk."
~ William Shakespeare

Today I awoke to the responsibility of preserving the rose petals.

I decided to try something new.

I found several old fashioned recipes for things like rose-petal soup, rose-petal scones, rose jelly and the like.

I wanted something that would be for use later in the year when the roses are not at their peak. I wanted to preserve the magic somehow.

Jelly seemed like an ok idea, except that I didn’t have any lemons and wanted to make something with what was in the house already.

I settled on taking inspiration from some medieval recipes.

This is my version of Rose Conserve:

Harvest unsprayed fragrant roses, remove the petals, let wilt overnight.

Into a glass jar pour a layer of organic cane sugar then a layer of rose petals.

Do this several times ending with sugar.

Simple. I know. The real beauty for me is the harvesting, the sorting and the smelling. I don't mind a complicated recipe now and again, but I didn't want to cook or cut or grind these. I wanted them to stay as they were.

I imagine a couple of things may happen with the sugared roses.

One is that the water in the roses will mingle with the sugar and melt it down creating interesting and fragrant syrup.

The other more hopeful outcome is that the roses will preserve between the layers of sugar and the moisture will all wick to the top and I can pour this off and use it in another recipe. (I won’t know what kind of recipe until I taste the liquid.)

The other possibility is that it will come to naught, but in any case my house smells like heaven.

For now enjoy the pictures and I’ll keep you updated with the progress.

Touch your cheek to the cheek of sugar.
Get the taste of it. Give perfume to it.
Try to alleviate the pain of separation
With the help of sugar.
Once you become the conserve of roses,
You are food for the Soul,
Light for the eyes...
When I say "conserve of roses,"
I mean the Grace of God and our existence.

Rumi

*With the blossom of the flower just kissing your palm, wrap your fingers towards the base of the flower and with your thumb and fingers pinch off the flower cleanly at its base, leaving the blossom in your palm. Then toss it gently in the bag.

Extra Sensual Perception

Extra Sensory Perception
"extra special powers"
There's a Japanese girl band that sings this amazing song, called ESP and upon searching it out, I found that apparently lots of people have songs about ESP.

My older daughter was in class last year and a teacher asked the students if they knew what ESP stood for and my daughter very confidently said "extra special powers".
Everyone stared at her like she must be joking and then she realized that her words did not align with the group. She came home a bit embarrassed and asked about it.
It's just the way that her mind rearranged the words to the Shonen Knife song that she's been
singing along with since she was a little girl.
And because of that, it's how we've always referred to ESP at our house.

I've been thinking about the way in which people perceive things, the way that I perceive things may not be the same as the way you do, but that does not mean that what one person sees/hears/senses makes the other person's perception wrong.
The other day as I was driving I had a sense that we had driven ahead a few blocks and had re-wound, if you will, and started over. I asked my older daughter who was in the front seat with me "were we just up ahead at the next light and came back here to start over?" She paused, thought about it and said, "that's not how it seemed to me". She, as my daughter is open to the possibility that reality is all about perception and that it was possible, if not improbable that it was a reality. Time is not linear. Space is not finite. We can intellectualize it, but the belief in ourselves, the trust we allow ourselves to experience things outside of normal perceived acceptable reality is a leap of faith. One must have courage to see things that others do not. One must have faith in life and belief in oneself to see outside an agreed upon limited reality.

I rarely end up where I set out, but these are the words that want to be written.

I was intending to write about the way in which our senses guide us, how each of us is ruled by certain senses. Some of us use our sense of sight, or touch to guide us through life. I know a girl who smells everything before she eats it and smells every ingredient before she cooks. I saw someone the other day in a clothing store who touched every single item she passed.
Some people need eye contact or they cannot have a conversation.
Our basic needs are sensual
sen·su·al
Etymology:
Middle English, from Late Latin sensualis, from Latin sensus sense
Date:15th century
Really, sensuality is just about connecting with our senses and yet, our culture has demonized our most basic human needs; to connect and feel, to see and touch, to taste and smell and so on.
1: relating to or consisting in the gratification of the senses or the indulgence of appetite :
a: devoted to or preoccupied with the senses or appetites
b: voluptuous c: deficient in moral, spiritual, or intellectual interests : worldly; especially : irreligious (Irreligious? what? being religious means having no sense?
this makes no sense.)

I feel like Oblio in the Pointless Forest.

What is your primary sense? Your secondary sense? What sense do you feel disconnected to?

As a perfumer I like to blow open olfactory sense perception.
To allow people to have their minds blown wide open through their sense of smell. You can never be the same once you've connected to your deep, ancient, visceral connection to the world of scent.
Julia, my assistant and many of our customers have never liked the scent of rose oil, until they've experienced one of the true Rose Ottos or absolutes that we have at the store. Now Rose is the favorite, the dream, the ideal. The sensual connection to something from the past and maybe not even their own past.

What is your favorite smell?

