*A MEMORIAL TO DREW LARIMER*

Dear sweet Drew! When I heard about your sudden passing, it broke my heart. So young with your whole life ahead of you......and what a wonderful life that would have been.

I remember the last time that I saw you...........I was getting my haircut by your Dad, Dale, at the home he shares with Richard. I remember my last visual memory of you, standing in the driveway smiling from ear to ear. I remember thinking how proud Dale and your mother must be of you. Your face glowed and your smile was so genuinely warm, I will never forget that. I am sorry that it was the last time I saw you and I will always treasure that memory.

I would also like to remember your life, Drew, as being one where you fought to be 'who you really were' and were so close to becoming the person you wanted to be.

In today's world of intolerance and ignorance, you fought the battle and YOU WON. It was truly a pleasure to have known you the short time that I did and I feel honored to have done so.

You will be missed Drew, the world is a better place because you were once a part of it..............

*TIME FOR DEMOCRATS TO STEP UP TO THE PLATE*

This weekend I watched Senator Ted Kennedy's funeral service with sadness knowing that he did not live long enough to see his dream of universal health care passed.

Then I began to get somewhat angry at all of the delays in the progress of healthcare reform. I voted for Barack Obama, now I want him and his administration to do their job.

I have seen all the nastiness, the gun-toting, the name calling and shouting at public town halls and I am sick and tired of it! Progressive Democrats like myself, the outspoken champions of health care reform, have literally not been doing their job. They need to be more vocal, to stand in Congress and yell "no public insurance option, no healthcare reform".

They have become, over the years, like the Republican party, deeply influenced by corporate money. Are they afraid that if they turn off the powerful interests of the health industry, the drug industry and Wall Street, they will influence Obama's re-election efforts in 2012?

President Obama, we elected you because you promised healthcare reform, to end the war in Iraq, not continue funding Afghanistan and tend to our own country's needs. You need to be less conservative and more progressive. I know you can, you need to fight more and finesse less. You need to stand up the Republicans, who lost the election by the way, and say "we need this because we are a decent country". The conservatives have dominated the debate over health care lately and the right wing has been winning the debate. We are a country of people who are hurting. The Republicans are the party that lost and the conservative movement that was deeply discredited over the last 8 years are setting the agenda for a Democratic Party that controls the White House, the Senate and the House. What's wrong with this picture???

*Leslie, Gone But Not Forgotten*

I think of you in silence,

I remember how you looked.

Now all I have are memories

And your pictures in my scrapbook.

Your memory is my keepsake

With which I'll NEVER part.

God has you in His keeping.

I have you in my heart.............

*FAVORITE THINGS*

My favorite thing is the wind, she said,

And my second favorite is chocolate

But I just do that so

I don't get too skinny & blow away


*from Story People

*THE BRIDGE*

There was a man who had given much thought to what he wanted from life. He had experienced many moods and trials. He had experimented with different ways of living and he had had his share of success and failure. At last, he began to see clearly where he wanted to go.

Diligently, he proceeded to find the right opportunity. Sometimes he came close, only to be pushed away. Often he applied all his strength and imagination, only to find the path hopelessly blocked. And then at last it came. But the opportunity would not wait. It would be made available only for a short time. If it were seen that he was not commited, the opportunity would not come again.

Eager to arrive, he started on his journey. With each step, he wanted to move faster; with each thought about his goal, his heart beat quicker, with each vision of what lay ahead, he found renewed vigor. Strength that had left him since his early youth returned and all kinds of dormant desires reawakened within him.

Hurrying along, he came upon a bridge built high above a river in order to protect it from the floods of spring. He started across. Then he noticed someone coming from the opposite direction. As they drew closer, it seemed as though the other were coming to greet him. He could see clearly; however that he did not know this person who was dressed similarly except for something tied around his waist.

When they were within hailing distance, he could see that what the other had around his waist was a rope. It was wrapped around him several times and probably, if extended, would reach a length of 30 feet.

Just as he was noticing this fact, the other began to uncurl the rope, and as they were coming close, the other said "Pardon me, would you be so kind as to hold the end a moment?"

Surprised by this request, which was made so politely, he agreed without a thought, reached out and took it.

"Thank you" said the other, then added, "two hands now, and remember, hold tight". At that point the other jumped off the bridge.

Within a second the free-falling body hurled the distance of the rope's length and from the bridge he instantly felt the pull. Instinctively, he held tight. The weight almost dragged him off the bridge. He managed to brace himself against the edge; however, and after having caught his breath, looked down at the other dangling distantly, close to oblivion.

"What are you trying to do?" he yelled.

"Just hold tight" said the other.

"This is ridiculous" he thought and began trying to haul the other in. He could not get the leverage; however. It wasn't as though the weight of the other person and the length of the
rope had been carefully calculated in advance so that together they created a counter weight just beyond his strength to bring the other back to safety.

"Why did you do this?" he called out.

"Remember," said the other, "if you let go, I will be lost".

"But I cannot pull you up" he cried.

"I am your responsibility" said the other.

"Well, I did not ask for it" he said.

"If you let go, I am lost" repeated the other.

