A question for the perfumistas:

This is the fourth time I've received a Lutens sample that's smelled significantly different than previous ones (of the same scent). What's up?

Passion, Art

Caravaggio paints Bacchus (1593-1594). Reading about Caravaggio makes present day celebrity gossip (with a few exceptions) seem tame. He was a drunk and a murderer. But just look at some of his paintings, here. The passion is extraordinary. "Bacchus" is one of his quietest paintings.

Unlike many, he was famous and extremely influential during his lifetime, and almost entirely forgotten in the centuries after his death.

I re-read the opening verse of Petrarch's Canzioniere, below, a few times after I posted it. Thinking about the poetry, music and art of the past and comparing it, say, to a sitcom of life today, well. . .are our lives that pallid? I don't know who those people on television are, to tell you the truth, so I can't answer this question well. At random, I chose CBS's Gary Unmarried from their line-up as a comparison. Do you think this Gary character would write 366 sonnet verses to his girlfriend or wear a wreath of flowers around his head (without drinking a case of beer first)?

I certainly wouldn't want to live in the 15th century. I wouldn't have lived to the age of 12, due to my health, and as a woman, my life would have been more hellacious than the average man's. So, no, I'm not romanticizing the past. I'm just wondering why most of the arts have been so devoid of passion.

Wait just a minute. There's plenty of passion in music. Not in the "high arts", no, but I could go on for an hour listing the musicians who have poured out their souls. I do forget, as I go for long periods without listening to anything newer than the 17th century. . .and yesterday I was listening to a sample of latest from Trent Reznor and thinking he was maybe worth listening to again.

Awe

Roger van der Weyden's "Portrait of a Lady" (c.1455) has always been one of my favorite portraits.

I realize that not everyone appreciates painting of this sort. Though, I have to admit, I find it difficult to understand. Just the sheer workmanship is awe inspiring. But that's me.

I wish I could hop over to London right now, for there's an exhibition at the National Gallery of Art entitled Renaissance Faces.

In 1994, I purchased the book, "Giotto to Durer: Early Renaissance Painting in the National Gallery", a book that is now pretty dog-eared. It is one of the few art history books that has in-depth analysis of technique. The National Gallery in London was restoring a significant portion of their collection, which is reflected in this book. They used high-tech methods to unravel the mysteries of what mediums and methods these artists used.

In 2000, I went to London with another tattoo artist to work at a tattoo convention. We had a few days free to explore the city. I realized that the hotel we were at was only a few blocks from the National Gallery and I was excited to visit. I asked her if she'd like to come along. She had no interest. I found it astounding. Wasn't she an artist? I presume she found it equally astounding, judging from her reaction ("how boring!"), that I found anything of interest in such old art. She went to the Imax theater. I went to the National Gallery. I found myself sitting next to a woman from Japan, who was having the same response as I was - awe that brought tears to our eyes, and gratitude for the opportunity to see such glorious art in person.

As they say, to each his own.

Thank you to the people who voted for me to "keep on doing what I'm doing" in my poll.

Love in the 14th century

I found this portrait at this wonderful website. It is always a surprise to me when I discover a portrait that I haven't encountered before, as this is the genre that I have always found the most compelling. When I was young, I spent many hours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, looking at portraits, wondering just who these people were. I've also spent many an hour copying old portraits, trying to get into the mindset of the old masters, a tried and true learning technique that is probably scoffed at in art schools today.

In this painting, Agnolo Bronzino's "Laura Battiferri" (1555-60), Laura, herself a poet, holds open a page of Petrarch's Sonnets. From 1342-1347, Petrarch wrote 366 verses of the Canzioniere, dedicated to yet another Laura, Laura DeNoyes.

You who hear the sound, in scattered rhymes,
of those sighs on which I fed my heart,
in my first vagrant youthfulness,
when I was partly other than I am,

I hope to find pity, and forgiveness,
for all the modes in which I talk and weep,
between vain hope and vain sadness,
in those who understand love through its trials.

Yet I see clearly now I have become
an old tale amongst all these people, so that
it often makes me ashamed of myself;

and shame is the fruit of my vanities,
and remorse, and the clearest knowledge
of how the world's delight is a brief dream.

You can read and listen to all 366 sonnets here. I suspect they are infinitely more beautiful in Italian.

Luca Marenzio: Cruda amarilli (madrigal)

Luca Marenzio set poem #322 from the Canzioniere to music. To listen, go here.

It's 2009 and I've nothing to say about it

It's been a while since I've posted an entry. After seven months of blogging at least once a day, I seem to be devoid of any thoughts. I expect that will end in due time. Meanwhile, I'll leave you with three simple things; 16th century music and art, and the fact that Hanae Mori Pink Butterfly has been making me feel happy. I've been teasing myself for falling in love with this fragrance. It's sweet and if it weren't so good, I'd say this type of scent could be purchased at Bath and Body Works. But no, it's sweet without being cloying. It smells of vanilla, though it hasn't a bit of vanilla in it.

Lorenzo Lotto Portrait of Messer Marsilio and His Wife 1523

Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina

Palestrina : Motets, Book 5 : Salve Regina Chanticleer

Addendum: I do wish all of you a Happy New Year!

Every one of us is unique

I've been challenged to see that certain ideas I have about life are not universal. I've held a core belief that if you cut away all the baggage, we're all pretty much the same underneath. I don't want to give up this belief. It's been a big comfort to me. It has softened me, lead me to always try to scratch under the surface of others' actions to find what's good, even in the worst of times.

