Photo from our trip to Natchez of the Mississippi River at sunset
We are currently still in the old house but should be completely finished moving soon. Once I sort everything out, I will post photos of the new place which I'm crazy about! It will take a while to get settled because my husband is very finicky about how and where we hang the art. I generally pick the art, although he has some mixed in, and then he decides on placement. It's a joint project which takes time, but I'm very giddy about the decorating and nesting so hopefully it won't take too long to show you. It's funny because before I was married, I loved art but I'd just haphazardly hang it up any old way on a wall. Tacked, crooked, and taped. K. is particular. While it frustrates me with my immediate demands and lack of patience, I do admit it looks better when he's in charge with his maddening measuring and eyeballing and teeny pencil marking. Shh! Don't tell him.
In our neighborhood in the front of our street they are building a new road. Behind us they are building new graduate halls so there is always something going on when I come out every morning with the dog. I’m always at my worst, hair standing on end from sleep, eyes blinking in the morning light. Today there are cars parked in our yard, several bulldozers, half a fence torn down around the site, and workers in boots gabbing by our pecan tree. Mearl, our pug, is miffed, and she tells them loudly and insistently. She charges down to the creek, and her eyeballs bulge as she chews madly on weeds while watching them. I imagine she’s thinking of what she’d like to do to them, but in truth, she’s dumb as a box of rocks and eats everything like a goat. She is a delightful little companion, and I’m mad about her but she’s definitely lacking in the intelligence department.
I finally tried Confetto, the last of the perfume samples. It’s good, but it smells like a sissy version of Hypnotic Poison. Some described it as better than Hypnotic, but I prefer how the Dior scent smells very naughty with the softness of the vanilla. Confetto just smells soft to me, and I like depth and mystery. It’s okay, but I don’t have to own a bottle. I put on the Salome again this morning, and I’m truly in love with that perfume. It’s my next “to buy” scent (or to have bought for me if I play my cards right at holidays or birthday). The Cumin is so heavy in this perfume, and it’s naught, naughty, naughty. Some of my favorite online reviews/descriptions of it are below—
“The first perfume that actually made me blush. Jehzus. Elephants. Circus. Straw. Feces. Leather. Sweat. Definitely of the ‘Grossmith’ older perfume house ilk, it felt vintage but more daring. It honestly makes me swoon a little just because I feel like my brain can’t process or define the intensity that I’m selling. This is Not for the faint hearted and definitely not one to wear at Christmas dinner with the in-laws. Or is it… "
“Wow. Just wow. All the little animals contributing their wonderful stinkiness amid the flowers. I think I love it. Quite powerful and would avoid crowed elevators while wearing, but this is a beauty.”
“This beauty blew me away! Absolutely stunning. Gorgeous fragrance reminiscent of a vintage perfume on a glamorous silent film starlet. Animalic, a little smoke and a lot of hot sultry "come hither".
“You know the famous scene in When Harry Met Sally: " YES! YES! YES!" ? Well, I will DEFINITELY have what she's having. OMG, Salome is utter delight. When I was 26, I fell in love with L'Heure Bleue, before the whispered reformulation. This reminded me of that: vintage, amazing, beautiful, bold. But this is different: it is its own modern thing, and delicious on its own. It takes a different turn & has many different scents going on during the drydown. Witchy candle-wax, vintage, castoreum, sex.”
“Oh, man! Got a sample and immediately had to have the full bottle. I'm in love with each stage of this gorgeous, vintage-smelling, sex pot of a fragrance. The smoke, the indolic flowers, the deeply unsettling and very carnal humanness of this scent is like nothing I've smelled before. All I can say is WOW.”
“Um, whoa. Right off, Salome socked me in the eye with a very vintage Rochas Femme feel. Of course, Femme is about as raunchy as they come. But this is unshowered Femme, with her JF hair & post-coital cigarette, & she is unimpressed with you. Flowers, my butt. This is cumin, ashtray &, well, particular mucoidal fluids. If you are confident enough to pull this one off, more frickin' power to you! Tough sell, though, for more conventional palates, I predict.”
