“To be beautiful means to be yourself. You don’t need to be accepted by others. You need to accept yourself. When you are born a lotus flower, be a beautiful lotus flower, don’t try to be a magnolia flower. If you crave acceptance and recognition and try to change yourself to fit what other people want you to be, you will suffer all your life. True happiness and true power lie in understanding yourself, accepting yourself, having confidence in yourself.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh
Lately I’ve been practicing my meditations in the morning, before the sun is even out, and it’s been good for setting an intention and tone for the day. The recent rainy stretch of weather has actually been a bit of a balm on this riotous Virgo heart – we definitely needed the rain – and it’s been helpful to start things off in a quiet and mindful manner. I see what all the early morning yoga fuss is about – though my body is not quite there to be so bendy quite so early in the day. One must work their way into a sling for anything to be safe these days.
“To dwell in the here and now does not mean you never think about the past or responsibly plan for the future. The idea is simply not to allow yourself to get lost in regrets about the past or worries about the future. If you are firmly grounded in the present moment, the past can be an object of inquiry, the object of your mindfulness and concentration. You can attain many insights by looking into the past. But you are still grounded in the present moment.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh
“We dream in our waking moments, and walk in our sleep.” ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
This time of the year always reminds me of ‘The Scarlet Letter’ by Nathaniel Hawthorne – the way the sun slants through the changing tree leaves, the way the earth, and its implacable stone and rock, still holds onto some of summer’s warmth. There’s magic and enchantment in the forest at this time – and when the forest is bordered by water, it’s even more entrancing. At some point every few weeks, I find my way to such a leafy scene – to find comfort in solitude, to be by myself, to re-connect with nature in the way that most Virgos need to be connected to the earth.
For this nearby expedition, I needed only to drive to Cohoes to find the waterfalls I’d been wanting to visit for years. Thanks to a severe drought, there was barely a trickle from the might and majesty they typically conjure, but I didn’t mind the quieter and more serene scene. There will be more than enough opportunities for thunderous downfalls and tumultuous waterfalls later this fall. Rain is already on the horizon, and winter is not as far as it seems.
“It contributes greatly towards a man’s moral and intellectual health, to be brought into the habits of companionship with individuals unlike himself, who care little for his pursuits, and whose sphere and abilities he must go out of himself to appreciate.” ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
When the foliage is still lush and the leaves haven’t yet been ripped from their precious perches, it feels safe on a sunny day. When the leaves start to turn, their coloring sets the sky on fire, matching the brightness of spring’s earliest chartreuse show. It is a beautiful point for reflection – the perfect place to pause in the madness of the current world. There are times when I wonder how I got here – to this specific space and place – and of all that I have lost and gained on that winding journey. I think back to my first forays into the forest behind my childhood home, the way the paths and the trees and the plants felt somehow more familiar than my own bedroom – the cozy comfort of a patch of moss, the hooded cloaks of a stand of May apples, the evocative hide-and-seek game of a clump of Jack-in-the-pulpits. This sort of beauty brings me back to those days, reminding me of our connection to such sacred spaces.
“But there is a fatality, a feeling so irresistible and inevitable that it has the force of doom, which almost invariably compels human beings to linger around and haunt, ghost-like, the spot where some great and marked event has given the colour to their lifetime; and, still the more irresistibly, the darker the tinge that saddens it.” ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
Scattered throughout downtown Albany, these little Nipper sculptures always make me paws (sorry) and smile for their bit of whimsy. Occasionally, they come with a more pressing message – in this case the ever-pertinent idea that ‘you matter’ – a reminder for anyone who needs a little pick-me-up at a troubling time. We all have struggles, and most of us like to pretend that we don’t. I understand that – sometimes it’s easier to push on through rather than face and possibly falter over something that’s hard to handle. It puts me in the mind of this song by Paramore. For some reason, this harkens to the 90’s tracks that comprised the Structure soundtrack of my retail days (Structure was the precursor to Express Men, for those who were not around then). It also brings me back to that time in my life – starting out with a retail job and wondering what ever would come of a career. And so we travel back to Boston in the mid-to-late 90’s…
I don’t mind Lettin’ you down easy, but just give it time If it don’t hurt now, but just wait, just wait awhile You’re not the big fish in the pond no more You are what they’re feedin’ on So what are you gonna do When the world don’t orbit around you? Ooh, uh, uh So what are you gonna do When the world don’t orbit around you?