He began to look around for help. But there was none. How long would he have to wait? Why did this happen to befall him now? "Just as I was on the verge of true success." He examined the side searching for a place to tie the rope. Some protrusion, perhaps, or maybe a hole in the boards. But the railing was unusually uniform in shape; there were no spaces between the boards. There was no way to get rid of this new found burden, even temporarily.

"What do you want?" he asked the other hanging below.

"Just your help" the other answered.

"How can I help? I cannot pull you in and there is no place to tie the rope so that I can go find someone to help me help you."

"I know that" said the other. "Just hang on, that will be enough. Tie the rope around your waist, it will be easier".

Fearing that his arms could not hold out much longer, he tied the rope around his waist.

"Why did you do this?" he repeated. "Don't you see what you have done? What possible purpose could you have had in mind?"

"Just remember," said the other "my life is in your hands."

What should he do? "If I let go, all my life I will know that I let this other die. If I stay, I risk losing my momentum towards my own long sought after salvation. Either way this will haunt me forever". With ironic humor he thought to die himself, instantly, to jump off the bridge while still holding on. "That would teach this fool". But he wanted to live and to live life fully. "What a choice I have to make; how shall I ever decide?"

Some time went by, but still no one came. The critical moment of decision was drawing near. To show his commitment to his own goals, he would have to continue on his journey now. It was already almost too late to arrive in time. But what a terrible choice to make.

A new thought occured to him. While he could not pull this other up by his own efforts alone, if the other would shorten the rope from his end by curling it around his waist again, together they could do it. Actually, the other could do it by himself, as long as he, standing on the bridge, kept it still and steady.

"Now listen, he shouted down. "I think I know how to save you." Then he explained his plan.

But the other wasn't interested.

"You mean you won't help? But I told you I cannot pull you up myself, and I don't think I can hold on much longer either."

"You must try" the other shouted back in tears. "If you fail, I die".

The point of decision has arrived. What should he do? What an impossible decision to have to make. "My life or this others?" And then a new idea, a really new idea. So new, in fact, it almost bordered on revelation, so foreign was it to his traditional way of thinking.

"I want you to listen carefully," he said, "because I mean what am about to say. I will not accept the position of choice for your life, only for my own, the position of choice for your life I give back to you."

"What do you mean?" the other asked, afraid.

"I mean, simply, it's up to you. You decide which way this ends. I will become the counterweight. You do the pulling and bring yourself up. I will even tug a little from here." He began unwinding the rope from around his waist, and braced himself anew against the side.

"You cannot mean what you say," the other shrieked. "You would not be so selfish. I am your responsibility. What can be so important that you would let someone die. Do not do this to me."

He waited a moment. There was no change in the tension of the rope.

"I accept your choice," he said, at last, and freed his hands.


(anonymous author)

*A TRIBUTE TO MINERVA FRANCES BALLARD*

I have missed her deeply since the day I traveled to Troy, Ohio to her funeral and met her brothers and sisters from Mississippi attending her funeral. Her sister Susie looked so much like her it made me cry. I had never met any of her people, the Ballards, from Mississippi, but I would have loved to have know them.
My grandmother married my grandfather, Cecil (in picture above), as a young girl and moved to Kentucky with him. She bore him 4 sons, losing one at birth. She lost my dad, Stanley Eugene Ballard before her death and I know that it literally broke her heart. Since I have lost a child at almost the very same age that my grandma did, I understand the pain that she suffered at the time.
My grandma was in the room of the home on Simpson Street when I was born. I was her first grandchild and I was the girl she always wanted. My mother had already decided my name was going to be Linda Diane, but my grandmother convinced her to name me Charlotte Diane. Charlotte was a dear friend of hers that I never knew growing up, but I have her name just the same.
My grandmother literally doted on me the moment I was born and loved me deeply until the day she died.We moved from Ohio when I was barely 9 years old. It was extremely difficult leaving my grandmother in Ohio. She solved that problem by having my Dad drive me to Ohio the very minute that school let out. I stayed with her for the whole summer, just returning to Michigan when it was time to go back to school.
My grandmother ran a boarding house for men in Ohio. She also had a gentlemen who worked for the railroad have only his meals every day at her immaculate, well-maintained home. This was her source of income since she had no skills, marrying as young as she did. I grew up around her roomers and boarders and remember each one of them fondly. She also lived in sin with a man named Preston Cross for years and they had a wonderful relationship until the day he died. I never questioned why they didn't marry, but I never associated her with my grandpa Cecil. Preston was like a grandpa to me as well. My grandmother doted on me when I stayed with her.
I remember going to a dry-goods store and going up to their upper floor by way of the old creaky wooden stairs and looking through all of the books of paper dolls, and at the coloring books, and the crayons. My grandma would just tell the shop owner, "give the girl whatever she wants", she was like that. I didn't just get a box of crayons, I got the big box with the gold, silver and copper crayons! She was so good to me. I thought all grandmas were like that.
She would take me to the County Fair in Ohio and would say "let's have our picture made" and we did. I didn't know until recently that her real name was Minerva Frances. She went by Frances. I remember the fragrance of that dry-goods store, the fragrance of the paper doll books and crayons, and it is comforting to be able to remember them.
My travels to my grandmothers house in the summer continued all of my young life. I even stopped and stayed at her house on the way to Florida for my honeymoon. She was so glad that I did. She would write letters to me faithfully until her fingers became so crippled with arthritis that she couldn't. She then had a friend write as she dictated.
I traveled to Ohio to see her in the hospital right before she died. I remember brushing her beautiful, long, black hair that grew to the middle of her back. She never dyed her hair, but it was a lustrous black until the day she died, just like my Dads. She was confused during her last hospitalization, but told me that she had heard them 'calling me' over the hospital intercom to come to her side, and now, here I was. That was the last time I would ever see her alive.
Minerva Frances was a very special part of my life and I will always love her and honor her memory. I like to believe that my Leslie is now with her and enjoying her like I did. I took Leslie on a train once to see her when Leslie was a toddler and my grandma showered her with the same love she always gave me. I am convinced she will know her when she sees her now................

