I am planning to keep Scent Diary going in all of 2018, even if it’s a curt, “Monday I wore X, Tuesday I wore Y, Wednesday the calves got out and I wore Z,” sort of thing.
My father-in-law used to say, “There ain’t nothin’ better than a good cow dog. And there ain’t nothin’ worse than a bad one.” Unfortunately, Hunter is . . . well, honest truth is he’s bad.
Photo stolen from Circle L Stock Dogs, which apparently breeds and trains good ones.
BTDubs, the calves did get out last Friday. Bookworm was going out to her car to leave for work (she leaves around 7:20 for an 8 a.m. start, earlier than everybody else) and came rushing back to the house to exclaim that calves were in the yard — not in the shop lot, or the road, the yard of the house, i.e., inside Hunter’s Invisible Fence bailiwick which he polices with some diligence, running at the fence to scare cows away from it because they are Big and Scary and Might Hurt Mommy. So of course the dog was out for his morning constitutional when the calves managed to knock the gate from the Pond Field off its hinges and get into the shop lot, from which it’s a simple 20 yards into the yard when the shop/yard gate is open. So there were these seven confused yearling calves wandering around, and Hunter trying to herd them, and poor Bookworm trying to leave on time for work. Not that Hunter has the least idea how to herd, just (apparently) a strong instinct. And, of course, The CEO was in the shower and couldn’t help at that particular moment.
Hunter did manage to sort of round most of them up and then Taz was able to direct them back into the shop lot, because usually when cattle are being driven, they see an open gate or a break in a fence and they make for it, trying to get away from whatever’s behind them in a desperate HE MIGHT BE A PREDATOR OH LOOK A NEW FIELD WE’LL LOSE HIM IN THERE! herd mentality. Bookworm used her mad cattle-rounding skillz to direct them into the shop lot and closed that gate, then closed the gate from the lot into the road, leaving the shop lot/yard gate for Taz and me.
At this point, The CEO was hastily drying off and struggling into clothes, and Taz and I discovered that Hunter had penned one straggler into the corner of the yard farthest from the gate we wanted him to go through, and while I was trying to calm the dog down, the calf panicked and jumped over the fence into the 20-Acre Field, at first entangling his feet and then managing to get loose without hurting himself (whew). Hunter, deprived of animals to herd, was so flipped out that he raced around the yard for the next ten minutes, barking, “And stay out! You heard me! That’s your side of the fence, this is mine!”
As it turns out, that straggler that wound up in the wrong field was scheduled to be moved into that group anyway — and didn’t break his leg. Bookworm was not late for work and Taz was not late for school, and Hunter didn’t get kicked senseless, so all’s well that ends well. Shame I didn’t get any pictures.
Monday, Dec. 4: Nice-ish weather, in the upper 50s F, and not too cloudy. I am still missing what I think of as “regular December weather,” which would be a good 15 to 20 degrees cooler. Still, I got some things done: tiny strand of lights amongst the Nativity figures, some grocery and Christmas shopping, some writing, the big closet cleaned out, and firestarters made.
The Friday community project at Now Smell This this week is to wear something with patchouli. Now, y’all know me and patch are not friends. Most of the time, that is. I have identified some instances in which I don’t hate it (usually, that’s when it is really aged enough to smell herbal and mellow rather than oily and dusty). Today I’m wearing the pretty floral chypre Leonard de Leonard, which has a strong component of green, almost floral-sweet, aged patchouli. Shame this one is long gone, because it was nice. Think of a Paloma Picasso without fangs!
Tuesday, Dec. 5: Weather the same temp as yesterday, but cloudier. I hear we’re supposed to get some snow soon and I am so excited! YAAAAYYY! (Shhh, I hope The CEO didn’t hear me say that, he hates snow.) Made some more firestarters this morning and have now used up my supply of cardboard egg cartons, as my local store has started using, ick, styrofoam packaging. Oh well.