Ain’t it fun Livin’ in the real world? Ain’t it good Bein’ all alone?
My co-workers at Structure were becoming my friends – or the closest thing I had to friends in that transitional time of our lives. They taught me what it was like to live alone in Boston – where to go, how to act, what to say, how to be – most of it superficial and useless. But we were going through it together, and that felt like all that mattered.
Where you’re from You might be the one who’s runnin’ things Well, you could ring anybody’s bell and get what you want See, it’s easy to ignore trouble When you’re livin’ in a bubble
While this song came out about twelve years ago, it speaks to life as a twenty-something, when every little obstacle feels like an insurmountable ordeal, and the idea of making a living in any substantial way feels far away. In many respects, that’s one of the sweeter spots in life – that section of not-knowing, that moment when there is only possibility.
So what are you gonna do When the world don’t orbit around you? Mm, uh, uh So what are you gonna do When nobody wants to fool with you? Oh, oh, oh, uh, uh Ain’t it fun, Livin’ in the real world? Ain’t it good, Bein’ all alone? Ain’t it good to be on your own? Ain’t it fun you can’t count on no one? Ain’t it good to be on your own? Ain’t it fun you can’t count on no one? Ain’t it fun Livin’ in the real world?
In the way you have to make your own family when there’s none nearby, I leaned into the little retail family of Structure, even as they had their own lives and friend groups. A rainy Sunday morning of inventory was the highlight of my week, as much as everyone else dreaded it, and I stayed in town for the day after Thanksgiving rush that year, deliberately missing a family Thanksgiving at home. It is telling that I made such a choice then.
Don’t go cryin’ to your mama ‘Cause you’re on your own in the real world Don’t go cryin’ to your mama ‘Cause you’re on your own in the real world
Am I the last person you know to try an acai bowl? My niece and nephew seem to think so, and they are occasionally correct. It was Noah who mentioned them to me as we passed a store offering fruit bowls for lunch. Then I started asking around and it seems everyone has tried an acai bowl, and has been eating them for years. It’s not that I was never aware of them, they just existed on the periphery of my food journey – something like chicken wings or Orange Julius, ever-present but not a part of my life.
When asking around on what exactly an acai bowl was, the descriptions from friends were wildly off-the-mark and disparate; none of them made me particularly excited about the prospect of putting purple porridge into my body, especially if it was covered in blueberries, green bananas and granola.
As the universe would have it, down the street from my office a new cafe called ‘Blends and Brews’ had just opened, offering a multitude of shakes and smoothies, and about a dozen acai bowls. Taking a pic of the menu, I sent it around to friends and family to get their take on what my virgin acai experience should consist of, and I decided on the basic Acai Berry Bowl.
It was like a slippery frozen yogurt with icy bits, fruitfully tart with a decent amount of sweetness, and more about the toppings of strawberries, blueberries, granola and banana – a more healthy and colorful than a hot fudge sundae, but also a lot less fun. Give me that processed sugar any day. Still, I finished almost the entire bowl, leaving but one tainted blueberry. After it was done, I felt a little like I did the night I lost my gay virginity – slightly let-down, slightly satisfied, not quite hungry for more – the main difference being that I didn’t need to find a cab to take me home from an abandoned warehouse on the Mississippi river where it all went down. I digress…
{That was my fake look of disgust because blueberries were involved… and I won’t sully the end of this post with why I have an issue with blueberries – that’s for a rainier day.}
For a few formative years in my youth, fall was the season when I typically fell in love with someone ~ or thought I was falling in love. I was so young and naive and foolish that looking back it wasn’t anything like love, but it was a closeness and connection that I wanted so badly, any poor chap entering the realm of vision was at risk.