July is almost over and I am thankful. I lost my Dad, my Grandmother Minerva Frances and my daughter, Leslie Susan in the month of July. It is a very hard month to get through but I am convinced they are all in a better place.

*FRAGRANCE MEMORIES*

My aunt Ruth is the beginning of my love for fragrance............she had this gorgeous tray of beautiful colored bottles of her fragrance on display in her bathroom. She never owned just one bottle, she owned 35 of them (or more). As a little girl, and I mean little, when my Mom would take me to visit, I loved looking at that beautiful display. All different colors of gorgeous bottles with the mirror enhancing their sparkling colors. She said she was a 'woman of many moods' and needed different fragrances to enhance that day's mood. She was always the 'eccentric' aunt, and I adored her. During the Bicentennial year in Dayton, Ohio, she wore a red, white and blue wig to the Dayton Mall as a sign of her patriotism. She fed every bird for miles in her backyard. She had a host of cats and dogs, but her house was always immaculate. She even had a flying squirrel that had a huge cage and it's own bedroom. She had funerals and buried each and every animal at a pet cemetary and visited them as you would any grave. Gosh, I miss her so, just remembering her. Everyone says I take after her, I hope I do......she started my love of fragrance and I will always love her.

*ANT GODS* (from Story People)

I dug up an anthill once

And my friend told me the ant gods would come to get me in my dreams

And I said I didn't believe him,

But later that night I went down & tried to put the anthill back together

I even added some lettuce & mashed potatoes

And a pork chop from dinner

In case they'd been too busy to eat

I never heard from the ant gods,

so I figure it worked out.

*FIGHTING CHANCE*

What do I get for this? I said

And the angel gave me a catalog filled with toasters

And clock radios

And a basketball signed by Michael Jordan

And I said, But this is just stuff

Then the angel smiled at me

And swallowed me in her arms.

I'm so glad you said that, she whispered to me.

I knew you still had a chance.

*From Story People by Brian Andreas

*GREAT GAME*

What are the rules? I said

She said, Do exactly what I want whenever I want, make no demands of me whatsoever

And love me forever, no questions asked

I said, how do you win?

She said, you don't understand. I'm the only one who wins

Then she laughed & clapped her hands.

Isn't it a great game? she said.

(from Story People)

*SPRING/SUMMER FRAGRANCE* from my Perfume Board

Of course, we were discussing our favorite 'smells' on my Perfume Board again! What else would be discuss? Well, we actually do discuss art, music, life, all kinds of things..........but these are some of our favorite smells for Spring/Summer:

From a Friend in New Orleans:

The night-blooming jasmine. The magnolias and gardenias have already passed their seasons, but there is a signature green, dry smell of the magnolia foliage on humid nights.

From a Friend in Georgia:

Sage brush after the rain, mountain laurel and all sorts of green smells coming down in the breeze from the mountains. Wood smoke from camp fires. The olive trees just finished blooming here, talk about a heavenly, heady smell. Pine trees that smell piney and musky. Roses and lavender and mint growing in my garden. In Georgia in mid-June there is a steamy quality, a promise of a hot day, in the early morning. This steamy damp supports the fragrances of magnolia, gardenia and mimosa uncoiling from their blossoms.

The magnolia blossoms, huge and white, are like giant bows festooning a green and gold taffeta ball gown.

From a Friend in Coastal Virginia:

Honeysuckle blooming along the interstate. The salty, metallic smell of the ocean, the smell of road tar on really hot days, the heavy smell of afternoon thunderclouds. On the weekends, freshly cut grass, the pungency of English boxwood, saucer magnolias on the tree in my front yard. The smell of peaches and tomatoes at the farmer's markets. Jasmine blooming aling the fence in the garden, hamburgers and steaks on the grill. The ozone in the air during a thunderstorm, the green, dirty smell of tomato leaves and the sulphuric smell of strawberries, peach skins and dirt in the garden.

From a Friend in Canada:

Tar and wet cement! In the summer, our town is construction city...roadwork and building construction galore and the smell of tar permeates the air where roadwork is being done. Walking by the construction sites, the fabulous smell of cool, wet cement.

*A Memorable Tundra Night*

Last night, after my shower, I sat on my chaise and prepared to watch the premiere of True Blood, a series much anticipated. I felt comfortable and refreshed after my shower and felt very content.

The weather is still somewhat cool here in the Tundra compared to the rest of the country. Nightfall was approaching and there were thunderstorm warnings. I had my patio door and living room windows open for the night breeze. Earlier in the day, I had planted two containers of Clematis on my patio with fresh earth and applied wood mulch to the base of the plants to protect the roots.

