Ah! Rose and Blond Tobacco, truly a match made in heaven. Rose brings Blond Tobacco out of himself. A hand in glove match. And a warmer couple you could never meet! Masculine and feminine personified. Rose the ultimate in receptive, needing only the tenderest touch of warmth to bring forth her beauty. Blond Tobacco is mellow and deep, warm and quiet, with a smile that would light the heart of many a thousand people. Well, Blond Tobacco's first impression of Rose was as he was approaching the house where the three sisters lived. He couldn't help but notice the wonderful aroma that wafted passed him. Somebody was cooking! He could smell fragrant spices, onion, tomato, ginger, garlic corriander spice, fresh ginger, chilies and paprika, caramelized, dark and sweet. Blond Tobacco's mouth began to water even though he wasn't hungry. Rose had been standing facing the large black stove at the far side of the room. Already she was smiling broadly and walking to greet Blond Tobacco and his brother with her hand extended.
That was it for Blond Tobacco, love at first sight! And as for Rose she basked in his love and opened her petals to full bloom and her heart to him.
First there were three old brothers, Oakmoss, Cepes and Blond Tobacco...in a new perfume I matched them up with three spinster sisters. This is the story of how the second pair of lovers met...
Lavender and Oakmoss met each other as a direct result of our first couple, Ylang Ylang and Cepes getting together.
Oakmoss will never forget the day he met Lavender. It was his brother Cepes birthday, the three brothers were at the local bar celebrating. Ylang Ylang arrived with her sister Lavender. Lavender didn't like pubs, but Ylang Ylang was very persuasive and Lavender said she would go but she promised herself she would avert her eyes from the dirty ashtrays and the horrible scum around the swill sink. The one thing she couldn't avert her eyes from was the man who was seated to the left of Cepes. His eyes were dark green, almost brown and his hair was thick and pure white. Oakmoss remembers how Lavenders cool hands refreshed him and how her pale blue eyes soothed him. When Lavender sat down beside Oakmoss she felt like she never wanted to leave his side. Oakmoss had such a strong manly smell, no aftershave, just 100% pure man.
Once upon a time there were three old brothers, Oakmoss, Cepes and Blond Tobacco...in a perfume I am calling "match made in heaven" I teamed them up with three spinster sisters.
The first couple to get together are Cepes and Ylang Ylang, the youngest brother and youngest sister. This is the story of how they met.
Cepes was out walking, he likes the rain as we know (well he likes a bit of a soft mist if the truth be known) but on this day there was a downpour, a deluge, and he stood in under a linden tree to get some shelter. Ylang Ylang was standing under that very same tree. Cepes had in his bag, as was his habit, a most delicious sandwich and the smell of the bread Cepes had baked that morning was floating into the air. Ylang Ylang (who wasn't in the least shy) said "that's a lovely smell of fresh bread I am getting from your bag"! Cepes, being an absolute sweetheart as usual, smiled and offered Ylang Ylang half of his sandwich. Together they ate, while the rain still came pouring down. Eventually the rain eased off, but not before the trees' canopy had started to leak. Huge drops of water showered down on top of them. Cepes removed his big woollen overcoat and threw it over both of their heads. Soaked to the skin they began to walk in the direction of Ylang Ylang's home, where she lived with her two grown up sisters...Lavender and Rose.
A Match Made In Heaven
I have found three spinster sisters for the three brothers.
Ylang Ylang is the youngest of the three sisters. She is thoughtful, independent and yet very feminine, she likes writing and keeps a daily journal. She is tall and thin and wears her brown hair tied back. She smells sexy and warm. She wears soft colors and cashmere sweaters
Rose is the eldest sister, she is old fashioned and loves to cook, Rose never wears trousers. She likes reading, embroidery and flower arranging. Rose smells very feminine and has a full figure and dark thick hair.
Lavender, the middle sister, is blond haired and blue eyed, she looks like her mother. She smells of fresh soap and water and is *always* spring cleaning. She loves the color blue and her hands are always lovely and cool. Lavender wears white blouses with crisply ironed collars.
Now to try the match making.
