The spooky season calls for something smoky and incense-like, and while our fall oud theme is befitting, this offering from Tom Ford’s Private Blends is an underrated gem for that sort of vibe. Originally I got a small bottle of this because I was only going to use it for a Stevie Nicks concert, but it has become a fall favorite in its own right for its pungent feel and seasonal magic.
The notes of myrrhe, vanilla, sandalwood and musk, tempered by some leather and jasmine, make it sound like a sweeter concoction than it is ~ I find it magnificently darker than how that reads on paper. There’s something resinous and smoky at work, and it carries a deeper patina than ‘Ebene Fume’, to which it has been favorably compared. (I’m a big ‘Ebene Fume‘ fan so any similarity would be celebrated.)
This almost approaches the vaunted holiness of ‘Amber Absolute’ territory, but stops sadly short of that original’s hallowed performance ground. Still, to even approach such a grand vision is a feat in itself, and ‘Myrrhe Mystere’ is a lovely scent for keeping warm and cozy on these darkening days.
We’ve been here before – and there is some semblance of comfort in that. At least, it’s what I’m telling myself to get through this next month of fall. When I look back at the past decade of posts for all the October firsts that came before, it does feel similar. There’s usually a few dogwood fruit posts, a transition to colder weather, the last of the precious garden flowers in deeper shades from the more tender time of year – in all, the same shit, different year. Cases in point to follow…
Does anyone actually read the words of a text anymore, or do they just see letters, not formulate anything, and just respond with gibberish? Asking for a friend. All the friends.
What glorious autumn weather we have had so far – a kiss of sunshine for all the rainy weekends and slow sputtering starts we had earlier. It’s never too late for a sunny day, and I step gratefully into the light to pocket some of its warmth for the winter to come. There’s my mind again, working overtime before it even clocks in, and for once I stop myself, willing the present moment to exist as it is, without thought or worry or concern for some future day.
I can’t wait to memorize this day Oh, a picture could not contain the way it feels You say, “Live in the present“ I’m already dreaming of how it begins And trying to savor the moment But I know the feeling will come to an end
So I crave, crave to do it again, all again Crave, crave, to do it again, I Just for a second it all felt simple I’m already missing it So I crave, crave to do it again, all again
There will be slower and rainier days to fret and worry ourselves, darker and more somber events to jolt us into focus – but for now, for today, I just want to exist in this moment – to put a flower in my mouth and point it upwards to the sky. Giving in to the beauty of the day.
There used to be something shameful in giving in to feel-good mainstream moments, as if greater depth and meaning were to be found in pain and pathos – when really that doesn’t automatically translate to character – it just translates to strength, and one’s own reserve of it. No more, no less. The braver and perhaps more vulnerable thing to do is show off your joy, your unabashed love for a song, a painting, a sunny day… we let our guards down when we are at our happiest.
Now I crave, crave to do it again, all again Crave, crave to do it again Just for a second, it all felt simple I’m already missing it So I crave, crave to do it again, all again
And so I choose the joy, the fun, the laughter – I choose the surprise dalliance with summer, which we all thought had already departed, but here she comes again, pool-ready and sun-worthy. I choose to crave too, to proudly name my desire for more – to want, to want, to want – and indulge in the profoundly human need to merge the happiness of the past with the happiness of the future.
Any second, feel the present Future and the past connecting (Past connecting, past connecting)
Mr. Oud is a man of many hats. He’s hard to pin down and impossible to track. When you think you have him cornered, he’s already doubled back. My Oud is a man of many hats. Mr. Oud is a mystery demanding to be solved. For the questioning, the curious, and those waiting to evolve. He’ll be your silver fox or your golden silver Daddy, the one to make you cry out in ecstasy or exhaustion. Elusive, enigmatic, and ever-ready to eviscerate, Mr. Oud knows how to tease and tantalize, knows the power of leaving less, knows the heartbreaking tricks of desire – because he was their first victim. This doesn’t excuse his own behavior, it merely explains his transfixing predicament. Wanting and being wanted – and never the two shall mix. Mr. Oud leaves a presence more powerful than his actual physicality; proof of a power to thrill with ideas and mind-fucks. Unfathomably, his presence is often felt more when he is not around than when he is on the scene. It is then that memory and suggestion bring him into being – the only thing that remains is a hint of that tell-tale smoky scent, a resinous fragrance that follows in his every wake, the perfumed trail of his namesake, his signature, his essence ~ the lingering enchantment of Oud.