We didn't have thunderstorms, but suddenly I could hear one of my favorite sounds - the night breeze rustling through the forest of trees behind my condo. This breeze brought in the scent of freshly planted earth and mulch as well as the scent of approaching cool rain, rain that began to fall softly.

Is there anything better than this lovely fragrance? This combination of sensory awareness was zen-like and memorable. The lovely fragrance, the perfect night, the feel of fresh air on my skin and the sound of the rustling leaves..................next to Heaven.

*PEONIES IN THE MORNING*

This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready

to break my heart

as the sun rises, as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers
and they open —pools of lace, white and pink

and all day the black ants climb over them,
boring their deep and mysterious holes

into the curls, craving the sweet sap, taking it away
to their dark, underground cities and all day

under the shifty wind, as in a dance to the great wedding,
the flowers bend their bright bodies, and tip their fragrance to the air,

all that dampness and recklessness gladly and lightly,

and there it is again — beauty the brave, the exemplary,
blazing open.

Do you love this world? Do you cherish your humble and silky life?

Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?
Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,

and softly, and exclaiming of their dearness, fill your arms

with the white and pink flowers,
with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,

their eagernessto be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are

nothing, forever?

*PIECES OF HERSELF*

"She left pieces of her life behind her everywhere she went. It's easier to feel the sunlight without them, she said.

(Brian Andreas "Story People")

"THESE DREAMS" by Heart

Spare a little candle

Save some light for me.

Figures up ahead

Moving in the trees.

White skin in linen

Perfume on my wrist,

And the full moon that hangs over

These dreams in the mist............

("These Dreams" by Heart)

*ELEANOR DUSE* a fragrance by Laura Tonnato

Two flowers have near-mythical status in Italy: TuscanIris (Iris Florentina), to which Iris Nobile by Acqua di Parma pays homage, and Parma Violet, the very first flower to blossom as winter draws to a close. The emblem of the city of Parma, chosen by Marie-Louise of Austria, Napoleon’s second wife, violet was also the flower of predilection of the celebrated 19 th-century actress Eleanora Duse. A rival of Sarah Bernhardt, she was famous for her portrayals of the lyric works of writer Gabriele d’Annunzio, with whom she lived a great passion. At the request of the organizers of an exhibit dedicated to “la Divina” in Rome in 2005, Laura Tonatto created E.Duse, an olfactory interpretation of the great actress’s artistic and personal temperament.

Today I am wearing "Eleanora Duse" created by Laura Tonnato. It is a wet, moist violet picked from the black earthy moss in the forest and it is gorgeous! This fragrance has been discontinued and very difficult to find, but oh so beautiful..................

*SOUNDS THAT BRING ME COMFORT*

At times, I like to sit quietly and just listen to the silence and enjoy it, a Zen moment if you will. Recently during my silence I began to think of sounds that bring me comfort:

*I remember as a young girl lying in a feather bed at my Grandmother's home in the country listening to the sound of the rain on her tin roof. I loved that.

*I think my favorite sound is the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves of trees, running through them happily and making the sound so pleasant.

*Violins....I adore violins, they convey passion so very well, more than any other musical instrument and are hauntingly beautiful. They can move me and make me cry......

*The ocean..........the tide coming in and returning. I used to leave my window open at night by the ocean and fall asleep and be comforted by this sound.

*The sound of thunder followed by hard, pouring down rain during Springtime. I adore it.....

*The sound of windchimes with a soft wind rustling through them.....

*The sound of an antique clock chiming, on the hour and half hour, an old clock with a soft chime.

*The sound of a kitten seeking it's mother, not having vision yet, but mewing for it's mother......

*My cats when they chatter at an insect or a bird or when they snore......

*The sound of a child's laughter, uncontrollable laughter, when they laugh so hard they can barely breathe........

*The sound of water being poured into a glass, the chink of ice cubes against the sides of the glass.

*The sound of high heels clacking on marble floors, I can remember my mother's doing that.

*Whales, the sound of them singing to each other......nothing more beautiful really.

*Forest sounds during the early evening, bull frogs, tree frogs, crickets, owls and all creatures of the night, it is mesmerizing.

*The sound of police sirens in Europe, I love that sound. They are not the same here....

*Rain or light sleet on a glass pane..........

*A train whistle late at night, off in the distance. This sound so reminds me of my grandmother and going to see her in my youth.

*Snow crunching under boots, or under tires, dry, cold snow..........

*The sound of seagulls at the seashore or mourning doves in the morning.......

*A lover's soft whispers during lovemaking...even if they aren't true.

*Canadian geese flying over my home in the early Spring and late Fall. I rush to the window to see them and they are the most gorgeous creation of nature.......

*WHAT WILL HEAVEN SMELL LIKE?*

If I go by scripture, here’s some fragrances sure to be in heaven. (and this is just the beginning of a small study).

Sacred anointing oils, fragrant blends that are the work of a perfumer (who knows, that could be us, we may be able to learn the skill of a professional perfumer).

There will be spices and various blended perfumes.

There will be beautiful treatments prescribed for us, ie months with oil of myrrh and months with perfumes and cosmetics.

