domesticat.net - Much ado about the usual nothing.

Remember me? I live here

domesticat — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 03:21:35 +0000

It has been a hectic few months. Travel enough and you have this constant, vague sense of displacement; wake up, and you wonder for a moment, where am I today? You are frequently a timezone ahead, or a flight behind, or some combination of the two, and every hotel room has an alarm clock that works in a slightly different way.

I am trying to get back into the rhythm of life-at-home. I am trying to learn to pace myself on weekdays, to leave time for therapy and other things, and to cook mightily on weekends. A couple of crockpots full of food on a weekend makes a much saner week.

I am — solitary, these days. I am aware that I really need to get out, maybe work from a coffeeshop for a half day or so, maybe see a movie on a weekend, but the truth is that I've had so few home hours in the past month or so that I'm just not ready to emerge yet. I know I should suggest to Jeff that he get out of the house, even if I'm not ready to just yet.

It's funny, I read quilt blogs and I have such an envy of many of those people. They seem to have such time. My catchphrase for my co-workers sums it up nicely: "Who buys the cat food?" Meaning, if you're spending all these hours on work or other duties, where does the time come for these other things?

I did take a weekend of serious selfishness after my week in Boston. I took the Acela Express from Boston to New York, where Colter met me at Penn Station. I then went headfirst into the New York theater scene for a weekend, seeing Wicked, War Horse, Book of Mormon, and Godspell within a 48-hour period. I don't know if art and culture feeds all souls, but it feeds mine.

I remember sitting down to my sewing machine a week ago and feeling like I needed to introduce myself to it. Remember me? I live here … sometimes.

I am aware that the Traveling Laptop Show is not done yet. I have a bit of a break until March, when I'll head west for a conference, and then I will need to make some decisions. I have the possibility of a once-in-a-lifetime trip in the August / September time frame, but I am hesitant to commit to it and need more time to think.

I think that with some time at home, I will feel more grounded, more capable of considering such a mammoth undertaking. Today, tomorrow, the day after — these days are all too soon for such thoughts. I have not one, but two partially-unpacked suitcases in the guest room right now (one from Florida, and one from Boston / New York) that need tending and unpacking. It seems folly to contemplate more travel when I am not yet fully unpacked from my last two trips.

For now, though, I'm home. I'm working, a seam at a time, on getting Mitzvah ready to go off to the quilter's. I'm working on learning this new job. I'm trying to teach the cats that they need to let me work in peace during the day.

I am aware that what is happening to me is deeper than a traveling schedule. It is, on some levels, a fundamental shift of self. Jeff's accident shattered both of our lives, and fourteen months later, I'm only just now beginning to reassess the broken pieces. I don't really know what I can make of it yet, because I barely even know what I have to work with at this time.

Add in a change of employment, and that changes your life's focus as well as your social structure. Let's be honest, we spend as much time with our co-workers, day-to-day, as we do with our spouses and families. Combine personal and professional upheaval and the end result is almost unrecognizable.

It bears little resemblance to the panicked, spousal-warrior life I was leading in various ICUs in January and February 2011, and almost no resemblance to the life I had, pre-accident.

The sense of displacement probably goes further than jet lag, but it's a convenient excuse.

In time, it will all become routine, right?

Mitzvah

domesticat — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 21:34:33 +0000

Date:

15 August 2011

Photoset:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/domesticat/sets/72157628780181157

Recipient:

Mellbergs

Pattern:

Double wedding ring

Level of completion:

Sewing (under 50% completed)

Stick with me here. You'll read the first few paragraphs here and wonder how in the world this is going to have a happy ending, but … it does. I promise.

* * *

I have struggled to name this quilt, as well as to write about it. It goes without saying that 2011, thanks to Jeff's accident, was … hell, let's pick a few adjectives:

painful
life-changing (and not in a good way)
unforgettable
humbling
brutal
exhausting

Let's just go with those to start. Mix in that as Jeff's survival became assured, and his return to (first) consciousness and (second) independence became more apparent, it became harder to write about what was going on in my life. Jeff and I were always private people, and every time I started to write about his recovery from my perspective, I realized I just couldn't talk about it to the Internets At Large. He wasn't able to speak for himself, to say what he was, and wasn't, okay with me discussing, so I shut up and stayed shut.

