Compromise

You know how to whistle? No, I’m not going to get into that. My point her is a compromise in a relationship.

Whistling was something my wife didn’t like. There was some history I never figured out but anyone whistling would set her off.

I never thought that I was whistling. I was never much of a pucker up and blow whistler. I normally whistle through my teeth but it is not very loud.

After seeing her reaction to our neighbor’s whistling, I decided to stop the habit. It was a minor compromise.

Now I notice the habit that I never knew I had is coming back. Pushing my cart through the store or even sitting on my bike, I whistle along with the song in my head. It is not really a whistle, more like a low volume hum. I just dance around humming or whistling along to these songs that I hear over the Muzak or whatever pops into my head. Who needs headphones when you are blessed with a jukebox between your ears?

Breeding

Breeding as defined is: 1. One's line of descent; ancestry: a person of noble breeding. 2. Training in the proper forms of social and personal conduct. 3. Production of offspring or young. 4. The propagation of animals or plants.

I sort of understand a farm breeding livestock and I sort of understand the production of offspring, but I guess I don’t understand it well it enough. For I never thought marriage was the legal requirement for breeding.

I understand the science of breeding plants to produce stronger more resilient strain, but I am curious about taking an animal that we either kill and eat or cherish as our favorite companions and force them into copulating.

Now as a normal human male, I don’t need to be forced into the act, but to have a farm for breeding? Is that called prostitution? And those farms that can extend the stock yet inbreeding takes place and the breed is compromised. Perhaps that is my problem?

Then on the other side of this propagating process, there is the breeding of humans.

If you are worth some large sum of cash or have a prominent family name, you can be classified as ‘well bred’. Does that mean when you mom and dad got to breeding, you were going to come out better than everyone else?  Of course human breeding takes some time and work and lessons on what fork to use or how to tie a bow tie. I guess good genes and checking the ancestry bloodline adds to the prestige of being ‘well bred’.

Now I just have to find my pedigree papers.

Just When I thought Things Couldn’t Get Any Worse

I don’t normally get on a soapbox but this picture overwhelmed me and I must reply to it. After viewing this picture I am appalled that I am a member of the human race. Sad to be a member of the same human race that would allow this to happen.

Well I am sorry but us human beings are a poor excuse for what is called ‘higher intelligence’. We make laws and set down rules that are proclaiming us as moral but deep down we know better. When the law is disobeyed, we revert to our basic animal instinct.

Let me rephrase that. Animals would not behave this badly.

Few things really tick me off, but when I saw the photo below I got ticked. I can’t do anything about it. It is a custom that has lasted for years, like Christmas but in a bloody way.

Now I’m not so naïve to believe the hamburger I had for dinner did not come from that moo-moo who is always trying to get me to eat more chicken. I know the cow is fattened up to be trucked to a plant where they are slaughtered, drained, stripped, sliced and diced for the meaty menu but we avoid the image of it. We, the humans, have some sort of device in our brain that separates the image of the pastoral farm with happy animals to the bloody plate of dead meat.

I am also aware that the fur collar came from the back of someone and that leather chair used to be someone’s skin. Being the master race we seem to have learned how to excise our power over those less fortunate to not have oppositional and appositional thumbs.

We use the rest of our Garden of Eden to harness the rest of the population to be our slaves. They carry and pull our burdens without choice. We ride them and beat them to go faster. We invite some of them into our homes as pets and the ones we don’t like we hunt. Thought we are totally outnumbered these companions of the planet never have the ability to comprehend what is happening to them. As we raise them for substance or rampage their communities or ravage their homes, they just seek shelter and quiet until our madness stops.

I don’t understand bullfights or any other ‘entertainment’ where I species torture another species to death. I even avoid horse races for humanity reasons.

While I know there is a dark side to all of us and put under certain circumstances we react in the most violent ways, whether trained by video games or just a deep down human emotion, I cannot understand the picture below. I can feel nothing but contempt for those who perform this act and even more for those who stood and watched.

It is the least I can do to write about this but it has been weighing on me for several days and all I can do is let it out. In a world where we slaughter one another over faith, this just seemed like such a waste. Is this why we were placed on this planet?

Again I will warn you this is a horrible photo. Do not scroll down if you think you could be offended as I was.

I do not have any foundation or organization or political platform here to offer, just a stomach churning reaction at our brutal condition.

Again I warn any viewer this is a awful picture. Do not view unless you are ready.

