Green, of course

I'd complain about what they do to fresh water around these parts on Saint Patrick's Day, but pouring a bunch of green dye in the river ain't the half of this particular waterway's story.  I mean, it's been a dumping canal for the stockyards, and they managed to make it flow backwards, among other things.

I won't even start carping about that Asian fish.  Given the holiday, I suppose I could start *harping,* but as I wouldn't be using a lyre, and likelihood of being lyrical is low, I'll skirt that harangue.

If I'm lucky, tomorrow I'll skirt around the hungover as well.  So many "honorary Irish," so many green gills.

***
Yesterday, I took some batting practice for the wearin' o' the green.  I put on Gap Grass lotion, then generously spritzed (two times! one arm!!) some Martin Mariegla Untitled.  Guess what?  Very nice.

That Martin Mariegla is an interesting creature; it manages to infuse galbanum--good old dry cool wind, hint of cigarette ash tray galbanum--with a vaguely resin-y sweetness that immediately said "add me to your green galbanum line-up, oh she who loves it so."  And the pairing of it with Gap Grass made a sort of complimentary harmony, seeing as Gap Grass manages to sweeten up green grass without needing to cut it down and turn it into hay.

Yup, it was a very "nice" green.  In the same way the "Irish Holiday" has been mangled into something that hyperfocuses on one story from an often turbulent a complex island, one story which has evolved into a vague tale of a sort of benevolent skinny Santa Claus who lifted his rood and walked all the snakes to the shore where they magically forever went away.

But--and here I raise my hand against the force of fierce edgy perfumistas--I do find that pleasantries are often, well, pleasant.  Sometimes we need to sidle up to a challenge like galbanum, serve our dark brew with a dab of honey, put caramelized onions on the cooked bitter greens, whatever, to help adjust to the taste.  I'm okay with that.  I'd say that Untitled makes a good gateway galbanum drug.

And a fitting way to wear the green, happy cleaned up American style.  You know, kind of like Saint Patrick used a shamrock to get across the idea of the holy trinity.




image of the Chicago River from Chicagoland Real Estate Forum

Bluegrass

Am travelling, and rolled my way at highway speeds through Kentucky horse country yesterday.  Even with the window rolled up, at one point a familiar, yet different, smell wafted in the cabin of the car.

Grass.

Of course.  The Bluegrass.  Not just the name of vegetation, the name of a place.  The smell was fabulously intense.  My first impression was newly mown grass, and then I realized how rich it was.  Full of chlorophyll and a little bit damp, the kind of saturated cut grass smell that tends to come during a certain period in spring, at least where I live.  The best part was the overtone of it drying in the sun.  Of course.  Hay.

I have always thought of the smell of grass and hay as two different beasts.  I know, intellectually, their relationship.  But for some reason, driving through this beautiful region, I felt the transition between as well as the stasis of their two different selves.  But it was because of this layering, the this and then the that linear processing in my brain.

Emotionally, as I rode through, I was happy in that heart heavy with beauty kind of way.  Emotionally/intellectually, as I started to compose this, I was struck with a little bit of awe at the trite but no less profound way experiences both overlap and help define differences in this vast country, in small human interactions, in the big picture.

As I finished writing about the effect of the progression of the smells, I was struck by something else:  I wondered if this perfume thing is starting to frame the way I think.  I was worried, actually.  I don't know why; former experience of course lends a frame to new.  I guess it was the thought of it being so reflexive. But no, now that I've voiced it, I'm pretty sure that was a genuine description of a pure experience.  I was simply struck by the parallel as I wrote.  But still...when you come at something from a different direction and then have that a-ha moment when you thought you are actually somewhere you've been before...weird.

Regardless of how pure or pre-shaped my regards, I know that the smell of the grass was intense.  It permeated my nose and for a while pre-empted any fancy thinking and filled me with just the sensation of the smell, and with a state of being.  I am not from this place, I do not have a sense of past-life connection to it, I will not necessarily be compelled to return regularly.

But I have BEEN here, and it was wonderful, and I am grateful for knowing it.

Thank you, nose.  Thank you, eyes.

Thank you, grass.


image from Rubber Punch

Gap Grass!

A brief alert: Gap Grass is back. It says "the original scent" on the in store posters, and by gum, I think they're right.

I've got an aluminum mini (15ml?), which I've hoarded from back in the day, so I've kept in touch with the original, and it seems right. And by back in the day, I mean when I wasn't into perfume. Which strictly means pre 2008, but that is misleading. I seriously wasn't into perfume, or body scent products. Two things caught my attention around this time: Gap Grass, and something called "Sage & Thyme Body Mist" by Bloom. (Do we see the groundwork being laid for my continuing adoration for grass and hay notes?) But I digress...the important news is...

Grass is back.

Happy Monday!

I'm very confused...

...and I know it's the weather.

I have a wedding to attend, and had planned out my scent choices months ago. After all, October in the midwest...pretty clear we can jump into autumn fragrances, right? And, good fortune, my friend the bride also has a fondness for grass & hay. (In her case, her preference is for the real life version, since she spent part of her childhood on a farm. She's not into perfume.) So, I was all thinking GREEN (Manuel Canovas Ballade Verte or HAY Fleur de Narcisse, or, if the weather got cold enough, Chergui.

Now, I've got hours to go, it's sunny and over 70 degrees, I'll not be wearing any sleeves after all, I want interest and mystery but not to overwhelm my fellow guests. We'll all be in the same room for the entire evening--ceremony and dinner/reception are in the same space. ZOIKS! I don't want Chanel (Bois des Iles, for example), because that seems a bit too...I don't know. It's not hitting me right. Gourmandy vanilla-y scents are out; I'm not part of the buffet. Challenging skank-o's are not generally on my list, anyway, but I've got nothing to prove.

I want warm grass and dry hay with a hint of earth and a touch of...not musk...what????? It might end up being Bois Blonde.....

UPDATE:
Vini, Scenti, Good Timini.... I solved my dilemma as follows: Ballade Verte went on the arms & neck after all. That was the perfume that started my grass/hay/green exploration last spring, and my first thought at the first spritz was that it would be good for my friend's wedding. Plus, she's also a dancer...Ballade...Verte.... Signs pointed to "wear."

But, for a little fun, I put a smidge of L'Ombre Fauve on the back of my hands. Bare arms and hands, but "gloved" with perfume...ah, a perfume geek's in-joke. Anyway, it worked well for me, and the ceremony was of course as fabulous and unique as the friends who got married.