I think I can say this about 2011: after having lived through it, I will rip the fucking throat out of anyone who ever again dares say to me, "Whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger."

No, it doesn't.

If it's bad enough, it cripples you emotionally, shatters your ability to cope, makes you fearful to reach out to your friends Yet Another Time because you know you are the person who needs more help than any single person can provide …

… and you learn to get by with less, or nothing, because you have no other choice. (Sheer stubborn endurance is not automatically equal to positivity. Sorry, self-help industry. Find another sucker.)

I came out of 2011 with an unhealthy dose of resentment, but I also came out of it with a bright spot. I started 2011 with a spouse barely clinging to life in the second of two ICUs, and I remembered one thing a nurse told me in the first ICU:

"This is either gonna be really short, or really long. You need to prepare for both possibilities, because no outcome is guaranteed."

Meaning: injuries like Jeff's don't have quick recoveries. They can have quick deaths, but any potential recovery from a near-fatal brain injury is measured in years, not days or weeks. (Also, for those of you who weren't there at the time, it's the only time in my life I've known anyone to celebrate moving TO the trauma ICU … because it was a step up from the neurological ICU.)

About six months in, it became harder to ask people for help. I had drawn down so deeply on my friend reserves, I was past "favors owed me" or "favors easily paid back" to … "how the hell do I ever start paying back what I've already asked for, much less what I'll need in the next few months?"

The funny thing? Some people stick around. Having survived 2011, I can also say this: if you are ever in a position like the one we were in, you will NEVER be able to predict who turns out to be a long-haul friend. Sure, you can point to your bestie-since-pigtails and guess that one, but there will be some Someones in your life who just won't disappear, and who they are will surprise you.

They'll be the ones who have the uncanniest timing, who will call you on the day that you simply cannot handle the six most recent One More Things™ that have just been thrown at you, and say, "We were wondering if you had eaten dinner yet. We have extra, and would like to bring it over." At that point you do NOT cry with relief, but you put a smile in your voice and say, "That would be wonderful, thank you."

— and you totally don't mention it's the first hot meal you'll have had in a few days. Because you've got PRIDE, buddy. It may not keep you warm at night but it WILL get you through the next thirty minutes.

… and these people, whom you didn't know at all before the accident? They keep calling. Not all the time, but just enough to know that you're on their radar, and they remember that life didn't magically go back to normal just because Jeff was released from a rehab hospital. When he's not strong enough to travel, they bring food to you; when he is, they invite you to come visit them and eat there, at a table, like you remember civilized humans doing, once.

It's enough to remind you, yes even cynical you, that there really is a LOT of goodness in people, if you make it possible for them to show it.

So what do you do if, on one of those invited dinners, this person who has fed you repeatedly over the past year comments on the quilt you're binding and says, "You know, my mother started working on a quilt for me before she died. I'm not sure how far she got. I'm curious now, so let me pull down the bag…"

This is what we call in Amy-land a CELESTIAL HINT.

So let's recap.

Worst year of my life to date? Check.
Chatting with a person who has been unexpectedly, repeatedly, and frequently generous to us during said year? Check.
Said person lost a parent years ago, before that parent had completed an instance of a craft that I just happen to know how to do, in a pattern that I've done a few times before? Check.

Hello, universe, I'm Amy, and I'm still taking hints here.

Of course I asked if I could finish it out for her, precisely because she was the kind of person who would never, ever ask if I could. Her genuine intention was so plainly obvious: to show the fabric to someone who understood, and then to pack it away for that Someday that would come after her two boys were grown and her job was calmer — that magical Someday in which she would learn how to finish the quilt her mom had started for her.

Jacob likes to tease me sometimes about my complete and utter soft-heartedness that can be found underneath my cynicism. He jokes that I am rescuing orphans from the Island of Misfit Quilts, one at a time, and setting their worlds right: fixing them, finishing them, and putting them in the hands of people who will love and use them.