Wait… that’s not being entirely fair to myself. There were reasons and signs that led me to believe in the possibility of love ~ I didn’t just fall for someone because they were cute or wanted to fuck me. Every infatuation began with a bit of engagement and interaction, little signals or breadcrumbs that may or may not have been inadvertently left. I don’t know… I’m ok with acknowledging my wayward brain in leaping to romantic conclusions, but also smart enough to know that it wasn’t all entirely in my head. Flirtation wasn’t the fun and harmless thing it would become years later; back then my middle name should have been Earnest. (Confirmation name: Don’t-Fuck-With-Me.)
Those infatuations also usually came accompanied by music, the way certain songs at certain points in your life leave a lasting impact. Someone once said that music is the way to expressing the soul, even more than words. For a writer, I’m not sure I completely agree, but there have been songs and melodies that define a person or a place or a time, and do so more than anything I could ever write down, so there is truth to it.
Music played a major part in those memory-making days, and sometimes it was a song that brought me back from the brink of danger or repulsion. Like certain scents, certain songs will return me to a time and place from long ago, when the heart was tender and the mind was questionable – music as a totem and marker. Here are a few fall moments that form the soundtrack to a season.
‘Secret‘ ~ For the first man I ever kissed. So many memories come attached to this song and this period of time, I couldn’t possibly capture all the links, but this last letter hits most of them.
‘Dynasty‘ ~ For a more modern memory, one that brings back Dad’s downhill start and the foibles of family.
These rods of gold sway but do not break in the wind. Goldenrod is no stranger to the wilds of fall, and it won’t be felled so easily. The scientific name for the plant – Solidago – stems from a Latin word that means ‘to make whole’ – this is due to the medicinal properties the plant was once believed to have. I don’t think it’s used widely for anything curative today.
In these parts it is a pretty signifier of fall, celebrated for its stationary pollen, blamed for the unnoticed ragweed, and bothered by almost none of our nonsense.
Keeping golden honor with our Oud theme of autumn, these hand and body washes by Molton Brown add an extra ‘H’ to the proceedings, and give our guests something to add to their aura. With golden particles suspended in its richness, and the essence of Oud surprisingly on point, this decadent soap lingers on the skin, transporting visitors to another world and another time.
Yes, there is always drama in the fall. It’s there in the way the nights begin to cool, the way the forest leaves start to flicker before beginning their full-fledged burn. It’s there in the crisp snap of morning, when the dew has turned to frost and fog cloaks the early morning traveler with a vague sense of worry.
It’s also there in the pungent zap of Oudh, drifting on the air like a memory, carried on the breeze like some impossible flying carpet. Fall is transport and change and the burning of a phoenix. After a handwashing of Oudh soap, fall is an unseen talisman tickling the nose.
Waking unnaturally early on this past Sunday, I walked into the living room and found the sun just starting to slant in through the window. A single column of light fell across the floor right near the space where I usually meditate, and it felt like the universe was inviting me to do my daily practice right then and there. There were still shadows from the night, and the edges of objects were laced with darkness, but we were on the other side now, and it was only going to get lighter. I lit the end of a dwindling stick of Palo Santo, gently rang the singing bowl so as not to wake Andy, and settled in for the early morning meditation.
This was the date that a lunar eclipse was happening in Virgo, though I’ve forgotten all the things that it’s supposed to mean for my sign. It was also the last day of summer, so the morning felt both celebratory and a little sad. A friend had recently echoed my disappointment of this summer, and I understood that I wasn’t alone.