Here's the assumption that I'm looking at today: that in the face of death, people see the truth about life. I've always felt death challenged each of us to see what we're afraid of and of the ways we don't live and love fully.

The bitter makes the sweet so much sweeter. Or we say to ourselves, "Oh, why did I think so-ands-so's little quirk was so damned annoying. Big deal. I love him/her!"

But, no, this reaction to death is not universal. It's not as if I thought it was automatic; I think people need some prodding now and again (and that includes me). My last entry was an example of this.

I suggested saying "I love you" to someone whom you don't say it to. To me, death shows us that our fears, many of them, well, it's high time we threw them out the window. Life is too short to be ruled by anxieties about what others will think or the myriad insecurities that plague us. How many times have I heard a person say, "Oh, my father (mother, sister, brother, friend) died and I never once said I love you?" We carry grudges, resentments, and disappointments on our backs for years. Those burdens are hard to bear. They hurt us. They hurt others. Putting down that load is such a relief. Don't get me wrong - laying those burdens down is not easy. For some it may be. But for others, that burden, whatever it is, has become such a part of themselves that it's as hard to slough off as their very skin. And like skin, our burdens are often our protectors. Who wants to be exposed and vulnerable?

When my mother died, in the midst of my grief, I had such an epiphany of the beauty of life. In spite of the bleak depressions I suffer from, that epiphany never left me. Sometimes I think it has, but no, it never has. It has kept me alive, in fact.

Today I am very sad, very depressed. Some of this comes from wishing life was different than it is, at this very moment. That is what gets most of us into trouble, I think. My life is the way it is, right now, and right now, I can't do much about it. I ought to look at my cat more. Watch the birds. Have a talk with a friend. Be honest and not pretend things are different than they are. It's not the end of the world.

Painting note: Jacques-Louis David The Death of Marat 1793
To me, this has always been one of the most beautiful paintings of death. I'm sure, to many others, it's depressing. Well, as I wrote, each one of us is unique.

Happy Holidays

Hope you are having a wonderful holiday, whatever you are celebrating.

Please remember life is short. Anxieties keep us from so many things, like expressing our feelings openly. Say "I love you" to someone whom you never say it to.

With that, my Christmas lecture is over. To my loyal readers, hey, I love you. I mean it.

A bit of Handel's Messiah:

Paiting note:Lorenzo Lotto Madonna with John the Baptist and St. Sebastian 1522

A bit of pink history (warning: excessive unedited rambling ahead)

"When colors were first introduced to the nursery in the early part of the 20th century, pink was considered the more masculine hue, a pastel version of red. Blue, with its intimations of the Virgin Mary, constancy and faithfulness, was thought to be dainty. Why or when that switched is not clear, but as late as the 1930s a significant percentage of adults in one national survey held to that split."*

When I was in my twenties and having terrible migraines due to stress, I went to a psychologist who was obsessed with getting me to wear pink. How this would help my migraines was (and still is) beyond me. In spite of the fact that his office was but 20 minutes from New York City, then the capital of the all-black wearing world, this bit of style news had not reached Dr. I-forget-his-name. Besides his ridiculous assertion that my choice of wearing all black was an indicator of a morbid state of mind, I only remember a few things about this man, whom I saw once a week for a year. He hardly spoke, and spent a little too much time making distracting sucking noises and scrunching up his face. I just tried to make the same sound I remember, but wasn't able to do so. It sounded like he was trying to extract something stuck between his teeth. The strange movements of his mouth indicated to me that he may have been also trying to find that bit of something with his tongue. That, I can imitate, and the act of doing so makes me think of him. Seriously, I would have preferred he use a toothpick or excuse himself for a moment to go floss. But I suspect that there was nothing stuck between the good doctor's teeth. It was just a habitual act, and one I would imagine annoyed more than one patient.

Most of the sessions I had started with at least fifteen minutes of silence. He didn't believe in starting a conversation, even with the smallest of talk, such as "How are you?" No. He was most assuredly a tabula rasa kind of shrink. I knew nothing about him besides his propensity to make sucking sounds and the probable search for foreign objects in his mouth. He always wore a sharp looking suit and combed his jet black hair straight back, giving him more the look of a gangster than a psychologist. Maybe he led a double life. It never occurred to me until now, but I'd venture to guess he did not, and that I only suspect so because I watch the TV show Criminal Minds, which may lead me to believe any one of us is a potential serial killer.

For one year, I sat in near silence with this man. Finally, I decided to call it quits and he said, "Now you're ready to begin therapy. Would you like to start coming twice a week?" I had to laugh, for I then realized he was pretty much quoting the last line of Portnoy's Complaint. My answer to him was a definate "No thank you."

Besides his annoying sucking sounds, he really irked me with his pink-wearing prodding. I finally caved in and showed up one day wearing a dusty pink suit. I remember he thought this was some kind of breakthrough, though I'm thinking that was the day I started thinking I was wasting a good deal of money paying this silly man to badger me with gender stereotypes while I still continued to suffer from killer migraines. The suit did nothing to help my headache. It was ugly, unflattering, and a terribly dull, too pale shade of pink, a color which I've come to enjoy quite a bit, and not in the least because I've embraced my girly-girl side. There are pinks that are quite strong. It can be an intense color, unlike the insipid light pastels that grace many a baby girl's bedroom walls.