I think that Ylang Ylang would best suit the youngest brother Cepes, he likes cooking, she doesn't, she knows how to occupy herself while he goes on his long walks.
I think that Rose, the eldest sister will best suit Blond tobacco, Rose can cook amazing meals while her husband reads and smokes his pipe.
I think that Oakmoss and Lavender would be a great match. Lavender can help Oakmoss clean up his act a little and she will be well able for his strong personality.
I have been exploring my essences again today. I am holding in my hand 3 scent strips. The first is cepes, the next is blond tobacco and the third is oakmoss. I am calling them The Three Brothers... well The Three *Old* Brothers actually. Cepes is the youngest and sweetest brother, he loves cooking and baking bread. Cepes smells of yeast and mushrooms. He is bearded and wears a long woollen overcoat and likes walking in the rain.
The second brother is Blond Tobacco, he is quiet, aloof and likes to read. He wears a tweed cap and smokes a pipe.
The third and eldest brother is Oakmoss, he is also the strongest of the three, he is white haired and wears neither a cap nor overcoat, even on the coldest winters day. He wears a woollen sweater and a shirt, during summer and winter and usually a light jacket.
None of the brothers are fond of bathing, and instead they like to have a wash at the sink with some plain soap and water.
I like these old boys, Oakmoss in particular reminds me of my own father.
Part III of our story. Characters are Cassie, Fr Amber Labdanum, Frankincense (Cassie's Father) and Neroli (Cassie's Mother). The characters in the story are based on natural essences, their personalities constructed around the notes of the essences they represent. How they relate represents how they various essences would go together if their notes were to mingle. Cassie is a young woman who lives alone, her father has just died and her friendship with the parish priest gets a bit "hot under the collar". We also find out more about Cassie's mother.
Fr Labdanum knocks on the front door of Cassie Lights house. He stands there for a minute or two. When nobody comes to the door he takes a couple of steps to the left and tries to see through the lace curtains. He can’t see any sign of life. He thinks for a moment and then he remembers the day Frankincense died and he was standing there waiting for Cassie to return with the front door key. Where did she go, he wonders.
He goes over to the tall black gate at the side of the house. He puts his hand through the small opening and slides the bolt open easily.
The back garden is cloaked in sunlight and as Fr Labdanum emerges from the passageway he has to shield his eyes so that he can see. He spots the black wrought iron fire escape and he looks up and notices a door at the top which is open. He can hear music. "White Ladder" by David Gray floats down to meet him as he climbs up the steps.
Fr. Amber Labdanum is in his early 30’s and despite his standing in the priesthood he still enjoys listening to contemporary music.
He coughs when he reaches the door and he gives a gentle tap.
He looks inside and he sees Cassie, with her back to him. She is standing at a small table that is strewn with wild flowers and what look like long trailing vines of dark green ivy. She is swaying her hips and her shoulders in time to the song while she is doing something with her hands. “This years lovin’ better last, heaven knows it’s high time…”
“Cassie” Fr Labdanum calls. Cassie turns and smiles when she see him standing there.
An hour passes and the pair are still talking. Cassie’s beautiful wild flower arrangement is on the table and the room is filled with fragrance of wild irises and meadowsweet. Fr Labdanum is leaning back on the sofa, comfortable, with one leg thrown up across his thigh. Cassie is sitting on the footstool opposite him with her knees drawn up close to her chest. She is leaning towards him.
“I don’t remember your mother” Fr labdanum says, “It was only yourself and Frank were here when I came to the parish. Do you know much about her?” he asks Cassie gently. Cassie gets up and goes to her bedside locker. She takes a small photo frame and comes back and sits beside Fr Labdanum on the sofa. She holds the photo frame up so that he can see it and strokes the glass with her thumb to clean away some dust. “This is my mother” Cassie says “Her name was Neroli. Wasn’t she beautiful?”
Cassie looks into Fr Labdanum’s face, taking in his expression as he looks at the photo. Fr Labdanum looks at the faded picture of a young woman who is sitting under a canopy of trees, she is wearing a white dress and a floppy summer hat. She is smiling. “You are the image of her” Fr Labdanum says to Cassie.