It's silly, and I laugh about it, but he's right. I do it for that very reason; I grew up with these items being both useful and treasured possessions, and I derive a massive sense of satisfaction in seeing each of these orphans to their forever homes.

Here's everything you need to know about me, in a nutshell: massively overcommitted, massively overwhelmed, but I looked at this fabric and the story behind it and I could. not. say. no. The thought of this fabric getting put back in its little bag and packed away for another decade, until another appropriate conversation happened, just saddened me.

So I cut the little arc pieces, and I bribed Hallie, who was interested in picking up some simple sewing jobs, to do some of the straight-line sewing, to get them to about this point:

She completed a large swath of the arcs, and returned them to me, neatly packaged, awaiting me to have the time and brain capacity to work on this quilt.

In that time, I've struggled to name this quilt. I don't even know the name of the woman who started it; I know that she named her daughter Jennifer, and her daughter turned out to be a generous and decent human being, and that's about the extent of it. It's hard to name a quilt when you know so little about it. I know that Jennifer chooses to live her religion, rather than speak about it, and I found myself thinking about words that had to do with the intersection of memory, duty, and religion.

The Greek word for memory, anamnesis, stuck with me a long time. It plays a subtle and important role in Christianity; in liturgy, worshippers are encouraged to remember, starting with Jesus' instructions during the Last Supper: τοῦτο ποιεῖτε εἰς τὴν ἐμὴν ἀνάμνησιν. Do this in memory of me.

The word didn't seem right, though. Every time I tried using that word, or one similar to it, for the quilt, I could feel the wrongness. I eventually decided to start sewing, with or without a name for the project, hoping it would come to me.

It hit me, a night or two ago: in Judaism, there's a term for a deed done because it is the right thing to do: מִצְוָה‎‎, a mitzvah. The Hebrew term originally referred to commandments by God, but its usage has filtered down several levels: a commandment by God, a moral deed done as a religious duty, an act of kindness done because it is the right thing to do.

Exactly. This one finished piece was just enough to show me the intended pattern:

…my hands can do the rest. I do not claim to be religious, but there is a rightness to this task that comforts me. I cannot pay back what was given to me in 2011, not now and not ever, but I can finish this project. When it is done, it won't get one of my traditional care labels, but instead one of what I found in the bottom of the bag:

The Island of Misfit Quilts will have to live without this one.

Room reboot #1: office

domesticat — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 18:17:37 +0000

Scott, bless him, offered to come up for a few days around New Year's, and we've been busy creatures during that time. The New Job™ means I work out of the house, but the bad part? I didn't really have a good workspace for me, my phone, and my laptop.

We needed to fix that, but doing so meant that we needed to tear down not one but TWO corner desks, combine two computers into a single work station, put in shelving, and blah and meow and etc.

Good news: we're mostly done.

Jeff's former desk:

My former desk:

Scott, currently applying for sainthood, and Jeff as they worked on disassembling the equipment from the two desks (I broke down the actual desks)

At the end of the night of assembly, I shot these photos to show the progress:

and

This morning, after moving the final major pieces into place, here's where the office stands. The desk is built, the CPUs are lofted and strapped in, all of the minor bits are arranged and working, my VOIP workphone is ready and there's room for my laptop on the desk:

oh, and the other half of the room? A place to rest, make calls, think, and eat lunch:

Now that this square table is out of the sewing room, I have to … uh … clean up the disaster-area sewing room, install the real tables for it, and finish it out … but you know what? We're getting somewhere.

I can also now say, "Step into my office" and mean it.

Anyone fancy a run to the technology recycling center? Or the county's incinerator? I've got stuff to drop off…

Notable things:

The server's up high.
The printer no longer lives in the guest bedroom closet.
I have a desk lamp!
I will now work in the same room as my work phone!
I stole Jeff's photo frame from the hospital. It now has a ton of cat photos.
Why yes, I did loft the monitor with Jeff's Microelectronic Circuits textbook.
We still need two UPSes.
My scanner has a home at last!
Did I mention that the printer no longer lives in the guest bedroom closet?
No more uncomfy wooden chairs! I have a butt-friendly rolling chair. With cushions — and ARMS. Suck it, minimalists. I like my creature comforts!

spaces between

domesticat — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 03:40:11 +0000

I finished the top for Pentagon papers tonight. I don't have any photos, because it's dark and it's late and it's Friday and … do I really have to make more excuses here?

