Much to celebrate but …

Last Sunday was International Women’s Day.  To slightly tweak an old Virginia Slims cigarette ad, “we’ve come a long way baby” but let’s not rest on our laurels just yet.  We still have a way to go.

In many parts of the world women are still seen, and treated, as chattel.  In some parts of the world they’re considered so worthless, such a burden they’re killed as soon as they’re born.  In some parts of the world they still have to suffer through genital mutilation, to ensure they get no pleasure from sex.

In some parts of the world they’re not allowed to even look at a man, they’re forced to be covered up from head to toe with slits only for their eyes.  In some parts of the world if they dare to commit adultery and get caught they’re stoned to death.  They have

What’s the big deal?

We’re just days into the New Year and here I am, complaining.  Well, not really complaining.  It’s more like ‘wondering’.  Or making an observation.  Or questioning.  I’m confused, is all.  For the life of me I can’t figure out why we make such a big deal out of New Year’s Eve.  Okay, okay, okay, I get the significance of beginning a new year.  Truly I do.  But why the insistence on wearing silly hats and cranking noisemakers and watching balls drop and drinking ourselves into oblivion?  What’s the point of all that?

Speaking strictly for myself, I’ve never liked New Year’s Eve.  In fact, I kinda loathe it.  Too many people trying way to hard to have a good time.  Way too many people who can’t hold their liquor getting way too drunk.  Drunk to the point of crying, drunk to the point of sharing the most intimate details of their lives with virtual strangers, drunk to the point of making passes at their best friends’ husbands (or vice versa), drunk to the point of passing out or, even worse,

Glug, glug …

Well, this recent WordPress Daily Post certainly got me thinking:  “Captain Picard was into Earl Grey Tea: mention the Dude and we think:  White Russians.  What’s your signature beverage — and how did it achieve that status?”

Fact is, I don’t have a signature beverage.  Never did.  I’m an equal opportunity drinker.

Although having said that, if I was going to have a signature drink it would be Lillet.

It’s a French aperitif and it’s delicious — at least I think so.  It’s wonderful on the rocks, with a twist of lemon.  I was introduced to it back in Montreal, at a French restaurant (Chez Georges) I used to frequent.  It’s

Day 146. Bye Bye

Don’t know about you, but I’m ready.  I’ve seen quite a few of them come and go in my time.  Sometimes I’m kinda sorry when the 31st comes along.  When it’s been a good year; and I wish we could hang on to it, just a bit longer.

But this year.  Ta Ta.  Vamoose.  So long.  Scram.  Ciao.

Not that it’s been awful for me.  It hasn’t.  It’s got nothing to do with ‘my’ world.  I’m talking about the world at large.  The one we all inhabit.  The idealist in me is disappointed.  And frustrated.

I’m ready to say good-bye.

To violence.  Unnecessary bloodshed.  Guns.  Knives.  Grenades.  Bombs.  The threat of nuclear weapons.  Dead bodies.  Young.  Old.  Rich.  Poor.  Lives cut short, for no reason.  In our neighbourhoods.  In nearby cities.  

Day 72. Sniff Sniff

“Two things make the woman unforgettable, their tears and their perfume.”  Sacha Guitry

No, I’m not crying.  And I don’t have a cold.  But thanks for asking.  It’s much worse, actually.  I’m afraid I’m about to have to search for a new perfume, again.  Which can be very traumatic, especially if you’re trying to replace a ‘signature’ fragrance, like I am.

My love affair with perfume began long ago when, as a very little girl, I’d spray myself with my mother’s.  All of them at the same time, usually. Liberally.  Too liberally.  So liberally, it would take more than several scrubbings before I stopped reeking.  At sixteen I discovered Miss Dior.  Its light, citrus, floral scent was perfect for a young woman.

At eighteen I fell in love with Caleche, by Hermes.  Although it had many of the same qualities as Miss Dior it was more sophisticated, more womanly, more worldy.  It was the first fragrance that I considered ‘mine’, and I wore it for years.

It was so important to me, that when my purse was stolen while I was visiting a friend in New York one weekend, the only thing I replaced was the bottle of perfume that had been in it.  Never mind about the cash and the credit cards and even the make-up.  Or my I.D., which I needed to get back across the border to Canada.  Or the handbag, itself, for that matter.  All I wanted was my ‘parfum‘.

That’s what made ‘me‘, feel like ‘me‘.  Even to myself, let alone to others.

I remained loyal until many years later, when a fashion designer I worked with, Leo Chevalier, created a fragrance.  I still remember the day I