“She died the day I was born” Cassie explains, “my father stopped speaking when she died. My Aunt raised me on a farm in Wicklow and she passed away when I was 17. There was no where else for me to go so I came back home. My father brought me up here to this part of the house. He showed me where I could cook my food and where I could sleep, I had some money from my Aunt which kept me going until I got a job.”
“My Aunt told me about my mother”, Cassie continued, “she told me that she had a beautiful singing voice and that she was a wonderful dancer. She told me that my mother was delicate from the time she was born and that she was too frail for this world”. Cassie gets up again and puts the photo frame back on her bedside table. She takes her yellow dress from the wardrobe and holds it up against her to show the priest. “When my father gave me this dress he spoke the only words he ever said to me. "Wear this and you may visit me every Sunday at noon'”. Cassie looks at Father Labdanum, his expression reflects the sadness she feels. She looks down at the yellow fabric of the dress, “It was my mothers dress” she says, and she tries to smile, but instead her eyes well up with tears and a lump forms in her throat. Fr Labdanum gets up from where he is sitting, he goes to Cassie and puts his arms out to her. She walks into him and he holds her. With her head pressed against his chest she cries. Fr Labdanum strokes her soft hair. Slowly, Cassie feels the tears subside. She notices the coarse wool of Fr Labdanum's black tunic and she smells the warm churchy incense from his clothes mixing with the deep musky smell of his skin.
Cassie lifts her head, there is a moment when they both know that they should pull away. Instead Fr Labdanum looks down into Cassie’s face. Her skin is shiny from tears and her cheeks are flushed pink. He takes a deep breath full of longing and Cassie stands on her tip toes and kisses him softly on his lips. She kisses him again and again and he cannot resist her. He can smell her skin like soft flowers and he is unable to think. He kisses her and soon the two of them are pulling at each others clothes and their breaths are hot and heavy.
Cassie takes Fr Labdanum to her bed, and he tells her to call him Amber. They make love tenderly and hopelessly until the place is in darkness.
She never really looks forward to her stoic visits to her father, but it's the only day she is permitted to see the old man at all and so she has learned to make the most of it. Her father is able-bodied enough but he employs a home help who comes in three times a week to do his shopping, washing and cleaning.
Frank is well equipped to light the fire himself every evening and cook simple meals.
Cassie lies in bed for a few minutes before getting up to do her yoga stretches. Then she washes at her washbasin and puts on her yellow woolen dress. The material is scratchy against her bare arms but on this cold February morning she is glad of its warmth.
She sits down at her small table and looks out at the tops of the trees as she eats her breakfast. A bowl of museli pre-soaked in almond milk topped with some freshly sliced banana and drizzled with organic honey. She chews every mouthful well as she calmly contemplates her surroundings.
There is a gentle hush in the air. It's unusual enough that the birds are not chirping away outside but even more unusual is the tiny robin that alights on the window ledge and presses his soft brown head against the glass. Cassie goes to open the window and the robin flies away and lands on the nearest branch, his head cocks to one side and then the other as if he is searching Cassie's face for some sort of explanation. Cassie laughs and leaves the window a little open as she goes to check the time.
At 3 minutes to 12.00 Cassie leaves her upstairs sanctuary. By 1 minute to 12.00 she is standing on her Fathers doorstep waiting to ring the doorbell. Her queue is sound of the bells of St Patrick’s church.
It's always the same. She could count her heartbeats until she hears the creaking of the door of the front room opening and the sound of Frank’s slippers shuffling along the tiles of the hall.
Something is wrong. After one heartbeat too many Cassie knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that something is gravely amiss.
She goes to the front window and her heart is in her mouth. She presses her face up to the glass to see if she can make out anything through the thick lace curtain. She can see shadows. She can see the large form of her father sitting in his chair by the fireplace. His head is slumped to one side.
Cassie reacts and bangs on the window loudly with her knuckles. The hairs are standing up on the back of her neck. She presses her face closer to see if there is any movement. There is none.
