And here I was, just telling Grain de Musc "no how, no way." Too much camphor. Bad joke. A theme I've sounded many times over the past couple of years.
Today, something happened. I need to take notes on the context, just in case this is the only situation in which this one will fly: ❏ A late in the day shower. (Some days are like that. Other things get in the way. Advantage is, anything that gets tossed onto a wrist on a whim in the a.m. because I feel ready to give it a short whirl ends up getting a full ride. TC was NOT one of those...it was a Mariella Burani duo...more on that another time.) ❏ Temps in the 60's, high-ish but not outlandish for April in these parts. ❏ Huge trench being dug in my yard. Must consider the potential effect of watching one's planting handiwork nearly get decimated. Nearly. Surely extra hormones of some sort were flying. Might have been a factor. Will decidedly avoid trying to recreate that particular contextual element.
Anyway, I showered and, because it had somehow ended up in my drawer of tried & true "specials," I took out the SL Tuberose Criminelle. Yup, there was that opening...but it didn't make me yank my head back and look around for the Candid Camera. Hmm. Another sniff...yeah, that's the note...but it's not...all consuming....
I am totally digging this tube today. Feels like it catches the heady exotic aspects of the flower, while messing it up with other aspects of its reality. The "camphor" settles into just a sharp something, just like what lingers in the air around a number of tropical whites. Every other time, this one has been a viscous lipid with mothballs floating on top. A practical joke, if you will. Today, the joke is on me. Today, it is a joy.
I'll take it.
Maybe this will just be a solitary glimpse, like that one good time I had with Kingdom. But I'm glad to have had it, and wonder if perhaps this is what some of my 'fumey friends who love it live with every time they apply.
It's good to be reminded that patience can be rewarded. Sometimes.
But no way am I going to dig a 9' hole in the yard just to try to get beyond the joke. If the magic is gone, I'll live with the memory. To adjust what Rick said to Ilsa, "We'll always have April 13th."