Wind-chimes hanging from a coral-bark maple tree sound their auditory twinkles in the warm breeze. Yes, the breeze is warm – a late-September aberration – and the pool is warm too. Sneaking in another pool day on a lazy Sunday, because we deserve it after this slow-to-start summer. The perfect pool song waited until this moment to present itself – the universe taking its time and placing things exactly where they belong at the precise moment they belong there.
As if the first cut wasn’t deep enough I dove in again ’cause I’m not into giving up Could’ve gotten the same rush from any lover’s touch Why get used to something new? ‘Cause no one breaks my heart like you
A Paramore kick continues this week, this time with the aptly-titled ‘Pool’ to save this beautifully-wrecked September. The sun is hot again, and I’m sorry to say I didn’t get into the pool as much as I should have this past August – maybe turning 50 took some of the youthful joy out of it – and I couldn’t tell you why. Well, fuck that, and fuck any notion of mature behavior at this stage of the game – I wouldn’t know where to begin!
When you kiss me, I wish we could see what happens next For a moment, I can forget what happens in my head If I doubt you, will you come through With a happy second chance, a happy ending But this time you don’t leave me sinking
I’m underwater No air in my lungs My eyes are open And I’m giving up You are the wave I could never tame If I survive I’ll dive back in
At first, I focus on these photos, on capturing this moment – because who knows if it will be the last pool day? – and then I put the phone down, cradling it into a plush towel before pushing off into the water and leaving worldly concerns somewhere in mid-air. Underwater, it’s thrilling – exhilarating – the way it always is when you’ve been out of water for a while. Smiling, I almost start giggling as I squint into the sunlight waving from the bottom of the pool.
As if the first blood didn’t thrill enough I went further out to see what else was left of us Never found the deep end of our little ocean Drain the fantasy of you Headfirst into shallow pools
And I wonder, is it better to get it over with? The illusion can shatter before we begin If you’re really sorry Happy second chance I think I could forgive This time you won’t leave me sinking
As much as I’ve been ready to embrace this fall, a brief return to summer is a gift that I will not forsake. I would do it all again without hesitation or doubt – no complaints, no regrets, no denial of joy and ecstasy – not when summer is always so fleeting. Beneath the surface of the water, I feel the body relaxing, the muscles easing out of their hunched tension – the kind of melting that only a pool in the summer can elicit.
I’m underwater No air in my lungs My eyes are open And I’m giving up You are the wave I could never tame If I survive I’ll dive back in
Dive back into Right back into Dive right back into you And now I know you Now I know you Now that I know you Dive right back into you
Snagging Madonna for her first purported podcast ever is no mean feat, so Jay Shetty earns this Dazzler of the Day for that alone. Add in all the other accomplishments and you have a fine choice for our first Dazzler of the fall season. Shetty is an accomplished author, podcast guru, and monk, who puts purpose and mindfulness into practical play – a boon for today’s world and those of us still searching. Check out his website here.
Holy shit how have we reached the last week of September? That stings, and maybe the beautiful stretch of warm weather we’ve had – payback for all those weekends of rain that started off the year – has tricked us into thinking it’s not such a late hour in the seasonal calendar. Alas, truth will out in the end. Here’s your weekly blog recap – our final one for September. When next we recap, the scary season will be upon us…
Where’s the accountability for all the wackos who caused such a panic over that ridiculous rapture? I’ve been told it’s unhelpful to be so condescending to moronic idiots, but giving credence and a voice to such fucking stupidity is a large part of why this country is where it’s at today.
It was a misty morning. The air was warm and thick with the residual heat and humidity of a long hot spell emanating from the earth, finally tempered by a welcome patch of rain from above. Tiny water particles floated in the air, not quite wanting or ready to land on the ground, entangling themselves in my wild bed-head of hair – silver droplets joining silver strands, waves upon waves upon waves. Next door the neighbor’s carpenter had the radio playing and ‘Time In A Bottle‘ came on – a musical memory of a memory. I paused to listen, unbothered by the water all around me – in the air, on the leaves, pooling on the ground. We needed the rain. The song ends and an old Commodores hit came on… so many sad people singing of sad times in a sad world…
Sail on down the line ’bout a half a mile or so And don’t really wanna know where you’re going Maybe once or twice you see Time after time I tried to To hold on to what we got, but now you’re going
And I don’t mind about the things you’re gonna say, Lord I gave all my money and my time I know it’s a shame But I’m giving you back your name
I listen for a bit and pause to inspect the patio plants. A pair of bamboo containers – the only way to contain any running bamboo, even in these inhospitable Zone 5 spots – has done well, and I make a mental note to attempt an overwintering in the garage come November. A banana tree, in an overwintered pot that I salvaged from last summer but won’t try to save again, has done rather poorly – only barely pushing out a flush of foliage rising barely a foot in height. A far cry from its typical 6-feet-high-in-a-single-season performance, and a reason to start with a new banana tree every year, if you want that sort of tropical vibe. This is the summer we wanted it, so of course it’s the summer it refused us.