She looks up and down the avenue. The last few mass goers are trailing behind late for 12 o’ clock service. In shock Cassie runs to the end of the avenue through the silver church gates and into the churchyard. She hurries over to the open doors of the chapel and as she approaches she can hear the choir singing “Hosanna In Excelsis ".
Mass is over. Cassie is in a daze. She walks to the altar and enters the sacristy at the side. Father Ladanum is disrobing and has his back turned. "Father" Cassie calls him softly. "Excuse me?"
Father Labdanum turns and looks at her. His dark eyes are deep and warm and Cassie feels her knees going weak. The priest rushes forward to take her arm and leads her to the nearby chair. He sees how pale and shaken she is. He bends down on his haunches and looks into her face. He strokes her hair back and tilts his head to one side as if to listen. She can see his black priest’s shirt and collar underneath the white robe that is partially open at the front. She can smell the anointing oils mingled with the musky smell of his skin.
"It's my Father." Cassie says quietly "I think something is wrong with him."
"You're Cassie Light aren't you?" the priest asks.
Cassie nods her head.
"Where is your Father?" he asks her.
"He didn't come to the door”, she answers as if in a trance, “my Sunday visit, he didn't come to the door, he always does. I can see in through the window and I can see he is there in his chair. He's not moving. His head is crooked, oh my god, my father, I have to get back to him"
Cassie rambles, her words are tumbling out of her mouth and fear grips her heart as she suddenly feels she has to go back.
She gets up to leave.
'I'll come with you" Father Labdanum says.
"Have you a key for the house?"
A light went on in Cassie's head and she feels stupid for not remembering sooner. There is a key to the front door in her mother's china trinket box on the bookcase beside her bed.
Father Labdanum waits by the front door while Cassie gets the key. His presence is strong and comforting as Cassie opens the door and enters the house.
Frankincense is dead. They find him as they expected to, sitting in his chair in front of the fireplace. His feet are positioned perfectly. Cassie goes to straighten his head and finds that she cannot. He is stone cold.
Frankincense is cremated. His ashes are sprinkled in Galway bay. The funeral is small. Cassie meets some old relatives who are very sorry for her loss. They go back to the house after the service and drink tea in the front room. Father Labdanum is there too. When everybody is gone he asks Cassie if she is all right and then he leaves too. Cassie stares at her father’s chair. She closes her eyes and the air smells as if he is still here. The silence tells her nothing has changed. She sits in her chair by the window. She cries and nobody hears.
To becontinued soon: Find out about Cassie’s past, her mother, the secret behind her Fathers strange behavior and Cassie and Father Labdanum get closer.
Labdanum from Cistus landaniferus: Labdanum comes from the natural exudation of the plant Cistus landaniferus which is a small shrub growing wild in countries of the Mediterranean and the middle east. It grows well near the sea. The Labdanum gum or resinous material is further extracted by solvents to form an absolute. The absolute is commonly used in as a fixative in perfumes of the amber classification. Stefan Arctander says of Labdanum Resin Absolute on P 333 of Perfume and Flavor Materials of Natural Origin: “The odor of labdanum is sweet, herbaceous-balsamic, somewhat ambra-like and slightly animalic, rich and tenacious.”
Nutmeg was only four years old the first time I ever saw her. She was holding her mothers hand in the supermarket and throwing a huge strop. Her head was thrown back with her bright red pig tails shaking. Her mouth was wide open as she projected her wail all around her. "She has some set of pipes on her" my mother said to Nutmegs mother. Nutmegs face was bright red and almost matched her hair. She was pulling her mothers hand and arm downwards as she sunk her center of gravity onto the floor, requiring her mother to literally drag her along. Nutmeg wailed louder as her mother pulled her through the checkout and while her hand was freed for a moment she threw herself down on the floor and rolled around in a fit.
I found it highly amusing and I grinned and stood on my tip toes so that I could see over the counter to where Nutmeg was flailing wildly.
I remembered her when I saw her the next time which was about a year later at my first day at school. She had started too and was in my class. She was incredibly pretty I noticed even though I was only 5 and a half. Her hair was braided into two plaits that were like polished red gold. Her eyes were a burnt umber with curious wiggles and squiggles of a lighter brown. She had a few small freckles on her nose and a precious gap between her front teeth.