It's quite funny, thinking back, that I decided this fellow was completely useless as a therapist when I realized he couldn't see that my pink suit was just ugly. I have a vague recollection that I considered it a test of some sort. If he just approved of my ability to comply and nothing more, then I considered him a failure of a therapist. I had such odd notions about aesthetics; in truth they were terribly snotty and elitist. A person who couldn't judge the difference between shades of pink or see that I had intentionally worn something atrocious was not someone I could trust. I shouldn't have trusted him after the first fifty minutes of teeth sucking, but I was pretty insecure at the time, in spite of my snobbery.

I really was a jerk when I was young. I certainly can be a bore now, but I hope, at least, that I can recognize it when I am. Then, I did not, or when I did, I rather enjoyed myself. That kind of behavior is the behavior of the truly insecure, and I'm sometimes surprised to see it in people who are over thirty years of age. Snotty posturing is okay when you're in college or younger, but afterwards, well, one should really see a (good) shrink if you're still acting out of such insecurity.

I've seen quite a few terrible mental health professionals in my life, sad to say. At the age of fifteen, I was forced to see a therapist and this man gave me some of the craziest advice you can imagine. If it was today, he could be sued for telling a teenager what he did, which was "Go out and get laid. Smoke some pot like everyone else." Huh? Thankfully, he did not suggest I do this with him. And thankfully, if he had, I probably would have slapped him across the face. Yes, I've been known to do this, though it's been over ten years since the last time I've had the need. The last time, I felt awfully bad about it. I knocked the poor guy's glasses off, and that seemed far worse than a little slap for being a pig.

Please note that I'm not advocating hitting people. Diplomacy is the best option, but I think there must be something primal and old-fashioned in me that overrides my normal judgment when confronted with digusting commments made by men. And I fully admit to having a double standard. Women have made inappropriate lewd comments and such to me, and none of them got slapped. Maybe that's because they aren't as much of a physical threat. That's the only thing I can think of. Well, these days this stuff doesn't happen any more, so I don't have to torture myself thinking about it.

Phew. This is what came out of thinking about the color pink?

Here's a good place to stop and take a break. A cup of tea perhaps? The subject is about to change, not once, but twice. Two breaks may be in order. Or you can come back. One needn't read an entire entry in one sitting. You wouldn't eat an entire pie at once, would you? If you said, "oh sure I would!", then proceed. . .

Since I'm babbling and rambling, I might as well tell you about some of my day. I won a Christmas gift basket, which included a 22 pound turkey and all the food needed to cook up a feast for a family of six. I had forgotten I had bought a raffle ticket on Election Day. When I answered the phone and heard it was the woman from the Town Office, I thought, "Uh oh." I do owe some taxes. But no, I won the raffle. Now, I don't need a big turkey, but I suppose I could have used the rest of the groceries. I asked the woman if she knew of any families that were really in need that might be better recipients. She seemed surprised that I wasn't all excited about winning. I was surprised that I won something, no doubt, but it didn't seem right to accept it as there was a high probability that some family with children would appreciate it more than I. So, I asked her to please give it to someone else. I have to admit (do I really?) that I would have liked to personally deliver it, but that's really a selfish desire on my part. It doesn't take all that much largesse to give away an unexpected raffle prize. I do hope that it makes someone's holiday a little nicer.

On the perfume front, I discovered that I really miss having some Serge Lutens' Bois de Vanille. It's such a soothing scent, even if it smells pretty much like cotton candy (though I try to convince myself it's "a sophisticated cotton candy"). I keep thinking there must be a cheap-o perfume that smells like this, but I haven't found one. When I discovered that indeed there wasn't a drop left of the stuff, I decided to re-try Louve, and once again was taken with how truly ordinary this scent is. It's opening is overly sweet, even painfully so. Every time I've tried it, I recoil to the point of not being able to tell you (or understand myself) what in the world I am smelling. It's screams at me to close down my senses. What's truly strange is that less than a half an hour later it's so banal a scent that I don't even notice it. To me, it smells like talcum powder for tweens, a truly drug store perfume smell that I still can't identify. A hint of candied cherries? Oddly, I neither like or dislike it. That is the definition of banal, I suppose.

So, I crave the smell of sweet vanilla and turn once again to Hanae Mori's Butterfly, a truly unsubtle scent. But it satisfies my craving. It's like getting Edy's when I really want Haagen Daz iced cream. Or maybe not. I'm probably just trying too hard. And come to think of it, I keep dismissing the Hanae Mori scent, for no reason that I can think of. Maybe I still am a bit of a snotty elitist. No, the Hanae Mori is not as good as the Lutens' Vanille, but the Lutens Louve is a fairly wretched, pointless scent and I'm not constantly writing about how lousy it is. Poor me. I'm so positive that a Lutens is good, while something I can get at Macy's can't possibly be, that I am missing the fact that I've been enjoying Butterfly over and over again. I must give this some thought.

Well, my dear reader, if you've made it this far, you deserve some sort of award. For what, I'm not entirely sure. There were other things I meant to write about today, but it's been another weird day that feels like it's been a week long. So, I'll save whatever else I have to write for another time. Maybe next time, I'll be more terse. Lately, that's been almost impossible. I will end this entry here. Abruptly. There's no conclusion, for this entry is one big mess. I could delete it with one keystroke, but I won't. This big mess is rather like my life at the moment. Well. No wonder that's what I'm writing!

I just realized that the impetus for this entry was never even mentioned. I should have a good laugh at my expense. I stumbled upon a fun little thing called Instant Flowers, an on-line tool to create pretty somewhat cartoonish bouquets. It's quite a bit of fun. Unfortunately, their save-to-blog feature doesn't seen to work. I suggest giving it a try. It's a sweet, nice diversion.