NSFW WARNING

I did not take this photo. It was presented on Huffington Post. Please reply to them on the content.

Last warning.










What have we become?

Butchers in Pakistan publicly slaughter a camel to celebrate the second day of the Eid al-Adha festival.

The Muslim "Festival of Sacrifice" marks the end of the Hajj pilgrimage commemorate the Prophet Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son.

Why Does She Still Do That?

Typical day, except maybe it wasn’t. After a late night of football it was noon before I woke up. A cup of coffee and classical Christmas tunes while I defogged on the computer screen. Checking the radar there was still time for a shower before my venture out.

With a break in the rain, I pull the pony out and buckle up. It is still very warm but a very grey dreary day. Timely weather for today’s anniversary.

There is not much traffic out. What traffic there is has to avoid the FedEx and UPS trucks zooming around the neighborhood placing those packages too heavy for Santa. Mounds of wet slick leaves block my usual path and clog up gutters forming huge lakes in the road.

Stopping at the entrance of the shopping mall I see where everyone is. A steady stream of cars, SUVs, trucks, min-van all searching for a spot to fill. With excellent examples of bad driving it seems I have more to dodge than natures ice and speeding elves. Safely finding my spot I notice everyone, and I do mean everyone, is going to the grocery store. They must have gotten the same memo.

Without finding a small cart, I pull out one of the battleship models and shove my way into the fray. Why didn’t I just turn around and avoid this mess? This is the Christmas spirit and I must dip my toe in. Besides, I want to get something for lunch. There are young people and old people and couples and packs of folk all checking their list then checking it twice to make sure they get all ingredients for that family recipe with rice. Every aisle is blocked with panicked shoppers but I got time so I just stroll through wherever I can find a path. All the little bumper cars were wheeling around and even a guy with a white cane.

It gives me joy to not be stressed this time of year. My biggest concern is where can I find rolls for the hamburgers I’m going to have for lunch. So I ponder the news of the day.

What is all the concern about Rootin’ Tootin’ Putin releasing member of a punk rock band? No one ever heard about Pussy Riot before all the fuss. Maybe because the Pussy Riot band are females? Maybe because the female Pussy Riot members are cute? Maybe because reporters can say Pussy?

And what is this about sending Marines to Africa to rescue Americans who are living where civility is breaking down. Why do they only send 150? They used to say a company or a squad or a division? Is that how many the government has to spare? Why are they coming from Spain? And why are they bringing Ospreys? I thought they had stopped using or making those planes/copters things? What about Marines to Chicago?

Crashing back into reality as the couple in front of me stop to discuss their list. Do they know they are holding up the flow and rhythm of the season shopping? Just back this super size wired pushcart around and head in another direction. The mustard aisle seems very popular so I’ll go over to the bakery. Seems a couple with a overflowing cart had to barricade the bread as they wandered off to view the produce or something. With no regard to this lack of proper cart etiquette, I moved on again. Should I bury a whole onion or should I try to climb over this woman’s cart to get one that is already sliced? Should I avoid the burger idea and just get another pizza like last night and the night before. Pussy. It is fun to say.

Do these people know this is my only venture out of the house with no real binding agenda? Does the woman who blocks the aisle next to the tacky Christmas decoration like she needs one more bobble or ribbon know that I don’t care? What about the health care law? I don’t care. What about the 1% pay raises for government officials? I don’t care. What about gun control? I don’t care. What about war? As long as I’m not getting bombed, I don’t care. What about….. Oh, I forgot mayonnaise. This wagon needs a warning bell to turn around so I don’t knock over any of those who were lucky enough to get those little scooter carts.

Finally the mood of the season was warring thin and my tummy was starting to growl. I shoved my almost empty wired companion into the paying line and waited my turn. The sky had gotten darker but checking the passing cars they did not have their wipers on. Are wipers becoming obsolete, as I have read? I don’t care.  I thought I had chosen the shorter line but it was not moving. The woman in front of me had successful emptied her cart and placed rubber barriers on both sides but everyone was just standing around. The guy in front of her was just standing there smiling. The check out attendant was smiling. It was if we were waiting for something or someone. There was no rush or hurried expressions. Just this silly smiling while other lanes was moving the product.

They finally found and scanned the last item and we were on the path of leaving this gaiety of gluttonous consumption. Packing up to the sound of a trumpeter, the parking lot was still a mass of incoming and outgoing vehicles. It was time to get back home.

After my lunch of burgers with red onion, mustard, mayo and bread and butter pickles and watching old television shows, I went out to pick up the mail. That’s when I saw it.