SOTD is the voluptuous Maison Francis Kurkdjian Lumiere Noire pour femme, which Denyse Beaulieu of Grain de Musc calls a “bodice-ripper of a rose.” Also noticeable in it are narcissus and a metric ton of patchouli, again the mellow aged kind I like and not the oily-dusty-abandoned-attic kind that gives me the willies.
Wednesday, Dec. 6: Errands. And Christmas crafting. And laundry. Bleagh.
SOTD was that rosy chypre bombshell L’Arte di Gucci. Yaaaaas. Gosh, L’Arte is just so so good. Sometimes I think I prefer the similar Lumiere Noire, and then I wear L’Arte again and it knocks me for a loop all over again. Such a diva.
Thursday, Dec. 7: I dragged another chunk o’ Christmas decor out of the attic: baskets, tins, linens, the stars that go with the Nativity set and the Christmas village, the Christmas books, the framed holiday art. (Still up there: artificial garland, lights, wreaths, my nutcracker collection and all the Christmas dishes and mugs. That’s a lot of work still to be done.)
My wrists this morning smelled so fabulous that I was stunned. It was, of course, the far far drydown of L’Arte di Gucci (how? I have scent-eating skin! I put on one spray of L’Arte yesterday MORNING), absolutely fabulous, and so I respritzed after my shower.
After last week’s disastrous community chorus rehearsal, it was reassuring to have a good one. Concerts are this coming Sunday and Monday.
Friday, Dec. 8: We had blowing snow this morning that did not stick around, but it was exciting to finally have some seasonally appropriate weather. I am sorta kinda participating in the NST community project by wearing the not-patchouli* Le Labo Patchouli 24, which smells like the 1860-built smokehouse behind my grandparents’ house. It’s interesting . . . but not patchouli.
* Basically, if Le Labo names the fragrance after a raw material, that’s not what it’s going to smell like. Rose 31 smells like patchouli. So does Iris 39. Tubereuse 40 smells like a citrus cologne. Fleurs d’Oranger 27 smells like orange baby aspirin. Benjoin 19 smells like amber instead of benzoin. Current hipster obsession Santal 33 smells of cedar and synthetic “woods.” The exception seems to be Aldehyde 44, which does smell like aldehydes, and which they have discontinued. Man, I hate everything about Le Labo.
Saturday, Dec. 9: Woke up to snow!
It didn’t last. By 2 pm it was melting off, but it was lovely. We cleaned house and decorated it, except for the tree, because The CEO says there’s a shortage of cut trees in the area and he doesn’t want to get one too soon anyway. Which is fine. The Nativity set and snow village have been up since last week; the garland is on the porch and the big wreath up in the 2nd story window. Stockings are hung on the banister (our mantel is in the basement family room). Nutcrackers are standing on the piano. SOTD was Organza Indecence, which I thought would be a nice spicy-vanilla to go with the cloved oranges on the hall table. However, the dusty patchouli in it, which usually sits at a level juuuust under my Ugh-o-meter, pushed the needle into the red and bugged me all day.
Sunday, Dec. 10: All during December, our church holds services at a local church building in the evening. It’s designed to give volunteers a break from setting up and tearing down (chairs, sound system, music stuff, children’s ministry room), and I get that, but I am not a fan. Sure, it’s nice to be in somebody’s Christmas-decorated sanctuary without having to move chairs for a change, but I kinda hate waiting until evening. And it often conflicts with programs or concerts being held on Sunday evenings, so that’s another reason.
This afternoon was the first of two Christmas concerts by my community chorus. The Sunday concert is usually held at the Presbyterian church in Pulaski, which has lovely high ceilings and mellow wood-paneled walls, and is an acoustical sweet spot, a really gorgeous place for a choir concert. Everything went very well today, except for the oboe soloist. (I don’t play anything woodwind, so I don’t really get it — but saxophone/clarinet player Bookworm and music educator Mom think the oboe itself was not properly warmed up, or perhaps kept warm. Shrug. It was the lone discordance in an otherwise good concert.)
SOTD was a tiny dab of Donna Karan Black Cashmere on the back of my hand, clean stony incense with benzoin. Mmm.