Painting note: Henri Matisse Woman in Pink 1923 On my laptop screen, she looks like she's wearing coral. What do you see?

*I had read about this years ago, but don't remember the source. This quote is from Peggy Orenstein's New York Times article "What's Wrong With Cinderella?"

Clouded mind, snowy night

I just saw a photograph of two young boys on the blog of a person I do not know. There was something so charming about this photograph. I can't say what it was exactly. The happiness I saw in their eyes? Earlier this evening, I saw a photo of Dick's mother with one of her daughter-in-laws and grandchild. It was a beautiful picture, yet whatever meaning it had did not get through to my clouded mind.

I suppose I wasn't ready to let go of the clouds.

These strangers, two boys in Finland, woke me up. My thanks to Zen-The Possible Way for sharing a family portrait and some nice, simple words.

I had a strong urge to delete many of my recent posts. I've done this before and felt good about it. I felt much better after I took down my cranky posts about Sarah Palin.

Yet, this time, I'm leaving the evidence trail of my anger, hurt, fear and plain ol' crankiness. It's not truthful to my life or myself to only post about "the good things" or to only post about finding what's good within the bad. Anyway, judging "good or bad" is in itself problematic. I'm not talking about moral relativism here, but something far simpler - life itself.

Saying it doesn't hurt when one bangs a toe against a big stone would be a lie.

Life is filled with its ups, downs, pains, and joy (I take it you already knew this). Some call it the "great catastrophe." I love this phrase. Indeed, that's what it is. One big great wonderful mess. It it weren't, how boring it would be!

I'm sorry if I've been overly negative of late. Not remembering to post about the joys in the midst of pain is the fault, not the voicing of pain. But I'm human, you see, just like the rest of us.

Someone objected to my saying I felt rage the other day. Why should they object? I wasn't raging at that person in the least. But, I know anger can be scary. And I know that oftentimes people who identify strongly with belief systems that put a big emphasis on compassion and at-one-ness sometimes want to push away any negativity. Sheesh. I shouldn't just call out the self-consciously compassionate folks! We're all the same, even if we're different. (Wow, I'm just full of self-evident remarks this evening, aren't I? I blame the snowstorm.)

Getting back to the person who objected to my feelings, I was encouraged to find what was "underneath" my rage. Well, that was easy - it's called fear. But, I won't disown my anger or my fear. Even the Dalai Lama feels anger and fear. I'm sure he feels these feelings way less than the rest of us, but he suffers too, at times, from what we label "negative emotions." As he says, he is a "simple monk." I have to admit that I think he's a particularly special simple monk, but I think I get his point. He's human. We shouldn't forget that and think he is any "better" than the rest of us, no matter how much we respect him. He is not an idol, nor does he want to be idolized. But as usual, I digress.

Sometimes I think we should do away with naming emotions as negative or positive. They just are. Repressing ourselves, judging our feelings, in my opinion, can lead to them leaking out in ways that hurt ourselves and others. If I feel anger, which I certainly do, I try to say to myself, "I'm feeling angry. Hi anger! I recognize you."

But when I think, "Oh my. I'm feeling angry. How horrible! Go away!", I get into trouble. And I don't think I'm the only person who winds up suffering from this trap. Push away the negativity and it just keeps coming back. It wants some attention. Emotions are like little children. Ignore them and they'll eventually throw a temper tantrum.

All my anger wants is some acknowledgement and maybe a pat on the head.

Meanwhile, a storm is raging outside. It's -10 degrees and snowing hard. Earlier this evening, there was thunder, which is unnerving during a snowstorm. I have a doctor's appointment in the morning, which I may or may not be able to get to. I've been waiting for this appointment for weeks. I could worry about what'll happen in the morning, but I'll refrain. There will be shoveling to do, and I'll not be able to contribute to that chore. I could feel guilty about this, guilty enough to do it anyway, but with whatever is wrong with my back, shoveling is the last thing I should do. I will accept help and let myself sit in my warm house while others do the work. I will probably struggle with "negative emotions"; guilt, frustration with not being able to take care of my own chores, fear about whether I'll be able to shovel in the future, and self-doubt about my perceptions of pain.

Ah, life is complex. Yet, it's also so simple. We do what we can do. I wanted to write a happy, positive post. It seemed time. But I'm still pensive. Tonight, I'm affirming myself. I say "it's okay, whatever it is."

We can practice compassion, but I want to remind myself, and you, that compassion should also be extended to oneself. Okay folks, give yourselves a big hug. Or maybe we should have a virtual group hug. Aw shucks.

Painting note: Odd choice! I googled "exuberant painting." This, "The Death of Chatterton" (1856), by Henry Wallis, came up. I was most curious as to why. Here are some reactions to the original showing of this painting at the 1857 Art Treasures of the World Exhibition in Manchester, England: "Such was the clamour to see the The Death of Chatterton that it had to be protected at all times by two policemen. One viewer of the painting was so overcome by its rich detail and exuberant colours that she approached it, stating she wished only to straighten out Chatterton’s ruffled bedclothes." A letter published in the Manchester Guardian as the exhibition was closing said that the painting “tended to overawe and exalt the mind.” Wow. The kinds of art that get that type of attention nowadays are things like "Piss Christ."