Beds will be perfumed with myrrh, aloes and cinnamon.

Perfume in heaven will bring joy to the heart

The very name of God will be like perfume poured out

When we are seated at God’s table, OUR own perfume will spread its fragrance

Our love toward God will be more pleasing than wine, and the fragrance of our aroma will be more beautiful to God than any spice

Heaven will smell like beds of spice yielding perfume, and lilies dripping with myrrh.

There will be very expensive perfume in heaven

We will be preparing spices and perfumes

Milk and honey will be under your tongue.

The fragrance of your garments will be like that of the cedars of Lebanon

You will be able to climb the palm tree and take hold of its fruit,

Your aroma will be like the clusters of the vine, and the fragrance of your breath like apples.

Mandrakes will send out their fragrance, and at our door will be every delicacy, both new and old.

They will have been stored up for us.

The spendor of heaven will be like an olive tree, and its fragrance like the cedars of Lebanon

There will definitely be lilies of the valley, and the Rose of Sharon.

Because we know God, there will be a triumphal procession in God and through us spread everywhere will be the fragrance of the knowledge of Him

We will be to God an aroma.


Won't this be a wonderful place for us all?

*SECRETE DATURA* by Matre Parfumeur de Gantier

Not to give this perfume short shrift, but my post will be brief tonight. I must tell you, I feel as though I've hit some sort of scent jackpot this week--at least that's one way to look at it. Another way to look at it is discovering more perfumes to crowd my already overflowing wish list. I know that at times I still have all the unbridled enthusiasm of the perfume novice. I'm like the drunk person at a party who wants to hug everyone. But I have the gut feeling that this is real treasure, and my nose is not playing tricks. Secrete Datura has notes of leafy green, orange blossom, heliotrope, neroli, jasmine, hyacinth, ambergris, musk, vetiver, and cedar. sometimes when I find a scent that really wows me, I find myself at a loss for words. How can I describe my experience? I find this very close in spirit to Iris Poudre, although more powdery, softer, and slightly brighter in spirit because of the orange blossom and neroli. This scent is youthful without being young, soft as a cashmere sweater (yet works in the heat), and simply has an aromatically calming effect on me that I haven't found with other perfumes. I've remained calm, focused, and uncomplaining. I feel sure the deep beauty of Secrete Datura has something to do with this. Some perfumes just do that to one's psyche. Look at the gorgeous art deco bottle as well.

Welcome To Our Family, Allison McAllister

Yesterday, I visited my first grandchild, Deana Shar and her baby, my first great-grandchild. Her brother, David, lives with his fiance in New Orleans. David's wife was due to give birth to their first child on or around April 21st or so.

Allison McAllister decided to arrive on March 26th instead. This is 5 days from what would have been her grandmother, Leslie Susan's 46th birthday. Even though Leslie is now with God, I know she would love this little girl as much as she loves her first grandchild, Alyssa Nicole, the daughter of Deana and Bobby Jansen. She weighed in at 6 pounds, but what a bundle of joy she will be.

I have many different friends and acquaintances about my age who have no grandchildren or great-grandchildren, and that is such a loss to their lives. Being a grandmother, and even better, a great-grandmother is the best life role ever!

God gave us loving grandchildren and great-grandchildren as a reward for all of random acts of kindness. The thing about grandchildren is that they always accept us for ourselves, without rebuke or effort to change us, as no one in our entire life has done, not our parents, siblings, spouses, friends - and hardly ever our grown children. There is love on this planet Earth because grandparents are part of the equation. The following is a poem about great-grandmothers and I wear that badge proudly:

GREAT - GRANDMOTHERS

There is a special woman whose love has meant so much.

She blesses those around her with love and tender touch.

She's strong in faith and courage, yet gentle as a dove.

She as a special mission determined by God above.

He knew one day children would walk upon this land and

He needed a special woman to guide them by the hand.

She loved them every day until they each had grown,

And soon her little babies had babies of their own.

"Grandma" or Gee Gee or NaNa they now called her, a

Sound she loved to hear.

She spread her hugs and kisses to each grandchild so dear.

She tickled them and sang to them and dried their little tears

But soon those babies grew as the days turned into years.

God watched this special woman from His kingdom up above,

And though her hair had grayed, her eyes still shown with love.

"Her work is not complete yet" the angels heard Him say.

"I still have precious children that I must send her way."

So though she's not as young as she once used to be,

She still can bounce a baby upon her bended knee.

And though her loving arms are sometime tired and sore,

They'll never be too tired to hug a child she adores.

So as you can see, God's plan was very good.

He needed one to spread his love and he knew this woman would.

So in answering God's call, we learn it is never too late.

For loving God's own children are what made this Grandma GREAT!!

(a poem by Melissa Evans)

I could never overstate how important my grandmothers were in my life. They were a port in the storm when so much chaos existed; they constantly gave me hope, reassurance and a belief in myself and what I could do with my life. To live up to the example set by these two fine women would make my life complete, and believe me I am working on it with my grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

So welcome Allison, it is a guarantee that you will be loved!!