On the front bench next to the mailbox was a box with a card in a plastic bag. I knew what it was but I don’t know why it is there. I looked around at my neighbor’s porches but did not see similar packages, but it was late and they may have already been collect.

The box contained a card wishing me a happy holiday from the lady who lives behind me and her son and two dogs. The box also contains a homemade coffee cake covered in a sugar glaze.

Last year I put the cake out for the yard critters. I decided they would do better on the sugar rush and I would. They seemed to enjoy it. A few years ago I delivered the holiday cake to a snowed in mother.

It is a nice surprise but I don’t know why she continues to do it? I don’t even know her name.

It Would Have Been Thirty Years

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Fortunately holidays fall on the same date every year. It may be a different day of the week, but it will be the same date. Unfortunately, there are some dates that also come close to these holidays.

Thirty years ago, we checked into a hotel that is now closed, went up to our suite which was substituted for my reservation by the hotel without an additional cost, got dressed up, walked down the street and got married. Nothing fancy. A justice of the peace and his wife with an inflatable Santa as a witness welcomed us out of the cold. Sign a couple pieces of paper and hand over some bucks, say a few words and get a photo. Plain and simple, just the way I like it. Probably thirty minutes to last what would have been thirty years.

It may not have been a necessary marriage or even an extemporary marriage. Like any relationships there were the ups and downs and plenty of surprises.

This woman was like no other that I had ever known. After three years of living together my proposal was, “We are pretty good at this.” She didn’t know anything about me and I didn’t know anything about her, but we knew each other together.

The wall built around our marriage not only kept everyone else out but also kept the amazing happenings within. I had no idea what I was getting into but it was an interesting adventure.

So babe, tonight I will open a bottle of wine and pour two glasses. Happy Anniversary.

How do you make the holiday special when everyday is Christmas?

A few years ago I had the rare opportunity to discover what I had bought through the years. It surprised me that I had tried to purchase happiness, but isn’t that the definition for ‘Christmas’.

One day a year we consume in excess to bring joy to others. My father was the boss of this holiday. For days after ‘Christmas’ every kid would talk about his or her new train set or scooter or baseball mitt or doll Santa had placed under the tree.

After the tree was taken down and all the wrapping paper and decorations put away, we would start making a list of things to tell Santa to bring to us next year. Flamed by advertising, consumption was our fix.

As I look at the commercials trying to entice the last few dollars to be separated from your wallet before Wednesday, I think back at the trouble of purchasing ‘Christmas’ presents. The holiday that I normally had to work would start with the usual fare of coffee and opening presents under the tree. The tree got smaller and less decorated with additional critters in the house.

There were always the typical gifts of sweaters or gloves or some sort of jewelry but the necessities were already purchased. Even special items had been bought without any consultation. Since there was only the two of us there wasn’t much struggle on figuring out what to buy. Mostly it was already bought.

Every week I gave her some amount of money to purchase whatever was needed to provide joy to her life. Sometimes it was enough and sometime more was requested. I did not ask why the purchase was made for it made her happy. It would amaze me the degrees of shopping adventures she would take and the bounty of her treasures.

So when the holiday came around, what was I to do? She had everything or at least for the moment had no unusual wants or needs, at least on that day. One year I did get away with a diamond, as a surprise only to find out it was the wrong kind. Years later I attempted to redeem myself and I think I accomplished my goal. They are all now in the ocean.

Providing ‘Christmas’ everyday was easier for me rather than trying to decipher the array of interest from animals, plants, sewing, cooking, artwork, weaving, videos, books…. The list goes on and on. Maybe not the most practical or economical method of satisfying a continuous interest, but it sure made life interesting.

And what do I want for ‘Christmas’? I was given several gifts that I knew what the meaning was but were not what I would have preferred. I have learned over the years to accept with grace.

This year I’ve already completed the ‘Christmas’ treat so the day will come and the day will go. The neighbor’s decorations will be taken down and we will settle into winter. Not even the rising of the Cary Street ball, that won’t happen this year, could change the inevitable.

With all the postings on social media or the carols or the cartoons and cards, there will be no ‘Christmas’ this year.

Shalimar

There are lots of fragrances out there and every celebrity has one, but for me it is “Shalimar”.

Shalimar is a women’s fragrance originally created by Jacques Guerlain in 1921 as a classic soft amber (Oriental) parfum, and currently produced by Guerlain.