It did, however, provide these late season scenes of beauty, accented and adorned by the rain, so I can’t be all mad. Contemplating this, and forcing my mind to broaden and take in a positive spin, I listen to the song still drifting in from the neighbors yard.
Yes, I’ll be on my way I won’t be back to stay I guess I’ll move along I’m looking for a good time
Sail on down the line Ain’t it funny how the time can go All my friends say they told me so But it doesn’t matter It was plain to see that a Small town boy like me Just wasn’t your cup of tea I was wishful thinking
Perhaps this was summer talking, saying goodbye with a wistful bit of bitterness. Perhaps it was a paramour, on the unrequited end of a one-sided romance. Perhaps it was just melodic defeat and resignation, the way we bottle our heartache and try to pour it into a song, a book, a painting – hoping for someone else to see it and connect, maybe even to heal. How best to make our hurt mean something more?
I gave you my heart And I tried to make you happy And you gave me nothing in return You know, it ain’t so hard to say Would you please just go away?
I’ve thrown away the blues I’m tired of being used I want everyone to know I’m looking for a good time Good time, yeah
My hair is a mess, matted and wiry from the gathering mist, but it doesn’t matter. Behind the fence, no one can see. Leaves of bamboo cradle raindrops, gently lowering them to the ground when their carriage becomes one drop too many – water joining water in the circle of nature’s ever-recycling wisdom. It will become part of the earth again, then perhaps part of a plant’s root system, then released from the leaves to become a part of water again – the most basically elemental process in a world that operates regardless of how sad our songs may be.
We recently had our first dinner party of the fall season, even if my intended outfit didn’t arrive until the next day. These are the conundrums of a privileged life. My second-choice outfit was a retread of something done years ago, but true style never ages. It’s not like Suzie or our Moms would even notice. ‘Tis the practice for holiday entertaining, such as it may be. We’ve graduated from the big house parties and only do smaller dinner or brunch scenes now – and it’s so much more pleasurable. Downsizing – it’s a good thing.
Tango music seemed a fitting intro to the dinner scene, so here’s a little taste:
It echoes our introductory fall post here. This is a more laid back vibe, fitting for a dinner. “Old-fashioned music” is what Skip would call it. And in so many ways, I’m genuinely old-fashioned. I can live with that. Enjoy this old-fashioned Sunday…
“Some people live as though they are already dead. There are people moving around us who are consumed by their past, terrified of their future, and stuck in their anger and jealousy. They are not alive; they are just walking corpses.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh
Astrologers have said that the recent events in the heavens – solar and lunar eclipses, a new equinox – have created a tumultuous opportunity for growth, particularly for Virgos. I wasn’t fully aware of this, as I greeted the end of summer with a certain reticence, an emotional overload, and an overall wish that it just be over so we could get on with fall. It seems I’m tuned into such things even when I’m not, so I stumbled in wondering what the actual hell was going on in the world to make me feel so crazed. (Sadly this isn’t entirely foreign land to me.)
It is said that eclipses are times for letting go of things that no longer serve us well, and this recent one was especially about releasing those things that emotionally clutter and wear down our brain space. A good lesson and practice for any given day, made especially pertinent with the changing of seasons.
So it was that I found myself doing an early morning meditation on the first day of fall – not of intention or purpose, but of letting go.
Letting go of the icky feelings of resentment, anger, and hurt.
It’s a way of decluttering and re-organizing the head-space ~ an ideal exercise for this Virgo. It’s also a new direction as far as ease and comfort of living, and that’s always been part of the goal, hasn’t it?
Part of truly letting go is in acknowledging and examining what you are releasing, and that’s where this blog comes in handy. As one of the themes of this fall, letting go will involve getting things out of my system so I can truly be finished with them. A mental clean-up that feeds the soul of a Virgo, while claiming new territory, and new ways of moving through life. Are we ready for such a release? We shall see…
“Letting go gives us freedom, and freedom is the only condition for happiness. If, in our heart, we still cling to anything – anger, anxiety, or possessions – we cannot be free.”
What is a cup of coffee or tea but a particular potion made to elicit some sort of feeling, some minor transformation, some bit of ease and comfort? What is a prayer or a meditation but a spell cast upon the purpose of our soul? What is a candle but a beacon of light from another world – a world of hope and dreams and fantasy, made no less real from its sole residence within our minds?