… yeah, thanks.

I need to flip the quilt top over, trim any seam allowances that are too large, and then press it … but of course, pressing it means re-filing all of the fabric that I've pulled out this week to finish PP. It does seem like every round of tasks comes with seventeen codicils these days, but it is what it is.

I'll clean off the ironing board, trim the seam allowances, clean off the sewing table, pin the quilt, and get to work.

I'm actually mourning the lack of more pentagons to make — I never thought I'd say it, but life in its current state is often a lonely and solitary beast, and those pentagons have kept me company in a lot of strange places. I toted this project to …

Total states: 10 (Alabama, Georgia, Texas, Arizona, California, Virginia, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Maine) plus Washington D.C.
Total airports: 8 (Huntsville, Atlanta, Boston, Houston, San Francisco, San Jose, Phoenix, Reagan Int'l)
Intermissions and waiting periods during the Bay Area DrupalCamp, the 25th anniversary touring show of Les Misérables, the Beijing Dance Company, one crazy day of job interviews, hotel shuttles, the Boston Ballet, and a bunch of other things I'm forgetting.
Total hotel room nights: 20

This isn't the life I've wanted, but I took the spots and scraps of time — the flights, the intermissions, the waiting periods — I called "the spaces between when life was happening" and made something tangible out of it. It made me look silly and obsessed at times, but those collections of 5-15 minutes here and there, plus a heavy, concerted effort after returning home, turned those empty spaces into a warm and comforting gift.

During my Boston on-boarding time, I looked forward to getting back in my room at the end of the day. I'd put on a TV episode and sew; in the three weeks I burned through an entire season of Torchwood and a season and a half of Lie to Me while working through two quart bags of fabric pieces.

Two quarts!

I'll be sorry to see it go, but there will be other projects.

I've mentioned Scarlet, right?

Scarlet will even be staying in Huntsville! How's that for a change?

Alas, she won't be the next quilt, though. Miss Scarlet's been waiting about fifty years; she can wait another few months.

Friday night round-up

domesticat — Sat, 17 Dec 2011 02:36:36 +0000

Nobody sees me these days, except for the people who pop by to pick up Jeff to take him out to lunch, so I really need to make a point to write here. I'm alive, I swear; my ticket queue at work is already too large for me to ever die.

I have mixed feelings about that. I suspect I would have especially strong mixed and smelly feelings, post-mortem.

So let me cheat and give you the life in pictures, lately. I have neither the brain power for introspection nor the ability to take a straight-on shot of my current quilt, so we're just gonna have to improv here, kids.

My hand-sewing project, Pentagon Papers, is almost done. I am size-limited by the backing. Several months ago, I snapped up a gently used duvet cover from a British family. I thought it would make an especially hilarious quilt backing. I'd been horrendously stumped on what to use for a backing, and then it hit me…

YOU BLITHERING IDIOT, HE'S A SO HUGE OF A DOCTOR WHO FAN THAT HE HAS INFECTED HIS CHILDREN WITH IT.

it is, then.

Bonus? This side will remain for another project:

Don't make me call that one Dalek Bumps. I will. I'M DANGEROUS WHEN PUSHED, SEE? I have other friends who are Doctor Who fans. I know who you are. (Wait, I'm threatening people with quilts now? God. I have GOT to get out of this house.)

Along those lines, have I mentioned that if you become the resident batshit quilting lady, people start giving you fabric? It's possibly the most freaking awesome thing ever. I, personally, will totally whore out just about any skill I have in exchange for fat quarters. What makes it even better is when the friends know me so well that they don't even have to ask when they see fabric like this:

Red-and-black frilly bras? I'm surprised they didn't have my NAME on it. Thank you, Jiggy. You rock.