History

Popular for 90 years, Shalimar was created in 1921 and re-released in 1925 in a bottle designed by Raymond Guerlain and made by Cristalleries de Baccarat (bottle design # 597) and launched at the Decorative Arts Exhibition as an antidote to The Great Depression.

According to Elisabeth Barille, “while examining a sample of vanillin, Jacques Guerlain suddenly poured the entire contents into a nearby bottle of Jicky, just to see what would happen.” The result: Shalimar.

Jacques Guerlain was inspired by Mumtaz Mahal, the woman for whom the Taj Mahal was built.

Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan’s love for Mumtaz Mahal, his favourite wife, was so great that he built her the Garden of Shalimar in Lahore, Pakistan (and indeed, the Taj Mahal).

The meaning of the word Shalimar remains a mystery, but it is certainly of Arab or Persian origin as asserted by Anna Suvorova in her book Lahore: Topophilia of Space and Place.

In 1985, it was repackaged and presented encased in a Lucite box to commemorate the 60th anniversary of its original launch.

In 2004, Guerlain issued Shalimar Light by perfumer Mathilde Laurent. However, Shalimar Light was taken off the market and replaced by Eau de Shalimar in 2008.

Shalimar itself is currently produced in Shalimar Extract, Eau de Parfum, Eau de Toilette, Eau de Cologne, and Fleur de Shalimar Edition.

Guerlain also markets Shalimar Parfum Initial, which has a different formula, color and fragrance than Shalimar.

Shalimar is preserved in its original 1925 formulation in the archives of the Osmothèque, donated by Jean-Paul Guerlain.

Scent

The fragrance can be described as vanilla, powdery, and sweet. The fragrance contains bergamot, lemon, jasmine, rose, iris, incense, opopanax, tonka bean, and vanilla. It is considered to be an Oriental perfume (see Fragrance Wheel); spicy perfumes were popular during Shalimar’s conception. The top note of the fragrance is bergamot. The middle notes are iris and opopanax. The base note is vanilla.

Marketing

Over the years, Shalimar has had numerous ad campaigns.

In the 1950s, the illustrations created for Shalimar and other Guerlain perfumes, for the classic French advertising posters of the era, were some of the greatest works by the major illustrators of the day, such as Lyse Darcy, Cassandre, and so on.

I was never a big scent person. Yes, guys get a line of smelly stuff too. I started getting those little bottles when I was first starting to shave, around middle school. It was also the time dating started coming.

My father used Old Spice for all his shaving products, so I guess I just picked up that scent. It was (and is) manly and every guy splashed it on. We cut our pimpled faces with Gillette blades then washed the blood down with an alcohol follow-up.

By the time I was in high school, pharmaceutical companies realized a growing market, so new bottles and brands started appearing on the shelves of drug store. Marketing with cowboys and sailors and even ninjas, guys started to buy all these brands and really smelled up the place.

The ladies had the tradition of liquid perfumes for years. Department store had entire counters to present that special scent to announce a lady entering a room before she got there. There was one store that even had a fountain the ladies to dip into to dab before they shopped.

Perfume or fragrances were always a sure thing to give at Christmas. If the aroma appealed to the receiver there would probably be a kiss to the giver. The problem was these little bottles were expensive.

My mother had a special area with these tiny bottles with colored water. I thought they stank. I never saw her use them. I think when we cleaned out her house I threw them away and each bottle was still full. Like I said, I was never a scent guy.

Today there are balms and rubs and powders and all sorts of concoctions to make a person not smell like a person. You can tell at those Christmas parties when a room full of people all wearing a different scent, the marketing must be working. It can make your eyes water. And some people must really have a body odor problem because is smells as if they are bathing in the fragrance.

So getting back to the original subject, why do I like Shalimar? I don’t remember where I bought the first bottle, but the young lady enjoyed it and I enjoyed the young lady. It became our scent.

I gave the same brand to other ladies but it always reminded me of a previous time and a previous person (don’t tell them). I found a bottle in the house when I was cleaning up my wife’s toiletries but could not throw it out. I took the gold bottle out to my studio during the clean up and it has been sitting there.

Yesterday, I sprayed the room with Shalimar, just as if it were an air freshener. It brought a smile to my face. By the way, a little goes a long way. This morning when I went out to get my bike out of the studio, the yard smelled like Shalimar. (Place smile here)

And just as a follow up, that young lady I bought the first bottle for had lunch with me the other day. It was a pleasant reunion and ended gracefully. She wore Shalimar.