Since I was epistolary with Denyse, how about I give the same consideration to Andy Tauer's Reverie au Jardin?
I was commenting on another blog the other day, and came across someone else referring to vetiver bundles being sold to "refresh" drawers, particularly in the heat. By "drawers," I understood them to mean dresser drawers, though with that bunch, you can never be too certain. On review, however, I feel fairly certain they were referring to a bureau and storage. REGARDLESS, this was a new something for me, and of course immediately reminded me of the lavender wands I both make and purchase ready made for uses including closets and drawers. (By which I mean rather small alcoves for storage and the things you pull out from a bureau. The thought of a lavender wand in my knickers is, well, not even risque, just somewhat or rather uncomfortable.)
I think I rambled again. Sorry.
So, with this association between vetiver and lavender established via someone else's drawers, and the context of the initial discussion (perfume, natch), my thinkings quickly went to the idea of vetiver and lavender as hot weather nicelies in perfume. And I immediately went to you, Reverie, the perfume that doesn't hide lavender in syrup, or bury it in a stew of incense. Your lavender is honest, true--vera indeed. You are the lavender I find in my garden, that wafts up whenever I brush against those simultaneously soft and nubby stems; you are the lavender that snaps my senses into focus. You know, in aromatherapy, lavender is listed as having both "calming" and a "stimulating" properties, which seems to be just, well, daft. But it's true. Part of it is the amount, part of it is the context.
You, Reverie, are the lavender that sharpens my senses. But you don't make me hyper; you must somehow hide your calming side, putting it into play without ever letting me know.
These are things you already knew. I've said them before. But here is what is new, why I write today:
You are fabulous in the heat.
It is the sharp, somewhat herbal aspect to you that works as vetiver does. Levelly tenacious, without asserting yourself to the point of obnoxiousness. And you know what? There's something easy about our familiarity. Vetiver is still a guest--a guest that is becoming a friend, mind you--but lavender is family. Or maybe an old friend. The best thing is, you aren't boring...there's no way you could be, with your adamant refusal to be anything but your vegetal self. You aren't boring, but underneath that potentially challenging exterior, you are...known.
And, you devil...you helped me through yesterday's heat and humidity, and you were STILL there, in intermittent puffs, as I worked in the garden this morning. Clever.
I'm going to let my perfume peeps know about this hot weather trick of yours, if you don't mind. I think everybody should spend a hot day with you, at least once.
Yours, as always.