Sending the summer off with a sunny Sunday morning meditation felt good. When you can end something with calm and stillness, when you can honor and bow to what has been without feeling too terribly bitter or ill over it – these are good things.
It’s been no secret that the majority of recent Tom Ford fragrance releases have not thrilled my nose. The potent and sometimes-polarizing boldness of the original Private Blend collection had given way to more commercial and mainstream offerings – nothing terribly offensive, but nothing terribly brave. That changes with the arrival of the latest in the Oud line – ‘Oud Voyager’ – which is a stunning addition to the collection (and a 50th birthday gift to myself the last time I was in Boston).
It’s a banger from the beginning, even if the oud isn’t the extreme pungent blast that some fragrance fanciers favor – it’s more of a softer, benign take on it, which is perfect for the fall season. We want to ease into this, yes, with some fanfare and excitement, but elegant restraint as well. The push and pull of life – the extremes of fall – the enchantment of oud…
Yesterday morning marked the first day of fall and this blog was occupied with that shift and a new look for the autumn season. That meant the weekly blog recap has been moved to this morning, so if you didn’t get a chance to catch up on Monday per the typical schedule, here is your chance. It’s a recap filled with a few recaps – the past circling in on itself – and there are lots of linky labyrinths for those looking to dive down different rabbit holes, so have at it – we’re all mad bunnies here.
We close out this first day of autumn with a moody song embodying the arrival of the season. Ella Fitzgerald sings of beautiful heartbreak, and a longing to not have an early autumn ~ and we are powerless to stopping it as it’s already here. Hearing the muse while a sliver of oud emanates from my wrist, I indulge in the beauty of the night.
When an early autumn walks the land and chills the breeze And touches with her hand the summer trees Perhaps you’ll understand what memories I own There’s a dance pavilion in the rain all shuttered down A winding country lane all russet brown A frosty window pane shows me a town grown lonely…
Accustomed to the dark falls and the treacherous emotional terrain that often accompanies the seasons of lesser light, I feel that this is familiar territory. Whether it’s the unrequited infatuations of my youth or more adult-like failed relationships in my 20’s, fall has traditionally been a time of emotional turmoil. In some ways, the spell of such a time is a reminder that we are all still human, still prone to making messy mistakes in service to our wayward hearts.
That spring of ours that started so April-hearted Seemed made for just a boy and girl I never dreamed, did you, any fall could come in view So early, early…
A candle glows gently before a mound of sumptuous sequin brocade. The light is serene, the colors are soft. Would that such pretty things be a balm on thy heart.
Darling, if you care, please, let me know I’ll meet you anywhere, I miss you so Let’s never have to share another early autumn
Instead, it rages quietly. It ravages in silence. It tears down the semblance of an ordered life and wreaks its havoc with nary a ripple of the surface. There, all is pristine and placid. No one wants to know what lurks below.
Darling, if you care, please, let me know I’ll meet you anywhere, I miss you so Let’s never have to share another early autumn Autumn, autumn
These are troubling times. Whispers of abductions are no longer the stuff of fantasy, disappearances and likely snuffings are now commonplace, and the darkness hinted at in years prior has come to full, devastating fruition as some of us foretold. It feels like Voldemorte has ascended, Hitler is in power, and Satan has achieved the long-sought revenge of a fallen angel, turning our world into a little bit of Hell. It’s hard to make sense of how dark some of our souls were ~ and apparently are ~ and I struggle with recognizing the basic humanity we once foolishly assumed was present in all of our brethren. For those who are surprised by how awful can be, it must feel like an affront and an attack; for those of us who are used to be treated as second-class citizens ~ the marginalized, the different, the ‘other’ ~ it is simple confirmation. Some of us are unsurprised by any of this; we have already crafted ways and means of survival, as well as avenues of beauty and enchantment to carry us through the darkest moments.