A dear friend of mine sent me one of these get to know you better e-mail disasters and because as I said she is dear to me I sent it back to her (only her, no more forwards). One of the questions was: What is your favorite smell? I knew right away my answer, but had to decide how honest I would be and tried to come up with a "better" answer. I love Roses in the rain, I love the way the sidewalk smells after a rain, I love the smell of band-aids, I love the smell of old books, I love the smell of puppies, I love the smell of babies necks, I could go on and on. Obviously smell is one of primary sensual connections.
The real answer is that I love the way my loved ones smell, when unadorned by deodorants and washes. I love real people smell.
My friend, the forwarder, replied that she hadn't thought of it, but that was really her favorite scent as well.
I remember when my younger daughter at age 10 had come home and said that someone had suggested she use deodorant and would I buy her some. It was hard for me to imagine my baby girl needing to mask her self in this way and so we talked about it and she said that the person had said she had "body odor" - she squinched her nose up while repeating the words as it must have been modeled to her. I said yes, you do have body odor, it's a body, everything has an odor, it's a smell, not a poison.
We are asked to look and smell the same, to be nice, to be fine and we are expected to mask our own real scent.
I'm sorry, but it's not ok with me.
I did buy her some low scent organic deodorant and if she wears it that's up to her, but I like the way my friends and family smell au natural.
We're hard-wired to smell anger and love, desire and distrust. It's part of the ESP picture, the masking of scents is a way for us to get mixed messages, for us to be confused by false information to not trust our instincts.
Let's do away with so much scented laundry detergent, dish soap, room fresheners, deodorants, chemical perfumes.
We have to use other cues, to open our senses to fully live in our own skin, to see the world. To be in the world.

Tonight Julia and I went out to Toro Bravo for dinner and I speak for both of us when I say that our taste buds were blown open. We ordered many amazing little plates to share, but the bacon wrapped, blue cheese stuffed figs were transcendent. Julia said it was the best thing she had ever put in her mouth. We had a hard time considering anything else that could follow such a taste. We sat in awe of the simplicity and complexity of it for some time before deciding that we could have a drink of Sangria as a transition to the next plate.

While I was enjoying delightful food and conversation I checked out those around me, took in what I could of their story, I opened my senses to what they were telling me, telling everyone around them. With their body language, the food they chose, the colors they wear, the companions they are with, their voices and all the minutia of human-ness. Being perceptive is a drinking in of the world, a tasting, a smelling, a hearing.

Go ahead, be psychic, you already are, just pay attention, drink it in and enjoy your life.

xo

Loss, moving on, catching up

A few months ago, my dad, who had been suffering from lung cancer that had moved to his brain began going downhill very fast.
He had been at death's door for the past 4 & 1/2 years while remaining hopeful, funny, charming and strong.
During this last bad patch I spent most of my energy trying to decide if I should be with him, driving to be with him, or just trying to cope with losing my dad, while still doing all of the things one must do as a mother and store owner, and the: what if it's like all the other times and he pulls through? and the: can I close my store that I just opened to go see him even though he may not even know I'm there?
It was a terrible and incredibly sad time. He did pass and the devastation, even though we were "prepared" for his death, it did not and does not make it any less devastating.
I have been trying to "catch up" which is what people do. What we are expected to do. But life is not linear, at least mine isn't and I've been working through the reality that I cannot just catch up on the weeks that I fell behind on, but that all the pieces of my life are new again and I need to re-frame and re-evaluate and not make things happen but to make assessments as needed without assumptions based on past experience.
How do we re-create ourselves in small indescribable ways while keeping on with the grocery shopping, bill paying, bed-time stories and walking the dog?
Just by staying open and not assuming anything and not taking on too many new things, or any new things.
For me it has been a time of relative seclusion. I say relative because I work retail and am out in the world every day, but the way in which I am in the world is more inward, a bit fragile, but in some ways very powerful because I am not diffusing my energy by chatting with everyone about this personal experience. It makes me wonder what I am doing right now, writing about it, but it's been over two months now and I am feeling at a transition.
The ways in which it has impacted my work as an herbalist and shop keeper is profound and subtle.
Just before my dad started going down hill I had taken on 5 new perfumery clients and had done the initial intake interview the week before.
This has been the most pressing thing for me to catch up on. All of those who are much delayed getting their first perfume samples are amazingly understanding.
It would have been a great disservice to them to make a quick perfume in my grief and in my responsibility to get a "product" out to them.
I am back in the swing of things in some ways/on some days and when I'm not, I make no products.
I just be.
I know this sounds incredibly "be here now" but really, it is profound and difficult. The older I get the more profound it is.
This is the point at which you are either thinking "yeah, me too, I so get that" or "what a freak, I'm never reading this blog again".
Either way, one day you will have the moment when just "being" seems profound.
Life is swirling around us at a frenetic pace and my work right now is to not rush in and try catch up, my work is to just be in the moment.
xoxo