*APRES L'ONDEE* a gorgeous classic

There is something vintage-esque about violets and you can’t help but want to reminisce in their presence. Fortunately, Apres L’Ondee does not allow for protracted despondent reflection as the bergamot provides a green and uplifting opening and iris asserts itself at the heart with its floral edge. The vanilla base then keeps it smooth and sweet around those edges, so if you were about to cry over a broken memory, you’ve been given the softest pillow to lay your head. Apres L’Ondee is so lovely as you will read on many blogs, and as they say, it’s just heartbreakingly gorgeous. The name means "after the rain". Apres L'Ondee is one of the most gorgeous fragrances I have ever worn. I remember when I first sniffed it, I could imagine literally walking in the morning dew and sniffing the gorgeous violets and irises blooming near my bare feet. Very few fragrances can convey the beauty of this classic. I don't have a bottle now but I intend to own another in the very near future.

*LYRIC RAIN* fragrance by Strange Invisible Fragrances

Testament

Oh, let it be a night of lyric rain

And singing breezes, when my bell is tolled.

I have so loved the rain that I would hold

Last in my ears its friendly, dim refrain.

I shall lie cool and quiet, who have lain

Fevered, and watched the book of day unfold.

Death will not see me flinch; the heart is bold

That pain has made incapable of pain.
Kinder the busy worms than ever love;

It will be peace to lie there, empty-eyed,

My bed made secret by the leveling showers,

My breast replenishing the weeds above.

And you will say of me,

“Then has she died?Perhaps I should have sent a spray of flowers.”

Dorothy Parker

*********************************************************

I love the sound of rain, the smell of rain and fragrance. The above poem by Dorothy Parker captures it all. I can just imagine lying in bed on a warm summer night, hearing the comforting sound of rain falling on my roof and wearing a lovely fragrance. Strange Invisible Perfumes creates such magical and beautiful fragrances.

*MYRRHE ARDENTE* for a chilly Tundra morning

On a cool, windy Michigan morning, I have decided to comfort myself by wearing the lovely Myrrhe Ardente by Annick Goutal. It is described as follows:

Myrrhe Ardente (Perfervid Myrrh)Myrrhe Ardente is the most gourmand of scents and, to my nose, the most original too. It starts with an overdose of vanilla, which evokes vanilla ice cream then segues into a complex liquorish-y impression with a Maraschino (cherry liqueur) nuance and green herbal undertones. There is the coolness and oddness of aniseed on a woodsy leathery background.Natural myrrhe has a coldness and freshness about it and here the sensations have been reinforced with mentholated nuances. It also evokes wormwood and the drink derived from it, Absinthe. It is an interesting even captivating contrasted composition offering an unexpected soft green, slightly misty and medicinal character.The perfume through this association has a magical quality like going back in time to a 19th century Parisian café and smelling the absinthe-y breath of Verlaine half-stupefied before a glass of the green faerie. The café bar or comptoir shines in the shadowy light of a gloomy café. It smells now a little bit of dragée or sugar-coated almonds.It is a fascinating scent, difficult to place. The mind travels from a kahvehane or coffee house in Istanbul where Pierre Loti is smoking a shisha wearing babouches to a dingy café beloved by sublime drunks like Verlaine and Rimbaud. The scent becomes more powdery and feminine but is still infused with this strange oblique and mysterious aura. It smells a bit of hay.The perfume presents affinities with Serge Lutens Douce Amère, but it is completely different at the same time.

I remember the first sniff of Myrrhe Ardente. It is rare that I have an instant love with a fragrance, they usually have to grow on me, but not this one. I felt regal, as if I was wearing a dress of the softest satin with a lovely Pashmina cashmere stole around my shoulders, as I sipped warm buttered rum while sitting before a beautiful fire in my fireplace. This is a fragrance that I will love for a long time.

*SPRING FEVER* with a new fragrance

I sniffed the most gorgeous fragrance today, it reminds me of Spring:

Myrrhe & MerveillesEau de Parfumby Keiko Mecheri
The ScoopA fragrance of contemplation and utter stillness, Myrrhe & Merveilles is strength wrapped in softness. Cool toned and powdery at first, Myrrhe’s musk and white almond join in a softly reserved dance on the opening…but unlike many fragrances in this class, this surprising perfume turns down the powdery, sudsy notes as it develops and turns up the sweet, resinous notes of myrrh and a whiff of jasmine. Smooth and unusual, Myrrh always remains a tad aloof…regal without being pompous, Myrrhe & Merveilles’ chilly demeanor is nothing short of compelling and beguiling. Its notes may be written out, but they combine in a way that can never be obvious…a true study in the ability of a fine fragrance to bring you in and fully captivate you without playing the easy card (warm, gourmand notes). Stunning!

Myrrhe & Merveilles

Notes: myrrh, hesperides, jasmine, white almond, balsamic notes, powdery musk

*INAUGURATION DAY* a new beginning!!!

At last, new beginnings, new hope for this country!

I am stoked today, so happy to spend my whole day watching the inauguration of our 44th president, Barack Hussein Obama. I never thought I would see this in my lifetime.

The city of Washington, D.C. is literally overflowing with millions of citizens anxious to watch this important and long overdue event.

It makes my heart proud to see people of all colors, ethnicities, religion, old, young and infirm celebrating and smiling.