Sunday school

Making a case against homosexuality by using the bible is ridiculous. I'm sorry, but if you're going to use the bible for justifying any opinions or behavior, please be consistent and follow all the laws. Who gave you the ability to cherry-pick God's word, anyway?

I presume you've forgotten the entirety of Leviticus, so here's a half dozen laws and punishments that you better get cracking on:

You shall not interpret omens or tell fortunes. (Lev.19:27)

A man or a woman who is a medium or a necromancer shall surely be put to death. They shall be stoned with stones. (Lev.20:27)

The land shall not be sold in perpetuity, for the land is mine. For you are strangers and sojourners with me. (Lev.25:23)

If a man lies sexually with a woman who is a slave, assigned to another man and not yet ransomed or given her freedom, a distinction shall be made. They shall not be put to death, because she was not free. (Lev.19:20)

You shall not sow your field with two kinds of seed, nor shall you wear a garment of cloth made of two kinds of material.(Lev.19:19)

And you shall not take a woman as a rival wife to her sister, uncovering her nakedness while her sister is still alive.(Lev.18:18)

Painting note:Rembrandt "The Angel Prevents the Sacrifice of Isaac" 1635
“Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I shall tell you.” (Genesis 21:2)

Abraham and Isaac - a whole 'nother kettle of fish. What would you have done?

Bob Dylan's brilliant version of this Biblical story:

My suggestion? Dispense with the invocation.

What with all the flap about Rick Warren being scheduled to give the opening invocation for Obama's inauguration, I keep asking myself "Why is there a invocation in the first place?"

I'm not happy with the pick of Warren, of course, as I disagree with his position on Prop 8 (amongst other things), but I believe having a benediction is the problem. There is no religious leader who would not bother somebody's sensibilities. This is a simple instance that proves that the separation of church and state should be taken seriously. How not to alienate groups of people? Leave religion out of it, as it should be.

Here's your Consitution factoid for the day:

Article I, Section II:
"Before he enter on the Execution of his Office, he shall take the following Oath or Affirmation:--"I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States."

Nowhere does it say that one must say "so help me God". Please note, also, that one can choose to either affirm or swear and that the "swearing" is not upon anything, or even to God. Article I, Section II is a purely secular statement. Read it as many times as you will; you will not find any religious promises in it anywhere.

Here's some quotes that I think are worth reading, though not specifically about the inaugural:

"[N]o religious Test shall ever be required as a Qualification to any Office or public Trust under the United States." Article VI, Clause 3 of the Constitution.

(The object of Article VI, Clause 3 was) "to cut off forever every pretense of any alliance between church and state in the national Government." U.S. Supreme Court Justice Joseph Story, Commentaries on the Constitution of the United States (1833).

And now, some words from former Presidents:

"The United States has adventured upon a great and noble experiment . . . of total separation of Church and State. . . . The offices of the Government are open alike to all. No tithes are levied to support an established Hierarchy, nor is the fallible judgment of man set up as the sure and infallible creed of faith. . . . Such is the great experiment which we have tried, and . . . our system of free government would be imperfect without it."-John Tyler

"The United States of America have exhibited, perhaps, the first example of governments erected on the simple principles of nature. . . . [In] the formation of the American governments . . . it will never be pretended that any persons employed in that service had interviews with the gods, or were in any degree under the influence of heaven. . . . These governments were contrived merely by the use of reason and the senses."-John Adams

More quotes here.
Large repository of first and secondary source materials on the separation of Church and State here.

Painting note: "General George Washington Resigning his Commission" John Trumbull 1824
"The citizens of the United States . . . have the right to applaud themselves for having given to mankind examples of an enlarged and liberal policy worthy of imitation. All possess alike liberty of conscience. . . . [T]he Government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance, requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens in giving it on all occasions their effectual support."-George Washington

Addendum: This wikipedia entry on the history of Presidential inaugurations is quite interesting. John Quincy Adams was sworn in on a book of U.S. law. That seems most appropriate to me.

The seven weird random things meme (skip to the rules if you don't care about scent)

Two days ago TMC tagged me for this meme. Okay, I wasn't up for it. First of all, I was feeling like crap physically (as if you didn't know that). But more importantly, Dick's mother passed away on Thursday evening. Blogging about anything seemed completely inappropriate, and even right now, not writing something meaningful about her or about the preciousness of our oh-so-short lives seems absurd. Yet, I think back to when a friend of mine's father died, and how we played Boggle for hours on end. A bit of fun is neccessary. Anyway, Dick's mother wouldn't have liked anyone sitting around moping.

I had a long blog entry that I was in the middle of when I heard the news. I just looked it over and decided, nah, I'm not posting that. It was too "heavy" (a word I detest, but I'm feeling lazy) I feel like writing, and I've little to say that isn't too personal. Yes, you heard correctly; I actually do think that some things are too personal to blog about.

Scent Interlude: Thank you, Serge Lutens, for Chypre Rouge. It has helped cheer me up in the last few days. Luca Turin says there's no such thing as aromatherapy, but I respectfully disagree. I found wearing this scent to be truly helpful when I was down. When I'd bring my wrist to my nose, I would have a moment of pure pleasure. Now, that's not what aromatherapy is "for", but I consider it excellent medicine if one can be transported out of oneself while in any sort of pain. I also disagree about Chypre Rouge itself. In the Guide, Chypre Rouge is described as a "disaster" and "reminds [one]. . .[some] smells in nature serve to repel rather than attract." I'd plead that my sense of smell is impaired, but I've liked Chypre Rouge since the first time I sniffed it. Unlike some, I don't care a whit if The Guide and I disagree. So, maybe my nose is untrained and stupid. It's not my job to sniff perfume, nor am I suggesting that you go out and buy or even try Chypre Rouge. I hear most people don't like it, actually. Dick seems to, but he also said something mysterious the other day about my smelling like something akin to manure. I wish I could remember what it was! Now, that's not something one wants others to think, is it? Great, a scent that smells like you've pooped your pants or smell like cow dung. Hey, there's Bulgari Black, which is meant to smell like a rubber fetishist's dream. Maybe there's a scent for coprophiliacs that I haven't heard of yet.

