Sensational Headline
Ignore the title, it's an inside joke between me, myself, and I.
Life is funny, isn't it? Just when you think you have it figured out, or you think you know what you're finally doing, something comes along and totally changes your perspective -- again. I'm not sure, but is this normal? I mean, is it supposed to feel like a roller coaster ride? Or is it supposed to be a cool, lazy swing in a hammock? I often wonder if it's just the crazy machinations of my mind and -- and, well, that there is no 'normal', and turmoil reigns, and stress is a given, and death lurks in the tiniest crack so that we can't see it until it seeps out and surprises us with a visit. I'm being morbid. Sorry. It's just been a lot of life happening lately.
I've been charging organic virgin coconut oil with the honeysuckle, which you know if you read this blog regularly, and I'm not really noticing any difference in the scent of the menstruum. I've charged the oil four times so far, once in a fit of experimentation I took an entire arm of live honeysuckle branch and wound it up into a spiral to place under the glass. I even wrapped the cut end of the branch with a wet paper towel so the buds at the end of the branch would live long enough to bloom. That's about the time I noticed the oil wasn't really picking up any scent. So now I'm back to cutting blooms and piling them up under the glass. I think this blooming season will last a while since the weather's been fairly mild. The lack of water might be an issue since there's really no way to water the honeysuckle bushes without lugging buckets from inside the house.
I've also been emptying more boxes from the move six months ago. Nearly all of the boxes are perfume-related materials, treasures. Going through everything slowly feels like a smoother assimilation process than trying to empty them all at once -- this new house lacks storage and willing bodies to help put things to rights, so that the terrain of the house changes from day to day, something moved from here to there, something else hung on the wall, tucked in a closet, shoved in a drawer, or displayed in the middle of the room. I've also found some things of my mother's that she'd given to me prior to her passing, things she wanted me to have or sell. There are antique knick-knacks, textiles, and a few dresses from the 30's, 40's, 50's, and 60's. It's pretty cool stuff, and if I had anywhere to keep them all, or I could wear them, I would.
Life is funny, isn't it? Just when you think you have it figured out, or you think you know what you're finally doing, something comes along and totally changes your perspective -- again. I'm not sure, but is this normal? I mean, is it supposed to feel like a roller coaster ride? Or is it supposed to be a cool, lazy swing in a hammock? I often wonder if it's just the crazy machinations of my mind and -- and, well, that there is no 'normal', and turmoil reigns, and stress is a given, and death lurks in the tiniest crack so that we can't see it until it seeps out and surprises us with a visit. I'm being morbid. Sorry. It's just been a lot of life happening lately.
I've been charging organic virgin coconut oil with the honeysuckle, which you know if you read this blog regularly, and I'm not really noticing any difference in the scent of the menstruum. I've charged the oil four times so far, once in a fit of experimentation I took an entire arm of live honeysuckle branch and wound it up into a spiral to place under the glass. I even wrapped the cut end of the branch with a wet paper towel so the buds at the end of the branch would live long enough to bloom. That's about the time I noticed the oil wasn't really picking up any scent. So now I'm back to cutting blooms and piling them up under the glass. I think this blooming season will last a while since the weather's been fairly mild. The lack of water might be an issue since there's really no way to water the honeysuckle bushes without lugging buckets from inside the house.
I've also been emptying more boxes from the move six months ago. Nearly all of the boxes are perfume-related materials, treasures. Going through everything slowly feels like a smoother assimilation process than trying to empty them all at once -- this new house lacks storage and willing bodies to help put things to rights, so that the terrain of the house changes from day to day, something moved from here to there, something else hung on the wall, tucked in a closet, shoved in a drawer, or displayed in the middle of the room. I've also found some things of my mother's that she'd given to me prior to her passing, things she wanted me to have or sell. There are antique knick-knacks, textiles, and a few dresses from the 30's, 40's, 50's, and 60's. It's pretty cool stuff, and if I had anywhere to keep them all, or I could wear them, I would.
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