I was so worried about my country, the United States of America over the past several years.
We were hated by other countries; considered arrogant, self-absorbed and pampered with all of our required possessions. We had unlimited credit for everyone, huge houses, cars and possessions that could not be afforded. The selfish and greedy of our people took full advantage of this time and made off with vast sums of money. We raped other countries just for oil to run our cars. Over 4000 of our finest died in a war that they didn't create, invading a country that didn't need invading, overthrowing a terrorist that was blamed for 911 instead of hunting for the one responsible.

I don't recall a time in my aged life when I lived in a country that was so divided, people against people, state against state and political party against the opposite one.

Even though the times in our country are laden with debt, unemployment, lack of healthcare for millions, families just fighting to exist, to eat or provide a roof over the heads of their children, we have HOPE! We have pride in our chosen leader, and we once again have faith in the United States of American. Better days are on their way, we are united as a country, finally.................

*PERFUME AND THE MEMORY OF WAR*

I started my New Year by reading blogs about perfume, of course! What better way...........here is a post that is beautiful and unforgettable from a young woman living in the Western United States:

"Perfume and the Memory of War -Erin Solaro

Having arrived (inevitably yet somewhat unexpectedly) on the high side of 40, and never having been a glamour queen, I've concluded that most makeup is a waste of time and money. The only exceptions are a few flattering lipstick shades, which will of course vary from woman to woman, and perfume.
For many of us, scent is powerfully linked to erotic memories: first kiss, first penetration, a particular lover or lover's gift or request. There are also other experiences, often less fondly remembered. Scent can trigger everything from afterglow to PTSD. For me, whenever I smell Prescriptives' fruity, mossy Calyx, I think of heavy armor. I was a freshly minted Army second lieutenant, wearing Calyx the first time I ever saw an M-1 tank move, and what a revelation that was: the perfect balance of mobility, armor and firepower.
And therein lies a larger connection.

Scent is, or should be, part of more than individual memory. Like wine, scent is part of cultural memory. And of historical memory. People sometimes have the opportunity to drink very old wine. Imagine pouring a vintage made from grapes picked by men who went off to die in the Great War, better known to us as World War I, and by the women who had no choice but to watch them go. Almost instinctively, we feel a bond. Almost instinctively, we want to drink to them.
Yet we do not think of perfume this way. Cultural memory is intellectual and bound up with the wars and other great events that have shaped Western civilization. Wine is part of culture, part of history, however tangential. Perfume is merely part of fashion. Fashion--couture--may be an important industry, but it is mainly associated with women and the men who dress them: a significant endeavor, sometimes of interest to historians, but hardly on a par with war and the memory of war. Or so we think. We know we drink to the long-ago dead but we rarely perfume ourselves in their honor.

I recently purchased off Ebay some old (at least 50 years) Chanel No. 5, still sealed. It was an unusual purchase. Back in the 80s, when I was studying tanks and poetry and kindred matters, I never liked Chanel No.5. I found it far too commercial, and far too subtle, compared to my favorite young woman's scents, such as Yves Saint Laurent's Opium and Calvin Klein's Obsession for Men, or for that matter Guerlain's Shalimar, which I still love. A few months ago, however, I tried Chanel No. 5 and liked it. Perhaps they've tweaked the composition; more likely, my tastes have evolved. Thus my purchase.

With scent like this, who needs makeup?

Please do not think of me as some educated nose who can intone, "Ahh, top notes of aldehydes and base notes of sandalwood, suffused throughout with jasmine" (which is in fact true of Chanel No. 5). I simply hold that Chanel No. 5 in parfum strength is a beautiful scent, drying down to some Platonic ideal of baby powder and the very softest kidskin, with, at least on my skin, just a hint of cool sweetness. I smell it and I connect to poetry. Not lovesong or commercial tripe, but lines from a Russian poet beloved since high school, a connection as unlikely, yet also as evocative, as smelling Calyx and thinking of tanks.

Rummaging in your black memory you findgloves up to the elbow,and the Petersburg night. And in the dark of the theater boxest hat stifling sweet smell. Wind from the gulf. And there between the lines, shunning the 'ahs' and the 'ohs,'Blok will smile at you contemptuously--the tragic tenor of the age.

If you love scent, two of the great houses are Guerlain and Caron. My introduction to Guerlain was Shalimar as a girl; my introduction to Caron as a woman was Nuit de Noel. Two very beautiful scents that I almost instinctively related to military history, as I have Guerlain's Djedi, which I have never smelled.

To smell the scents of the great perfume houses of Guerlain and Caron from say, 1910 all the way through the middle of the century, is to smell sorrow upon sorrow. Sometimes that sorrow is anticipated, in a perfume such as L'Heure Bleue, the blue hour of Parisian evenings. Sometimes it is as fresh as blood, as in N'Aimez Que Moi ("Love Only Me"). The poilus, French soldiers traveling such routes as the Voie Sacrée to Verdun, gave this scent to women they hoped would remain faithful to them. The women hoped that if they wore it and their lovers survived, they would return to them in a land more and more bereft of its young men. And sometimes that sorrow is remembered, as in Nuit de Noel, when the men who died should have been with their parents and sisters, the women they never married and the children they never raised. It is sorrow for the fair and the brave, ruined and broken and bereft before their time, the dead and their survivors.
Often the sorrow is for the young men slaughtered. Sometimes, as in Shalimar, it is for women. The scent is named after the Shalimar Gardens of Lahore, which Shah Jahan created for his wife, Mumtaz Mahal, who died giving birth to their thirteenth child. Until well into the 20th century, childbirth was to women what war was to men. With one exception. For men, war was an episodic horror. For women, it was routine decimation. Do the phrases strike you as odd? Isn't war supposed to be the routine decimation, childbirth the episodic horror? Think again. I did, after returning from Afghanistan in 2005 and discovering that, statistically, a modern Afghan woman has a greater chance of dying in childbirth than a World War II American infantryman did of dying in battle. How many of those men, I wonder, brought back French perfume for their women, or died with bottles in their packs, perhaps broken open by enemy fire.