Faux heirloom generation station

domesticat — Sat, 17 Dec 2011 02:50:14 +0000

This entry needed to be made separately from the other one I just did, because it has a more limited audience. You guys know me; every now and then, I spot an antique quilt top that is the right combination of appearance + price, and I bite on it.

I bit on this one.

It doesn't have a name, and it doesn't have an owner.

The workmanship is solid but not spectacular; it took me looking closely to see that some blocks fudge here and there. I liked both the pattern and color sense; it is a classic pattern executed in a way that feels classic without being modern.

1930s-1950s. I don't feel a need to try to date this too closely. Not sure why; there is something about this quilt that made me say, "it is what it is, and I'm okay with that."

It has shirtings and plaids, and a couple of feedsack-ish fabrics. Some of the blues look a little older. I think it merits a simple, unpretentious finish; choose an era-appropriate backing, maybe blue, and if I feel really saucy, bind it in red.

I don't have any preconceived notions about who it should go to; if it's the kind of quilt you wish you'd gotten from your dotty grandmother who should've quilted but didn't … well, get in touch. Perhaps it's yours.

Extra credit for naming ideas.

Most of the provenance is lost, but we know it was probably made in the Terre Haute area, because it was bought in an estate sale in Terre Haute, Illinois (near Burlington, Iowa).

Thoughts?

The Great Freeze-Out Of 2011

domesticat — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 03:54:47 +0000

So, holy crap, life change. I'm working on transitioning successfully to working out of my house, thanks to New Job. I've got a few things down, thanks to other friends who have been in similar positions: have a set schedule, wake up and treat it like you're Going To Work, actually remember to eat, and remember to

sign the hell off when you're done for the day, and don't work all evening.

My treat for myself, now that Jeff is home and I am home all the time: I had a freezer delivered today. It's humming away happily in the garage, bored as hell and hoping I'll feed it.

I've got some thoughts about things I've always wished I could keep more of, but never did because Tiny Fridge Freezer Is Full Of Fail:

frozen juice
various frozen veggies, including edamame
frozen fruit (smoothies, mostly, damn you Scott for addicting me)
bread and bagels
frozen seafood (I think longingly of shrimp and scallops especially)
frozen meats (cows shall be ground, and chickens dissected, all in the holy name of dinner)
bacon (Jacob told me how to freeze it so I can peel off a slice or two — Jeff will be giddy in delight)
extra cookie dough
extra portions of various meals I make
extra pre-made quick meals, like pizza

Any suggestions?

Our blessing and our curse: it's just the two of us. We don't eat a ton of food. I love to cook, but lots of the really good recipes make 4-8 servings, and the nightly progression goes like this:

Jeff eats the newly-cooked dinner.
Jeff sees the leftovers and sighs.
Jeff glares at me and eats — reluctantly.
Jeff stuffs me in the freezer, denies he was ever married, heats up a corn dog, and tosses the leftovers to Edmund — who promptly ignores them in favor of licking his butt. What can I say? He's a cat.

The prospect of not having to hit up the grocery store every 4 days for all-fresh things is delightful.

Oh yes, and while I can't say I'm a full-fledged butcher, I have no problem with a whole chicken or a subprimal cut of beef. I have a rockin' awesome knife set and I know how to use it.

Pentagon Papers

domesticat — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 16:55:28 +0000

Date:

7 October 2011 - 26 December 2011

Photoset:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/domesticat/sets/72157627867531003

Recipient:

Jacob

Pattern:

pentagons

Level of completion:

Completed and given away

Travel looks glamorous for the first thirty seconds, especially when it's work travel. New places! New things! The implication of being skilled enough that you need to take your skills to the people who need them!

Except it isn't really like that. It's looking at your cats and saying, "Shit, honey, I'm so sorry. Please don't bite the cat-sitter. I have to go to the airport again…"

and then toddling off. Eight hours later, you've walked through three airports, wondered if anyone knows how to read airline seat numbers correctly, and gotten to a hotel in a new-to-you city that you're too tired to leave, so instead of going out to see the city you order room service because comfort food and a slice of chocolate cake is second only to having your kitty fall asleep on you.