I wanted to sit beside her. There was something about her. Something that said to me in my childs mind that nothing could possibly go wrong when she is near me.
Nutmeg absolute goes well with sandalwood, vetivert, clary sage, oakmoss, lavender absolute, tonka absolute, labdanum, bergamot, patchouli, geranium, jasmine and rose.
12:34 - Hasn't changed, Reminds me of hyacinth or wild bluebells, sweet heavy floral, very slightly spicy, conjures up a deep yellow colour.
12:40 - No real change, the oily fatty note has lifted and the spicy note is more to the front. Very like hyacinth but with a unique exotic quality. Sweet spicy heavy indolic floral.
12:50 - Deep creamy and rich, a heavy floral, with spice undertones, really hasn't changed much at all.
13:31 - Still hasn't changed much, is a little lighter and creamier.
I imagine amazing things would happen with sandalwood, cinnamon, or nutmeg
Michelia Champaca
Michelia.She doesn't think her name suits her.
Since childhood she wished she was named Constanza after the wife of Wolfgang Mozart. Michelia was born into a working class family. Her parents often wondered if she was even related to them at all. She loved refinement in all things and now that she is an adult she is still the same. She adopted a rather posh accent when she was growing up that nobody could ever really place. She tells people that she speaks the 'Queen's English'. She likes to wear tweeds, ruffled collars and Italian shoes. The way she walks, it looks as though she attended deportment classes. Her parents always embarrassed her. From the age of ten she used to tell people that she was adopted. Michelia is tall for a woman, her shoulders broad and her feet large. She often wishes that she had a small dainty figure, but she makes the most of what she has. She is always impeccably dressed from top to toe. To work she wears two piece woolens in demure colours with sensible shoes and rolls her long brown hair into a gentle knot at the nape of her neck.
Michelia is a passionate woman deep down but no man has ever known that side of her. She fantisizes about being swept off her feet by a Graduate of Oxford University.
The one thing about Michelia is that she is always the same. Some folks call her passive aggressive. Really she is a gentle, pleasant modest young woman with a lot of hidden fire that may never be discovered. She comes across as heavy and a little serious and for that reason she doesn't have a whole lot of friends.
Michelia has had wonderful musical talent, since childhood, and her parents wondered where that came from too because neither of them had the slightest interest. She wrote her own songs and the tunes she plays are often sad and lonely. She also loves to paint, especially with oils and it is on her canvases that her wildness displays itself. The colours she loves most are ambers, bronzes, coppers, deep yellows, dark reds and golds.
She plays classical music and in her tiny studio at her home and frees herself from cares to express her inner most passions with paint.
First the evaluation ~ then the personality. Here are some words that come to mind: light, resinous, sweet, anise or liquorice, many layers. It sort of makes my tongue tingle when I smell it. As it dries out it becomes softer and sweeter with a syrupy balsamic glow.
----------------------------- It's like smelling my childhood. Like taking deep breaths of sweet memory.
-----------------------------
What a boy. I remember Opoponax.
He was the boy with the sallow skin who was tall for his age. He was confident and self assured without seeming big-headed. We never spoke to each other but I would hear him talking with his friends.
His voice was sweet and soft and he was able to make people laugh. He was the peacemaker, the boy who would validate and then help to make light of a heavy situation.
In school he carried in his pocket a small brown paper bag of 'bulls eyes' and he would share them with anybody who looked a bit down. He was larger than life and he commanded respect wherever he went. In his teens he became fond of the taste of fine liqueurs and cigars. One time, I heard, he saved for a year so that he could afford a full box of Monte Christo cigars.
He drove a white MG convertible in his final year at college, and would fly past, like a cliché with the wind in his long dark hair.
He was a 'dream boat'....
Note: after I wrote this I checked in my copy of Perfume and Flavor Materials of Natural Origin by Steffen Arctander. .. I always check it after and evaluation to test my olfactory skills.
He says of opoponax oil: "The oil is occasionally used used in liqueur flavors for for its heavy-sweet body and wine-like notes, spiciness and naturalness." P.472