Then there is Jacques Guerlain's masterpiece, Djedi, from 1927.

Djedi was the legendary magician of ancient Egypt. Pharaoh Khufu, the god-king, had brought Djedi to court to entertain his courtiers. Pharaoh wanted to see if Djedi could rejoin a severed human head to its body. Djedi said he could, and Pharaoh commanded a prisoner be brought in and decapitated for his amusement. But Djedi refused, saying, "Do not do this to a human being, my sovereign lord: surely it is not permitted to do such a thing to one of the noble herd of God." Pharaoh agreed and permitted Djedi to rejoin the head of a duck to its body instead.

For those who have been lucky enough to smell it, Djedi is the strangest perfume ever created, and often the most beautiful.

It opens with scents of stone and mineral. One might think of camel thorn bleaching in the desert sun, or smoke rising into the desert sky. Then it opens into rose and iris, vetiver and spice, beautiful and brief, before melding into leather and bitter herbs, and musk that is both animal and powdery and that to some people smells of roasting meat. One might, if one is so inclined, think of burning tanks and what happens to the crew inside, or of dead infantrymen. Indeed, some people note a scent of putrefaction, even of feces.

The overwhelming impressions of Djedi are of a regal beauty that is conquered by terrible grief, a beauty that does not stoop to weeping or pleading, but is broken to standing ruins like a shattered sword.

To name a perfume for women--wealthy, cultured, aristocratic women--after a mythical Egyptian magician who is remembered to us for upholding the human dignity of a condemned prisoner was the act of a great perfumer who understood that he was living in a civilization that had no serious defenders.

We live now as they did in 1912 (L'Heure Bleue) and 1922 (Nuit de Noel), or 1925 (Shalimar) and in 1927 (Djedi). We are living through the beginning of the ending of our world. Our civilization is slipping away, perhaps also towards some dreadful cataclysm. Everyone knows the catalogue of perils, from terrorism and climate change to lunatic wars and the lunatic debt that funds our wars. And how long can we pretend that reality will conform to our fantasies, so long as we keep up the pretense?

We talk now of failed states, but Europe of the first half of the 20th century was a failed continent, a failed civilization. And the great scents of those decades, the Guerlains and the Chanels and the Carons are suffused with mourning for that civilization, every bit as much as they were also suffused with, for example, the images of Jazz Age flappers daringly smoking in public, as Tabac Blond is.
When those of us who will survive the coming decades look back, what will be the scent we associate with these last ephemeral years?

Fantasy and Curious "by" Britney Spears, perhaps. And Heiress and Paris Hilton "by" Paris Hilton, perhaps also. Fruity, sweet, without staying power, "girly."
Unserious.
Unwomanly.
Uncivilized."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What a way to start 2009!! But what a fragrant way.........we also have hope now with our new President, Barack Obama. This young lady has a very interesting and considered opinion on the world as well a very refined sense of smell......

HAPPY NEW YEAR

*EXPRESSO LOVE*

She gets the sun in the daytime...

Perfume in the dusk....

And she comes out in the night time

With the honeysuckle musk

Because she smells just like a rose

And she tastes just like a peach.

"Expresso Love" by Dire Straits

*T I M E*

Time, sooner or later, is the one commodity we all run short of.......

I still find each day too short for.........

all the thoughts that I want to think about

all the walks that I want to take

all of the books that I want to read

all of the friends that I want to see.

Our time is too short...............

for pettiness

for angry words

for wounded feelings

for crushed souls.

Perhaps the measure of a life is not it's length, but it's love.

*THE BEAUTY OF WINTERTIME*

Snowflakes softly falling, coasting on the hills,
Children building snowmen, sharing winter thrills.
Skaters on the ice pond, dressed in outfits bright,
Lacy fir and pine trees - what a lovely sight.
Drifts along the roadside, frosted windowpanes,
Fence posts capped in ermine, lining country lanes.
Crystal brooks and streamlets, fairyland delight,
World of glistening beauty blanketed in white.
Purple shadows lengthening, moonlight on the snow,
Families snug and cozy 'mid the hearth fires' glow.
Fellowship and laughter, happiness sublime.
Many joys to cherish when it's wintertime.

*MAY YOU NEVER BE TOO OLD*

MAY I NEVER BE TOO OLD TO LOOK

TO THE SKIES ON CHRISTMAS EVE!!

SANTA AND HIS REINDEER JUST

MIGHT CROSS.....................

BLESSED ARE THOSE THAT STILL

BELIEVE..............................