Our squirrels and birds and chipmunks have been feasting on the bountiful dogwood fruit harvest this year, and by feasting I mean going bonkers and cuckoo for the pretty red fruits dangling in the sky. The squirrels especially have become contortionists and acrobats in order to secure their mealy meals, balancing on precious perches and somehow never falling or losing their footing (pawing?) – they are little circus performers and whenever Andy and I catch their act we pause in our day to watch for a bit.
This is crunch time for these creatures – saving up for what is typically a long and lean winter. While it’s a circus act for the eyes, it’s life or death for them: the dangerous life of a squirrel, where if the flying danger from an airborne hawk doesn’t get you, an extended winter without access to sustenance might. Fall casts a deceptively comfortable spell if you lose your focus.
Betsy said this shirt looked like a cornucopia – a comment that was semi-supposed to roast me, but which I took as a compliment. This is very much a fall shirt, and if you get ‘cornucopia’ from it, so much the better. (Coming from a lady decked out in navy head to toe 24/7/365, I’m cool with her take, and I embrace the pre-Thanksgiving hint.) Corny horns!
Our musical selection of the morning plays up our Autumn of Oud theme, with a relaxing vibe that sets this warm Saturday into pleasant motion.
Oceans away, a man of mystery has shifted shape and time. Backed by rocks cut by the sea and buffed by the wind, a black cloak swirls about him, obscuring form and figure, while a wispy hood of dark gray hair simultaneously frames and conceals his face. Is this the mysterious Mr. Oud, so recently introduced and still so out of focus? The wind is too strong to discern his tell-tale fragrance and namesake.
He appears as if walking on water, but we know it better to be desert, and the mirrored surface is some combination of heat and optical illusion ~ a sleight of sight Mr. Oud would very much enjoy. Or so we would assume; assumptions are all we have when it comes to the mystery of Mr. Oud. While every person is their own mystery, some insist on revealing far more of themselves than was ever asked. (Ahem.) Mr. Oud was never forthcoming that way, and perhaps thatís why we follow him a little more closely. What fun is there in chasing after what has already been thrown in your face? Gazing upon a pair of pasties will always be more scintillating than gazing upon a pair of nipples. Gypsy Rose Lee understood this, and so should you.
Mr. Oud is above such crude analogies, and his black cloak has billowed into a beige trench coat lined with Burberry plaid, his hair suddenly swept into a manicured coif, and his surroundings a sea of concrete sidewalks backed by buildings that soar out of sight. Mr. Oud is on the move.
Certain songs arrive later in life than we would like have liked, long after the fact and the situations where they might have helped with some resonant emotional advice, or some carved out nook of musical catharsis or healing.
And now this beautiful gem, ‘You’re Here That’s The Thing’ – which I really needed several decades ago, when my heart would stir at the turn of every cute guy come every autumn…
… Catch the rain Even on a sunny day I swear I’m not excusing, I’ll cross my heart to prove it But she seems tired ’cause we’ve been through this
These days part of me years for that stomach of butterflies again, that state of fevered bliss and catastrophe, when you’re not sure if you want to cry or vomit or laugh; the rollercoaster of emotional mayhem was a ride I always took, even if there was a line. Inhabiting those spaces from a safe vantage point is an interesting exercise in regaining one’s idea of youth.
… And I know you said that we’re not a thing But you’re here, that’s the thing And I’m not trying to give you a ring Well, maybe on the phone if you let it sing You’re overcomplicating everything
… When the lights go down, don’t say I didn’t warn ya I don’t think that’s legal in the state of California
This song feels more innocent and lovely than the questionable shit I pulled in those heady days. Thinking back to my younger and more foolish moments (though some would argue less and have a fair point) I wonder if hearing this would have calmed or quelled my racing heart. In all likelihood, it would have only added fuel to the desire fire, giving my over-stimulated brain some scrap of hope that should have never been there in the first place.
… I’ve got you wrapped around my finger like a piece of ribbon You just won’t admit it that you’re smitten Hold on a minute, please, won’t you listen? ‘Cause I’m not sure… if you’re into me like I’m into you
… I said a lot of stupid things in the winter Once the ice got thinner But somehow, we managed through the fall So I guess it’s not that bad at all
Like the little white daisies pictured here – not daisies at all but asters, and I’m not even sure of the difference and distinction – I’m keeping life as light as possible. Like this song – it could be saying a lot, it could be saying everything – or it could just be something to fill the background of your Instagram reel with a vibe and an atmosphere – no more, and possibly even less.
… That we’re not a thing But you’re here, that’s the thing And I’m not trying to give you a ring Well, maybe on the phone if you let it sing You’re overcomplicating everything
… When the lights go down, don’t say I didn’t warn ya I don’t think that’s legal in the state of California
Never let it be said that there is an issue I cannot overcomplicate, overthink, overanalyze, or over-anything – my head knows no rest, my brain knows no way to stop. Meditation has helped, as has therapy, and great strides have indeed been made, but I’m just at the start of those journeys, even if it’s been years. The great undoing has only just begun.
… I’m going away Did I forget to mention how long I’d stay? Is that a question for another day? But while we’re away
… And I know you said that we’re not a thing But you’re here, that’s the thing And I’m not trying to give you a ring Well, maybe on the phone if you let it sing You’re overcomplicating everything
Our weather has been super-fine this fall, but rain is undoubtedly on the way, as is an entire winter, so this is a reminder to get out and enjoy while it’s nice, and prepare to enjoy when it’s not. So much of our happiness is about perspective, and being able to shift that is one of the key components to a happy life.
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.
