I was talking to a friend about midwestern winters -- the kind with the hip-deep snow -- and I realized how much I miss them and don't miss them.
The most traditional kind of Christmas I can ever remember -- and I'm sure I'm making at least some of this up -- was in Sweetser, Indiana. This New Yorker illustration is an idealized version of that small town's main, and only, street.
It was the kind of town where everybody knew everybody and their dog. Our beagle had scars on his rear from the vet digging buckshot out of him for messing with some farmer's chickens. Nice guy. The beagle carried some of those pellets for the rest of his life. (Moral: don't get too caught up in how wonderful rural American life can be.)
But the town under a heavy blanket of snow, especially at night, was beautiful. And there were tall trees with icicles like tinsel ... and standing firs layered with that thick coat of white ... all gleaming clean under moonlight.
I like that Christmas memory. I'm going to keep it.
Fragrance of the day: Every once in a while I just want to be femme. And, thanks to c, I feel very pretty in Sublime by Patou (creators of the classic Joy fragrance). I've come to realize that most often my likes in the floral palette are pretty limited. I like rose. I like jasmine. I like jasmine and rose. Sublime meets these criteria! That plus amber and musk! This is the edt, which may explain why it is so comparatively soft compared to the knock them down and drag them out seduction of Joy. Really, it suits me better. I so rarely knock a man down and drag him out. *darn* Addendum: apparently the notes are more complicated than I thought. They also include citrus (don't smell it) and ylang-ylang (well, maybe a little) and sandalwood (yes, in drydown, I do get this). Still like it a lot.
Best Last Words Department:
"Everybody has got to die, but I have always believed an exception would be made in my case. Now what?"
William Saroyan (1908-1981), American novelist