What I’m saying is, it makes normal people say, “What’s that smell?” It makes me say, THIS IS PERFECT. I always wonder why I like the dark so much? I pray about it, “Dear Lord, I want to be good, but I love the hard edges and mystery so much. Is that wrong, too?” I always imagine Heaven as arriving at the gates and finding I belong to one of the 12 tribes of Israel. I just would like to get up there, and Jesus would say, “Okay, here is where you come from.” I would see this group of warrior like people that have fought their anger issues their entire lives, but Jesus uses them as the badasses from Heaven who fight the Dark. So they’ve got a little Dark too because you can’t go toe to toe without picking up some. They would be silent people with icy eyes and moon skin like mine. They would always be pacing and prowling like animals and restless and want to wander, and my lifetime of anxiety would make sense then. Oh, these are “my people”. These are the ones I came from. Everything has a rhyme and reason now. That’s my version of Heaven. Getting down to the roots of why I am how I am. That or this other version—everyone exists in the same place at the same time, but we each are independently also living our own version of Heaven. Like, mine might be ballets and beaches and operas and libraries and your’s might be golf and…what do people that play golf like? Anyway, we’d each be living our version unbeknownst to the others, but we’d all be doing that together. Does that make sense? My favorite is the first version though where we all each come from some tribe of likemindeds. We hang out together up there doing whatever you do in Heaven, but we have a special connection—like twins do—with our tribe. I was so jealous of the forever history when I toured the beautiful synagogue in Savannah. I wanted that sort of history and those kinds of stories. I want onion history going back to the 1500s. Anyway, I’m sure that’s not how it works, and He has a better plan but that’s the best I can come up with.
Anxiety is going to get your 6 month refills on your prescriptions/wellness check from your doctor, and being beside yourself for days before with consuming worry that threatens to swallow me about the entire situation. “Hey, how are you?” I really want to answer, “I’m still crazy. I still worry about sinkholes swallowing me daily. I still worry about having an aneurysm. I still worry that my husband will die in the 15 minute trip to the grocery store. I worry that my dog has rawhide wrapped around her intestines. I worry that my dog has asthma. I still think every time the heater comes on in the house, that it will explode. I still can’t drive because it’s huge gaping laughing terror. I still have anxiety about this anxiety med appointment. Please help, Doc?”
While we wait together, my Mom asks me, “Are you happy, Sarah?” My matter of fact response, “No, I haven’t been happy in a very long time. Years, maybe.” “Are you happy with your marriage still?” she questions. I quickly and fiercely respond, “That is the only thing I am happy with. That is what gets me through my days. That is the one thing I cling too.” It’s everything to me. He’s everything to me. He is my anchor. I can’t tell you what the problem is because I don’t know. It’s just here, and it’s been here for the last 5 to 7 years, I guess? It’s become such a part of my life that it doesn’t even make me sad to admit it. “No, Mom. I’m not happy. I don’t remember her. I don’t know what she looks like. She was years ago for a brief time, and then she died. She’s not coming back, and it’s not important that she come back. What’s important is to figure out, how to keep surviving, and I do. I will. But my marriage, is what gives me shiny droplets of happy, dripping in daily. It comes into my cell to give me a little bread and water, and I wait for it to visit every day. It’s bits that drip down into my life and are so special and perfect. It is the only thing that means a damn out of all of this that I messed up somewhere. That probably sounds pathetic to you, but I don’t care. This day to day heavy curtain doesn’t even bother me anymore. It’s just here. It’s forever. I am learning how to carry it better, but please never touch my perfect K. with it. He is my life raft. That's not to say that I'm on the verge every day, and I don't have things I enjoy but I've accepted that this undercurrent will always be a part of my life.
Oh, other happy moment, though! My Uncle that passed away used to make this amazing Wild Rice Soup that he predatorily guarded the recipe for, despite my pleading. My aunts, uncle, cousins, and mom and dad all met up at Grandma’s to celebrate their belated 60th anniversary with a family party, and they made his famous soup. Mama brought me home a bowl and a bottle of Merlot sent to me from Grandma. It was as amazing as I’d remembered. I thinned it out a little with milk to make four bowls from the one (it’s very rich), and it’s so yummy! Fortunately, the recipe was passed on to Mama so when we make it, we can also think fondly of Mark.
In outlandish things, I was absolutely dreamy about these copper sneakers by Stella McCartney, but she is entirely too proud of her outer space shoes made of ground up pennies as they are $385 (marked down from $550). Also, everything she’s done shoe wise as of late is on a huge foam-looking platform. She takes sensible and slaps audacity on it and calls it a day, and unfortunately, I couldn’t love it more. It’s not for me to wear, but I do delight in them even if I think it’s ridiculous to spend so much on shoes which to me are just functional. Put ‘em on your feet and walk. I definitely didn’t get the stereotypical lady obsession with shoes. But all these that look like they’ve been presented on a pedestal, and I’m admiring just a bit.
This weekend: more moving, trip to the library to collect new books and return those read, celebrating a friend’s birthday with a dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, and hopefully, sorting through some thrift stores if I can convince my love. I hope your weekends are all marvelous! What have you got planned?