That's what travel is like.

As part of the Penrose quilting challenge I set up for some people earlier this year, I decided I should be fair and learn a new skill, myself. Don't push others unless you're willing to be challenged yourself, or some rot like that. I took up English paper piecing because it looked intimidating and I'd never tried it.

Turns out, not only is it easy, it's amazingly portable. Got a project? Got a flight? Got a zip-top bag? Stash scissors, needle, thread, paper pieces and fabric in the zip-top bag and your project goes with you. It's been a wonderful diversion through…

Boston:
Atlanta
Washington D.C.
Huntsville
Houston
San Francisco
San Jose
Phoenix
Houston (again)

(My hotel room in Boston, while on what I can now acknowledge was a job interview)

(A weekend vacation to see Matthew in Washington DC)

There's no rhyme or reason to this quilt; it's just a scrappy pile of everything-in-the-bin, with two of each. Ages ago, Jacob had sketched out a quilt design that he called Bow Tie Pasta, but I never got around to executing it. When I found Liesel's funky irregular pentagons, I realized they'd make a scrap quilt that would strongly resemble Bow Tie Pasta's original idea … but I just couldn't call it BTP.

Nameless, I kept sewing. Airports, hotel rooms, and mass transit saw me whipping out needle and thread to baste fabric to paper. It hit me after a while that as long as I did even a little in Phoenix, I would technically hit all four major time zones with this little quilt top.

Once I learned that I'd need to make an extended trip to Boston, I started frantically cutting fabric and stuffing a zip-top bag full of it to prepare for the trip. Three weeks is a long time to spend in a hotel room, and my suspicion is that this quilt will be a sanity-saver.

Obviously, you've already seen the name of the quilt, but seriously? I worked on English paper-piecing quilt, in Washington D.C., and it's made out of pentagons? What else could I call it other than Pentagon Papers?

Ok, fine. I'm a nerd. I get it. But my poli sci friends just laughed when they read it, I bet.

Expect photos of progress from Boston. I'd love it if I finished the top while in Boston. Improbable, yes, but not impossible; this is how much was completed after the California / Arizona trip:

…and here it is after the first night of the Boston trip:

Sentimental value

domesticat — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 16:29:42 +0000

It's been three years since I've seen my second quilt, Star Stories.

I always have a fear of looking at my finished work. I can always find the mistakes, and in Star Stories I know I made many. I've learned a great deal since I made it, but it was the quilt that sparked my interest in using reclaimed, shared, and repurposed fabrics. Forget what's "expected." In this case, sentimental value was more important.

The quilt was displayed at Lexie's wedding reception, even though it wasn't finished; I raced to get it completed and sent off, and in my haste I never thought to get a straightforward photo of it. (What can I say? It was only my second quilt. I had no idea I'd stick with this hobby.)

It was comprised of an elegant square block that, when turned sideways, created tumbling stars. Since most of the fabric in the quilt was donated (read: not really chosen by me) the color choices were out of my hands. I remember stressing a great deal over how to arrange the fabric; I tried a color-spectrum first and it just didn't work. The dark-to-light gradient, on the other hand, was simple and perfect — and looked SO much more complex than it really was.

Dark side

Light side

I know there are mistakes. I wince when I think about them. I've never sent out a perfect quilt, and every time I start a project I think, "This will be the time I get it right!" and … it never happens. I fudge a seam, I goof on color arrangement, or my corners aren't perfect. Maybe the recipients notice, and maybe they don't. I have to grit my teeth when I give a quilt away, and trust that the gestalt overrides the flaws.

Imperfect warmth beats cold perfection.

Still, though, I look at this quilt and I smile. I smile BRIGHTLY. My first thought when they held it up? "Cheeky woman." Seriously — had I known what I was getting into, I would have been terrified to start. For a second quilt, this is audacious as all hell. Good thing I didn't know it at the time.

Start as you mean to continue, I guess.