I'm sorry if I've offended anyone. I would imagine I have.

I don't think Chypre Rouge smells like manure. It smells, to me over-ripe fruit, honey, dates, prunes, a touch of desert sherry, a big pinch of curry garam masala (quite a specific mix of curry spices), and yes, a bit of flowery dirt. It smells like a freshly made fruitcake (which, while much maligned, can be wonderful). Perhaps it's not the scent of sherry, but of rum. My nose for alcohol isn't all that good. I've never had mead, which is honey wine. I'm now most curious.

Well, the scent interlude is over, and I have no idea what I came here to write about. Oh yes: Seven weird and random things about me.

The rules:

* link your original tagger(s) (done above, click on TMC), and list these rules on your blog.
* share seven facts about yourself in the post - some random, some weird.
* tag seven people at the end of your post by leaving their names and the links to their blogs.
* let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment on their blogs and/or twitter.

Okay, here they are (and I'm thinking, is there anything that isn't random and weird about me? And what, exactly, does "random" mean in this context?)

1. Number one has to be, at least tonight, the fact that I love Serge Lutens Chypre Rouge, even though it is supposed to be lousy.

2. Since I've already mentioned Bulgari Black (which is supposed to smell like rubber and talcum powder), I'll admit to owning a latex tank top. It's way too small for me now, though I haven't a clue where and when I'd wear it if it did fit.

3. I didn't learn how to drive until I was two weeks away from turning 30. I passed my road test on the first try. When the tester said I had passed, I gave the guy a kiss on the cheek. I am not a touchy-feely person, so it surprised me as much as it did him. So did my passing the test. I thought I'd fail, for I still hadn't mastered the art of parallel parking. But the little gods of motor vehicles was shining down on me that day as I slid the car oh so beautifully next to the curb.

4. My dream job is being a stand-up comedian (and having a talk show).

5. I bicycled 75-100 miles a day every day for two months when I was 15 years old and spent months in training. This isn't weird, but it sure doesn't sound like something the person who writes ths blog might do. I also wanted to race on a track, but that never wound up happening.

6. I was fascinated with doing standing broad jumps when I was a kid. It seemed amazing to me that one could actually go all that far without running first. I was terrified of high jumping for no apparent reason. I couldn't explain it and still can't. I would run up to the bar really fast and then stop dead. I failed gym when I was in the 8th grade and was grateful that you didn't get held back on account of that.

7. We had to wear gym uniforms at the Junior High School I went to. We had to put our names on the breast pocket, either by using a cloth name tag if we had one, embroidering it, or using a waterproof marker. I embroidered my name. That's not accurate: I embroidered a fake name. It was Gertrude Singer. I knew who Gertrude Stein was (though I'm not sure if I knew what she actually did) and liked her name, but I didn't want to steal it outright. I got in trouble for this bit of silliness and for the fact that I didn't wear white socks. I had taken my white gym socks and tie-dyed them just to be contrary. I suppose this may have contributed to my failing gym class.

Okay, that's that. Now I have to tag seven people to announce seven weird and/or random things about themselves.

I'm going to change things up somewhat. I'm not tagging anyone. I am, once again, asking those who never leave comments to finally just do it. I am also going to post this link on Twitter. So, you can leave your lists in the comments section, you untagged folks. If you have a long response, you can e-mail me (see my profile), and I'll give you your very own post. How's that for an offer? Somehow, I have a feeling that the response to this is going to be poor. C'mon you folks, prove me wrong!

You're it! And again, you know who you are. . .

If you do have a blog, link back. Otherwise, you could ask the next person you speak to "What's something weird about you?", but that might be a real conversation killer. I would imagine the response might be, "Um. Huh?" Then again, you might find out something really interesting. Don't forget to report your findings!

Painting note: Detail from a painting that you can learn more about here. I was too lazy to read the entire article or to look for something else. And no, it wasn't straightforward. Most odd.

Reason for the image? It's a conversation. I doubt any of us look like this, but if you do, please mention it in your "seven weird and random things about me meme".

"Never had my nails done. . ."

I'm coming late to this game. Lady Sovereign's "Love Me Or Hate Me" came out in 2006.

Not brilliant, no, but I gotta love this:

"I'm fat, I need a diet.
No, in fact I'm just too light
And I ain't got the biggest breast-s-s, but I write all the best disses.
I got hairy armpits, but I don't walk around like this.
I wear a big baggy t-shirt that hides that nasty shit.
Ugh!
Never had my nails done.
Bite them down until they're numb.
I'm the one with the non-existent bum,
Now I don't really give a....Ugh!
I'm missing my shepherd's pie
Like a high maintenance chick missin' her diamonds.
I'm missin' my clippers lighters.
Now bow down to your royal highness.
No I don't own a corgi,
Had a hamster, it died cause I ignored it.
Go on then, go on report me,
I'm English, try and deport me!"

