my occasional musings on life, love, art, perfume ... what else is there?


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Home Is ...

I read a line in a blog this morning that caught me: "home is where your graves are."

And then I thought about how very spread out my "home" is.

My grandmother in a flat, barren cemetery outside of Independence, Kansas, buried alongside her mother, father and three of her sisters. My grandfather five miles away, in a wooded plot, buried with his people, my great-grandfather and great-great-grandfather, both with insignia on their graves marking them as civil war veterans (my great grandfather ran away at 14 to join the Union Army, where his father already served).

My infant sister, buried in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

My father, in Xenia, Ohio, a grave I've never seen. My mother, in Everett, Washington, in a hilly gravesite which had a space for my stepfather. Hope she kicked him when he landed.

Wonder where I'll end up? Hopefully ashes spread in the places I've lived and loved. Ann Arbor and Seattle. Maybe a few teaspoons in Kansas.



It has been eons since I wrote a perfume review ... and I just don't have it in me to do one tonight.

However, I wore Agent Provocateur today and had a whole day of thinking, "Who smells so good? Oh, it's ME!"

Here's Provocateur review redux (from C'est Chic June 13, 2006):

According to Wikipedia, "agent provocateur is a person employed to associate with suspected individuals or groups with the purpose of inciting them to commit acts which will make them liable for punishment ... "" ... as a proper noun, Agent Provocateur may refer to ... a British lingerie brand ..." which coincidentally has a fragrance of the same name. One of my favorites, Agent Provocateur is a seductive vapor of Moroccan rose, Indian saffron, Egyptian jasmine, French magnolia oil, vetivert, amber, and animalic musk. See? Not all bad.


And You Know What They Compare Sneezes To

I like to write when I feel spiteful. It is like having a good sneeze.
DH Lawrence


Ha! I Know Who's Singing the I-Pod Nano Song

One Two Three Four
Tell me that you love me more

Sleepless long nights
That is what my youth was for

Old teenage hopes are alive at your door
Left you with nothing but they want some more

Oh, you're changing your heart
Oh, You know who you are

Sweetheart bitterheart now I can tell you apart
Cozy and cold, put the horse before the cart

Those teenage hopes who have tears in their eyes
Too scared to own up to one little lie

Oh, you're changing your heart
Oh, you know who you are

One, two, three, four,
five, six, nine, or ten

Money can't buy you back the love that you had then

One, two, three, four,
five, six, nine, or ten

Money can't buy you back the love that you had then

Oh, you're changing your heart
Oh, you know who you are

Oh, you're changing your heart
Oh, you know who you are

Oh, who you are ...



Oh. I Remembered That Post.

Let us now speak of the air sickness bag.

And of the world traveler who sat behind us on the flight from Detroit to Seattle. The flight in which all 200 or so of us sat on the plane, holding hands and singing kumbyah during the hour delay during which our pilot sonorously intoned that "well, folks, our hydraulics on one side were over serviced and we'll have just a little wait here while we get that other side balanced." Whatever that meant.

Anyway, we have a world traveler behind us. Who is a corporate traveler with zillions of frequent flyer miles because he travels the world. A distinguished gentleman who is loudly proclaiming his experience just yesterday in the Senate chamber, almost simultaneously with his loud proclamation to the flight attendant that he needs "two vodkas, a little ice and a touch of bloody mary mix." He did this two and a half times(totalling five drinks) before takeoff.

We got a few more insights into his professional endeavors (in Africa and in the Senate chamber), as well as his vast and unending love for "my beautiful bride who I've slept with for 41 years" before he started retching and throwing up into the aforementioned air sickness bag.

The flight attendant was not impressed. The passenger sitting beside the sick world traveler was not impressed, and managed to work into the conversation a question about whether his seatmate had been exposed to Ebola during his travels.

I think it was the five drinks. Before takeoff.


Back from the Midwest

And I am so tired I forgot the blogpost I was sure I had when I was sitting on the plane ... I sure hope it comes back ... and, btw, I had a VERY good time.

Thanks for the corn, Dianne! And Tony says thanks for the cream sticks!!


Labor Day 2007

Per wikipedia, the American Labor Day is a holiday that began in 1882, inaugurated by the Central Labor Union as a holiday off for the "working man." Today it's a day of rest and the symbolic end of summer.

"Hammering Man," Borofsky, Seattle Art Museum


Philosopher Rabbit, Rabbit

For reasons that will become obvious, please visit Doug's Waking Ambrose blog today (and, um, please listen to the sound file for today's episode of Diogenes at Delphi.)

*I'm shameless, SHAMELESS*

Here's to a wise and honest September.