The full writeup, start to finish, is at Quilt festival: the story of 'star stories'
The pattern is 'cosmosdust,' available at http://www.liesbosquilts.nl/patronen/pat99kosm01E.html

Perfume sniffing: new samples arrived!

domesticat — Fri, 07 Oct 2011 01:39:10 +0000

It's been a while since I've tried a new round of perfume samples. I've been happily rotating through my standard fragrances, but I decided that I should try a few new-to-me fragrances, thanks partially to some suggestions from Angel B.

Today's mail yielded New Perfume Samples, part 1:

Serge Lutens Tubéreuse Criminelle (Now Smell This review)
Serge Lutens Rahät Loukoum (Now Smell This review)
Serge Lutens Muscs Koublaï Khan (Now Smell This review)

I sniffed all three after arriving home this afternoon, and had two of my three original expectations fulfilled:

Tubéreuse Criminelle has this batshit crazy menthol opening blast, just as promised, and
Rahät Loukoum is like being hit by a sweet cherry-vanilla bat.

Muscs Koublaï Khan, though, doesn't have the horrid skanky note that was widely reported. I chose to wear it first, and am highly amused; I would love to know what it is about my skin that takes skanky, "dirty" perfumes and turns them darkly feminine. Most straight-ahead florals become queasily sweet on me after a while, but these 'skanky' and 'difficult' perfumes just seem to sink into my skin.

Not sure which one I'll try wearing tomorrow, but it'll be one of the other two. I have several more tiny samples coming, so my wrists are going to be unusually sniffy for the next couple of weeks.

So what's The Usual?

I've worked my way through lots of the previous scents I've sampled. I've re-purchased a few, but most will fall by the wayside after the itty bitty sample tubes finish, never to return.

Perfumes still in active rotation

Chanel No. 5, by Chanel (I have a large bottle)
Cuir de Russie, by Chanel (I have two tiny bottles)
Mitsouko, by Guerlain (I have a large bottle)
L'Artisan, Dzing! (I repurchased)
Serge Lutens, Bois de Violette (I repurchased)

Samples yet unfinished, but I won't repurchase

Badgley Mischka, by Badgley Mischka
Decent, but not great; I won't repurchase. It smells boozy-fruity on me.
Bal à Versailles by Jean Desprez.
Won't repurchase. Neat but expensive.
Ormonde Woman by Ormonde Jayne.
I actually kind of like this perfume, but it's never really grabbed me. We're acquaintances, not friends.
Narcisse Noir by Caron. Vintage formula.
Utter failure. Every time I uncap the sample it screams "Grape Ape!" It smells like grape candy.
Bvlgari Black, by Bvlgari.
The rubbery, artificial notes that some people mention are the only thing I can smell when this is on my skin. It's neither subtle nor enjoyable. It wears me, instead of the other way around.
Apres l'Ondée, by Guerlain.
When Guerlains are great, they smell amazing on me, but this one just smelled Old-Fashioned. Not timeless, just … frumpy. I opened the bottle expecting 'classic and timeless' and instead got 'biddy.'

I try a lot of perfume samples, and I buy TINY samples. A 1-mL sample tube, because I wear perfume very sparingly, gets me a LOT of wear. I can't justify spending $100-$200 on a bottle of perfume that will take me decades to finish when I can spend $5 to get a sample that will take me about six months to finish.

Usually, by the end of a sample bottle, I know whether or not a perfume works for me. I've had two exceptions, though. I tend so strongly toward odd and unusual scents that it took me almost the entire sample tube of Jean Patou's Joy (in the parfum) before I realized that I didn't care if it was an exuberant floral, because I liked it…

— and then there was L'Artisan's Dzing. I re-bought Dzing! after finishing the first sample tube because it was so weirdly wonderful. I was never sure if it really worked against my skin, but I know that it made me keep sniffing my wrist and asking, "What? What in the WORLD?"

I'll re-buy Joy.

In the meantime, Muscs Koublaï Khan is settling down into something dark, comforting, and lovely on my skin.

Stay tuned - more are coming.