Secret Life of Scent

Today I waited around for the better part of the day for furniture deliveries. I rose an hour later than usual and prepped two rooms for their new additions. This sort of thing always throws me out of whack: I leave the tea diffuser in for too long (this morning was Mariage Frères French Breakfast), I don’t shower at a respectable time, I root around for cereal I never eat on a school day, and I pray a little prayer that the milk fairy is on my side and the milk hasn’t gone sour. Since I was shuffling around in house slippers and sweatclothes, I wasn’t reaching for fragrance. A touch of some Arabian rose-white musk oil from last night was detectable on my left wrist, but a trifle too faint. Near my computer were some samples from Caron and the Perfume House Private Reserve, but I wasn’t reaching for them. Later, later, I told myself. Instead, I did some writing for an advertising campaign, listened to a C.P.E. Bach keyboard concerto and updated my Facebook page. Then, the first of the deliveries came, and the gusty morning air whipped around the first floor of the apartment. By the time I’d tipped the two deliverymen, late morning sun was coming through the skylight above my desk. Rare indeed is the day that I even see this sun and where it chooses to focus: a Tibetan throne rug, my Netflix selections (Louis Malle’s Phantom India, Antonioni’s L’Eclisse), a Message Bean plant I was given at Laura’s wedding, a volume of Cavafy. In the bathroom, I burned Voluspa’s Crisp Champagne candle but kept the door closed. Because I like bathroom scents to stay in the bathroom. Before the next set of deliverymen showed up, I rooted around in thirty boxes of books and prioritized which ones would be given shelf space. Books have such funny smells: sulphury, woodsy, mushroomy and gluey. I even managed to discover volumes I hadn’t seen since the move last year. And then there were the ugly stepchildren consigned to a box on which I scrawled M. Likely Strand. (Though there’s a part of me that would like to put them out in the hall for my neighbors.) By the time the bookcases arrived, it was evening. I filled the shelves and then rushed to organize the packing trash. I needed to hightail it to another part of Williamsburg for dinner. Decided to wear Caron Alpona, a true favorite, which I applied liberally. Never too much, I thought, of this good thing. Now, home, and thinking of my first night on my new bed. Wearing a little of Andy Tauer’s Incense Extrême, which reminds me of Armani Privé Bois d’Encens, but with more complexity and a bit more warmth (love the orris and the ambergris, Andy). I saw that Helg at PerfumeShrine reviewed his other new scent, Incense Rosé. With eyelids beginning to droop, goodnight mes amis.