Thanks, TMC, for the Lady Sovereign tip. Check out this week's Sing-Along Thursday with "A Little Bit of Shh" over at Return to Rural.

Open letter to doctors and the D.E.A.

Warning: If you are easily upset, worrisome, or offended, do not read this.

Dear Doctors in the U.S.A. and the Drug Enforcement Agency,

Please explain something to me. Why do you deny pain medication to people in pain? Yes, I know you are afraid we may become addicted. Let me ask you a question: SO WHAT?

Next week, I'm seeing a new doctor. I was told that their office doesn't prescribe pain medication. Think about that for a moment. Isn't that crazy? Well, it's not, because the DEA has made it very difficult for doctors to prescribe pain medication. My old doctor told me that this was a big problem. They have to register with the DEA. They have to report patients that they think may be misusing or selling their medication to others. Doctors did not set out in life to become cops. My old doctor hated being in this position. And most doctors feel the same, so that some have decided to opt out of prescribing pain medication entirely.

Honestly, until today, I thought the case for not prescribing because of addiction, at least, was a good one. I've changed my mind. Doctors tell patients not to worry about taking loads of medications for life. Pills for depression, anxiety, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, etc., ad infinitum. Well, if it's for life, how come that's not an addiction? Almost everything can be controlled to some extent through lifestyle changes, but no, only pain seems to be singled out for the big lecture. Listen, I used to do everything one is supposed to to manage pain. I meditate. I get enough rest. I used to do yoga and excercise. Why did I stop? Too much pain. I don't like not doing yoga and exercising. Did I choose that? No. So, you who judge, I'm sorry, but fuck you.

And what if it is an addiction? Is it wrong to want something to relieve pain? Let me tell you this: there's a doctor around these parts who does colonoscopies and he undermedicates his patients. I had a colonoscopy from this guy and I was screaming for mercy. You would, too. I met a few other people who'd had the same experience. What did the doctor say about this? "Well, if you have a high tolerance for pain medication, you'll have to withstand some pain."

Ah, now we're being punished! Like it isn't bad enough living with chronic pain. This is sadistic, truly.

Every day I have to think, "Can I tolerate this?" Okay, I have times when the pain is background noise. That's most of the time, and I can deal with it. But it isn't now, and if I want some relief, here's what I have to do: I have to go to an emergency room and make a fuss. I can't just state how I feel. I have to prove I'm not just a drug addict. The hospitals and doctors call people who do this chronically, "drug seekers." I'm wondering just how many of these people just might be people in pain. Not mental pain, but physical pain. We are not getting treated properly. Period. I read the boards on fibromyalgia and arthritis sites. Noone is being treated properly. I won't say it again, I promise.

Please, DEA people, why do you make such a problem for us? Don't you have better things to do, like keeping drug dealers from shooting people or something?

I'm spending my day trying to keep calm. Laying on heating pads, distracting myself. I can't concentrate much. I can't even knit, something I love doing. Writing seems possible, for some reason. Maybe that's 'cause there's already a dialogue in my mind. I dunno. I'm feeling kind of stupid today. Pain does that.

I'm really quite angry. I've been brainwashed, y'know. I used to take painkillers on a regular schedule and I stopped because I thought "I am a drug addict." Then I tried to get some help to deal with going off of them and coping with chronic pain, but I was laughed at! Really, my old doctor and another doctor thought it was a regular laugh riot that I thought I was a drug addict. I was told, "Do you realize just how much of that stuff other people take?!" So, I didn't get any help. I wound up faking that i took too much to get some help, but that wound up as a disaster, 'cause they put me on Seboxyn and it made me feel horrible. I wasn't a drug addict after all, 'cause if I was the Seboxyn would have worked. It didn't.

So, I screwed myself royally. Now I'm on the drug seekers list. I am pissed off. No, I'm enraged.

I'll admit I tried some marijuana the other day. Y'know, all these people in pain use pot to help them out, so I figured I'd try it. It sure didn't work for me. I suspected as much, but I had to try. It made it worse, far worse. Everything that's background noise came screaming to the fore. What kind of pot do you folks who smoke medical marijuana smoke??!! I'm not sure I believe you.

Why the hell are drugs illegal anyway? Could someone please explain this one to me? Isn't it a social problem? Didn't prohibition prove that prohibiting substances only turns people into criminals and increase crime? You think people would be shooting each other in the streets if it weren't for illegal drugs? It's totally ridiculous.

It's about morals. I don't recall any passage in the bible that said "thou shall not take an opiate but thou can take a tylenol, which is far worse for your health and causes liver damage."

And lastly, people show up at doctors like Kevorkian's doors because they can't stand the pain. So, it's better to kill yourself than get some pain relief?

This society is insane. I'm sorry. I'm angry. I'm really, really angry.

Image note: American Opium Smokers-Interior of a New York Opium Den," drawn by J. W. Alexander from Harper's Weekly, 1881. Is this what people are afraid of? For your edification, most people who are in pain will have more energy to do things, not less, if properly medicated. I'd sure get up from my heating pads if I was. I recall two summers ago I could do gardening. Last summer, I could not. So, you tell me which is more "moral."

I know I'm a practicing Buddhist, but sometimes one has to speak truth to power, and that might entail some cursing. Cursing, I believe, is not breaking any vows. If I'm wrong, tell me.

The smell of fire

Christopher Brosius did make a scent called "Roast Beef." However, according to him, he never meant to sell any.

