Eau de Parfum

Smell is an incredible memory trigger for me. I have a long history with Drakkar, dating back almost 25 years. At work tonight, a man walked past me and instantly I was flooded with memories and sensations.

-My father putting on his cologne, walking downstairs to fill his thermos with coffee, and raising the garage door. The jolt of the door raising would wake me just as the scent of his cologne wafted into my room from the master next door.
-Friday night banquet at Camp Manitoumi. Dave and his teal silk shirt and pleated black pants. A quick snuggle on the hayrack ride or a cologne-filled breeze created from swinging on the rusty swings.
-High school boyfriend, Matt. His 80-something baby-blue Corolla with the falling ceiling. His numerous scrapes and bruises after Friday night football games.

Besides Drakkar, I have many memories associated with various scents. Eternity for men - Jim what's-his-name quickly kissing me before my brother could catch us behind the pine trees. United Colors of Benetton - sneaking out of the house with Brandy to smoke cigarettes and putting perfume on every time we went out. Sand and Sable - my sister in my I-want-to-be-just-like-her phase. Tresor - meeting college boyfriend Chad's mother for the first time and instantly liking her; then after leaving, realizing she wears my mother's perfume and that is the sole reason I can think of for liking her. Jessica McClintock - liking the perfume and spraying it on at a department store. Wearing it home to see if my husband likes it. Him saying, "I love that perfume. My mom wears it". Tea Tree Oil - my husband.

Becoming

I just finished watching Becoming Jane for the 2nd time. Incredible story, incredibly done. Jane Austen’s stories translate beautifully to the movie screen. Her belief that her characters shall have, with a bit of trouble along the way, everything they shall desire.

The setup:
Tom LeFroy is a London-based lawyer visiting family in the very rural countryside. He is supported entirely by his Uncle, a high court judge, as his parents married for affection and are barely able to support themselves and their numerous offspring. Jane is the youngest daughter of a financially-challenged clergyman who married his wife, too, for the sake of affection. After many contentious encounters, Jane and Tom develop an undeniable chemistry. She is a quaint country girl writing essays on the female heart while she knows little of its expression firsthand. Tom is a worldly man encouraging her to learn more of the world and thus, a her own heart. He recommends a certain vivacious young man widen her horizons. Their early courting is full of delicious sexual inuendo to his delight and her shock.

The scene:
Jane attends a neighborhood ball. She enters and wanders the party looking for Tom. She, instead, finds Mr. Wesley, a man who has proposed marriage. They join the dance floor (see 2 lines, men in one, women in the other, opposite sexes facing each other). They begin to dance, various partners weaving in and out, turning, joining hands, moving through the rows, then back to their respective lines. Jane moves forward and turns to her right, looking over her shoulder to meet her dance partner and there finds Tom. Inches from her face. He, confident as ever, meets her gaze with a sly grin. She is visibly stirred. They finish the dance unable to look away from each other. Their intentions sealed and courtship complete.

Oh, the passion conveyed in that moment. I was reminded of a scene from before.

They had met each other briefly, from time to time. Both were intrigued, but left it at that. That night, they spent the evening among a group of friends. Dinner for a 21st birthday. They sat at one end of a long table and discussed her travels, his interest in Japanese culture. She began to look at him more often and for longer. He allowed himself to open, giving her a look into the interior of a fairly academic, fairly private man.

After dinner, the group headed to another nightspot for drinks. Being a bit younger than the rest, she left with her roommate as the others headed upstairs. Waiting for her roommate to say good-bye, she waited patiently at the doorway and scanned the crowded restaurant. As her eyes moved over everyone, she caught him watching her. Upon returning his gaze, he did not look away. He stood 30 feet from her and maintained her eye contact for what seemed at eternity. He didn’t smile. He didn’t scowl. His face intent, but soft. She turned her back to him and finally exhaled. She began laughing as she left, unable to completely understand what he intended. What an odd, but thrilling, encounter.

Years later, she asked him about that look. He smiled and said, "I wanted you to know that I knew". She would tell him throughout their tumultuous courtship, "It’s you. It’s always been you". During his vows at their wedding he said, "I told you when I proposed that I couldn’t imagine my life without you. Now I know we were saying the same things".

Teacher and Student

My husband and I had a great date night on Saturday. It was one of those perfect evenings when you find yourself so engrossed in conversation that you forget those around you. The kind of chemistry you wish you had when you see others having it. We had fantastic conversations about many things: socially responsible investments, eggs, memories, personality characteristics, learning styles. For instance, we discussed the various study techniques we employed while in school. Maybe not the Saturday night romantic dinner conversation for most, but I enjoyed myself immensely - and I think he did, too. Listening to my husband ruminate over his experiences as an educator, I found myself thinking of those from whom I have been fortunate to learn.
My sophomore year at Augustana I changed majors. I found myself floundering in Discrete Mathematics. The thing I enjoyed most about the class was the play on the name "discrete". I never really could tell most people what it was about - the subject being so demure, so vague. I new I couldn't tolerate the coursework required for the major, and I was doubting my desire to teach secondary ed. I truly enjoyed my coursework in Religion, though. I'm not sure what originally drew me to the subject. Perhaps that I have a deep appreciation for the workings of religion / faith in people's lives - and especially those lives that are markedly different from my own. Perhaps the incredible professor that was very other, very mysterious. She explained daoism to the dumb-founded football player in class. He got it - we all got it. So I was changing, learning, reading anything I could get my hands on.
Amidst this developing passion, I took a Intro to American Fiction course to satisfy my liberal arts requirements. It was taught by a fairly young, incredibly intelligent, incredibly sardonic man named Dr. P. He opened my eyes to the wonders of fiction. The phenomenal ability of writers (think Joyce Carol Oates) to comment on our culture, lives, everything - without directly telling us. They would use irony, metaphor, symbolism. I looked forward to every class with anticipation, never failing to read an assignment.
It was during this class that I read an essay by Pete McElroy, a photo-copied stack of papers stapled in the corner. It was the story of a newly married couple living in a small town in Michigan. He worked a job as the only journalist in the city. He wrote of their relationship developing, how they came to know each other. The not-so-subtle actions that spoke a thousand words. Slamming kitchen cabinets, vacuuming at 11pm. All the while he watched Johnny Carson, not bothering to extend that olive branch. Instead, leaving her be, knowing that in the morning he would awake holding her hand. While en route to a fatal crash site, he sees her car amongst the wreckage. And he reflects on what he would have done differently.
I still have that story. I reread it occasionally. Almost eight years ago, my sister-in-law died from a stroke. My brother would occasionally express his thoughts on her passing, of him being left behind. This story was refreshed in my mind and has stayed for the years since that time.
Four years ago I had the pleasure of talking with Dr. P. I brought up the story he had us read years previous - of the profound effect it had on me as I considered my brother losing his wife, my own deepening relationship with my boyfriend - taking that chance to love someone entirely and possibly losing it all. I mentioned that I had looked up Pete McElroy and had been unable to find any other pieces by him. I noted that he smiled and nodded his head. He asked if I would like to try a special ipa he had stashed in the garage. I eagerly followed. As he poured me a beer from the keg, he told me "There is no Pete McElroy" and smiled. As I stared at him, my furrowed brow smoothed as my jaw dropped. "You're Pete McElroy?" "Guilty".
I was blown away. And I imagine he was too. To have created something that continues to profoundly impact someone. What a pleasure and an honor it must be.