And so we open this fall season of the blog, christening it the Autumn of Oud ~ as much for its mystery and beauty as for its metaphorical correlations. Oud is a precious raw ingredient in the most decadent fragrances ~ rich, incense-like, and pungent, with a woody warmth centered around a musky heart. The creation of oud occurs in the heartwood of the agarwood tree when it is threatened with a particular fungus. It is a resin that is produced as a defense against an attack that might endanger its existence. As this only happens in the few trees that are afflicted with this fungus, oud is rare in its natural state, and widely variable. It is said to be valued sometimes at a higher rate than gold due to its rarity, and perfumes using natural oud are prohibitively expensive. For that reason, many of the ouds we encounter are synthetic, cheaper versions that approximate the richness of the real thing. (I don’t mind that, and I’m not such a fragrance snob that I’m bothered by a synthetic oud. If it smells nice, why not embrace it? And if a human-made oud is more sustainable, so much the better.)
The idea of oud as a defense mechanism only adds to its allure. Something beautiful and rich is produced when erecting its fortress, in the same way that something rare and powerful happens when we come together against a threat to our basic existence. It feels like a fungus is invading our country right now, and I want to have the hope that we will collectively be able to produce our own protective device, as exquisite and glorious as oud.
The Autumn of Oud aims to capture a sense of mystery, as well as the escapist beauty that comes with such a rich and sometimes polarizing scent. There are infinite varieties of oud ~ my cologne cabinet alone has merely scratched the surface, and hardly any of them carry the weight and magnificence of the real authentic thing (true, natural oud is far too expensive to find its way into my poor hands) and all of that plays a part in these times as well: the search for authenticity in a world of malignant misinformation. Our country reclines on a bed of lies, and our people seem content to indulge in the laziness. Perhaps we have all been carried away by the sweet promise of the impossible.
For our own purposes here, and what you might see in fall blog entries, the essence of oud meanders through like curls of smoke unfurling around the corners of an uncertain future. It gives danger, it gives risk, it gives decadence, it gives defiance. Ideally it gives a seductive and beautiful invitation to portals that take us to other lands, other worlds, other places where candles and incense light the darkest night, smoldering in the burning season.
Fall is a still a mystery to me in many ways ~ mostly in the haunting memories this season holds. Right when I think I have it solved, new layers reveal themselves, and old haunts switch the meanings I once held as true. Fall was when I fell, and I always feel a little lost and a little haunted when the nights turn colder. Let us see what this season brings… if you dare.
A midnight post to ring in the autumn, an amuse-bouche to whet the appetite, and a tantalizing tango to set the scene to all that follows, this is how fall begins on our little blog. Slipping in during the night, autumn is ephemeral as fragrance. Unseen and untouchable, it can only be sensed by the nose – scent its own powerful purveyor of its presence, maker of memories, and lover of lore.
‘La Cumparsita’ translates as ‘little street procession’ and the song is one of the most recognized tangos in the world. It plays a magical part in the queasy New Year’s Eve scene from ‘Sunset Boulevard’ in which Norma Desmond makes her ill-fated romantic play for a much-younger Joe Gillis, only to be met with his cold dismissal. What happens to all the love that goes unreturned? That’s a question this blog has never been able to truly answer.
Suzie and I were browsing at Muji on our recent weekend in Boston (I needed an essential oil for the bedroom diffuser, and they had a lovely rose scent that worked out well) and this song came on ~ one of those moments when it takes a while to place the music and the memory. At first it was disconcerting to hear, as I couldn’t quite figure it out; the memory at fifty is not the same memory and instant-recall of thirty.
As I paused to listen it slowly came back to me, and the vision of Norma Desmond sweeping about the tiled dance-floor as her little band played in the corner materialized in my head. She wanted only to be loved, and it didn’t matter who ~ a paramour, an audience, a pet monkey ~ she wanted only to be loved.
And so we dance, carried on the wings of a swoony fragrance tinged with oud ~ some echo from the past, some ping from the future ~ and a little hint at our fall theme, coming up in the next post…