On the other hand, this year you can get your meat-loving friends the new Burger King Flame body spray. You must click the link. It's very funny. If Burger King wanted to generate some attention in this lousy economic market, they've done a fine job. Hey, now I'm curious. For four bucks, I'm dying to know what it smells like: "Behold the scent of seduction, with a hint of flame-broiled meat."

I must confess that I love the smell of meat cooking over a wood fire. I love the smell of burning wood, too. I have a small bottle of fragrance oil called "woodsmoke." I don't really need it, since I've got a woodstove burning constantly during the winter. During the summer, we do barbecue a lot, always with wood.

I love the smell of burnt things. That doesn't include plastic, which I accidentally lit on fire last week when I was steaming some broccoli. That smell permeated the house for a day. But the smell of burnt leaves, paper and most anything natural is just lovely. I may also like it overmuch because of childhood memories. It's odd, out of a tragedy comes a love for the smell of fire. My parent's gallery burnt down in one of the biggest fires in Long Island, New York history. After the fire was out (a week later), my father put everything that was salvageable into our basement. I don't know why we kept it all. It was rather creepy, some of it. There was more than one sculpture of a human being that had become half a body. The figurative paintings were quite macabre with all their melted paint. A lot of the stuff was much more interesting melted.

I like fire. I don't like it if someone gets hurt or loses their house (just wanted to make sure you understand that!) Everyone loves fires in a fireplace, don't they? Many years ago, when I lived in New York City, there was a huge fire on Broadway in a huge old warehouse. It was unusually cold out and the water that hit the building was freezing. It was an incredible sight: flames bursting from windows and gigantic icicles forming below them. It seemed unbelievable that it was even possible. It felt hot, standing across the street watching; those icicles seemed to defy the power of the flames.

I'm not a firebug. There were plenty of people watching this fire. It was extraordinary and noone was in the building, so one could watch guilt-free.

Well, all that on account of Burger King's "fragrance." Don't forget to click the link. It is a hoot!

Photo note: "Crisp Fire Safety is here to help you to meet your Fire Safety obligations."

Addendum: I had said to myself "don't write." Eh. My writing is not up to snuff, but it makes me feel better. Fire deserves a more well-crafted piece of writing than this one. Another time, perhaps.

Music soothes the savage something or other

Bach's Christmas Oratorio is not considered one of Bach's better works. I love it. It never fails to make me feel happy. Bittergrace Notes gave me the gift of music today, and now I return the favor. Sorry, video embedding of John Eliot Gardiner and the Monteverdi choir is not allowed. But you can listen:

Painting note: Domenico Ghirlandaio
Madonna and Child Enthroned between Angels and Saints 1496

Tuesday

I'm not sure what they're doing in this picture. It didn't work,so they don't do it anymore. What does work?

You'd think with all the drugs on the market for depression, that something would work. But most people I've known with intractable depression have had little relief from their meds.

Today, I give up. Maybe I need one of the outdated methods shown in that picture. A good session of hair pulling? Hey, maybe it works.

Ripoff update

I got a response from the Maine Governor's Office on Energy. Word to everyone who lives in Maine: You are not protected from price gouging.

The only protected customers are those who receive governmental assistance for heating costs. And here, the protection is only this: If you are out of the fuel needed to heat your house, a company must deliver to you. The company has a right to charge whatever they want.

I received a reply from "my" government saying "I understand your frustration." Oh sure. I am not frustrated, sir, I am angry.

Easy instructions for a post-apocalyptic scarf or shawl

Buy some 100% wool in a plain weave. A yard is 36 inches long. I'd recommend buying two yards for a shawl. Fabric is sold in 45 or 60 inch widths. Wool is often sold in the wider width. So, you can buy a yard, cut it in half, and sew the two ends together. Don't worry if your sewing is awful; it'll add to the post-apocalytpic look.

How to dye your wool: You don't need to bother with "real dye". After the apocalypse, that stuff will be hard to get anyway. I recommend using tea bags or coffee grounds. If you have a black walnut tree or know where one is, collect some black walnuts. It makes fantastic dye.

Fill a big pot with water, throw in your teabags, coffee grounds or black walnuts (or any combination of the three). Put about 1/4 cup of vinegar in the water if you think you'll need to wash your scarf/shawl often. That'll help keep the color. I don't bother with this, myself, because I find that the vinegar smell is hard to get rid of. I'm not overly fond of it. Others are.

If you want your scarf/shawl to have variations in color, don't stir the pot. Simmer for at least 20 minutes. Leave it in all day. Your choice. Use a wooden spoon to lift the cloth out of the water to see how it's coming along.

If you want no variation in color, you need to keep the cloth moving. But really, it's much prettier with some variation. Don't worry, it's not going to look like tie dye or anything 'cause this stuff will dye it a beautiful sepia color.

There you have it - the uber-hip post-apocalyptic shawl. Hang it on an empty white wall and call it art if you feel like it.

Image note: This is what "plain weave" looks like.

Important note about wool and shrinking: Wool shrinks on account of agitation and changes in water temperature. So, if you are stirring your post, be gentle. And do not rinse your shawl in water that is a different temp than the dye pot, if you want to rinse it. The easiest method for making sure that a dye pot and a rinse pot are the same temps is to use two pots. Put them both on the stove at the same time, with the same amount of water in them. So, when you lift out your finished dyed cloth, you then put it in the other pot. Let is sit there until the water cools off and drain. Do not agitate, wring, or otherwise disturb your fabric or it will shrink.