Peacock Rocks

I didn't know my Uncle Don well, but he fascinated me none-the-less.  He lived in Arizona, was a postman, saw ghosts while on duty during WWII~ but most of all, he collected things.  Like the rest of us he had a restless wandering soul, and went out to the deserts and brush lands during his time off.  He would drive and walk and take photographs, but most of all he would find things and bring them back to his yarden.  Bleached bones and fossils, shards of pottery and broken wagon wheels, rusted machinery from long-ago mines, cacti and rocks. Behind his house in Phoenix was his yarden, with a high wood fence and the treasures displayed all around it~ there was a rabbit hutch as well, which was interesting, and we had rabbit for dinner that night which was slightly disturbing but very, very tasty.

The night I speak of was on one of our cross-country trips, just Mother and I, and I must of been youngish- not a teenager yet, but I was the navigator- found the White Rock Hotel in Albuquerque where we stayed, got elevation/heat sick at the Grand Canyon causing no end of problems (and a rather rough introduction to Gatorade), remember a fellow at a rest stop advising to drink 'hot coffee in hot weather' because it will cool you down by equalizing the temperature of your body.  And we stopped at Uncle Don's and Aunt Helen's in Phoenix.  We didn't stay long- a night, maybe two- and I don't remember much except going to the grocery store with Aunt Helen (for some reason I was amazed that they had gumball machines in grocery stores in Arizona- ), eating rabbit for dinner (fried, like chicken.  It was amazing.) and the yard.  The treasures everywhere, the rocks, the bones, the fossils.  I was totally enchanted, and Uncle Don took a moment and explained to me about the rocks, the bright iron pyrite, the ore with strands of copper, what a gold nugget might look like....and the peacock rocks.  Peacock ore is found around copper deposits (oddly enough, it is also common in Cornwall, part of our family places) and is beautiful.  It has a metallic sheen to it, and is multicolored blue, green, purple, black, copper- sometimes it doesn't look quite real. And then, then he let me keep some- a pyrite nugget, a fossil of a fern, petrified wood, a flat smooth sandstone....and a bright bit of peacock that he let me choose for my own. Treasure.

That, of course, started me collecting- but not in the same way I collected other things.  I wasn't as interested in the science of the rocks so much (though we were drilled- no pun intended- in geology in school, especially concerning all-things-coal)- I was attracted to their colors, textures, weight.   I liked the smooth oval rocks of the ocean best- we already had quite a few of these- but I liked these desert rocks as well.  Later, the crystals of the mountains, rose quartz, geodes full of surprises.  Turquoise fashioned into beads, and amber which is not a rock at all.  In college I learned to carve stone, and loved the raspberry alabaster with its pink and white veins, it's translucency.  The summer I took sculpture we went to the outer banks on family vacation- I sat on the beach and polished my stone with the sand and the waves.  The sculpture wasn't much more than a smooth blob (I have no idea what happened to it) but the experience of sand and stone and water was magic.

I began collecting rocks again.  Not for their properties, but for their place.  One from the places that I lived at in the mountains. Pebbles from our island on the dashboard of the car- added to with stones from Johnstown, Alabama, Charleston, Texas, Boone....everywhere I went.  Now when people travel I ask them to bring me back a rock~ it is free and easy~ and I have them from all over. Black onyx from Ireland, a smooth flat stone from London that is the size of my cell phone.  A tan stone from Belize, the chunky large rocks brought back from Tennessee. Others.  Little bits and pieces of the world right here, right now.

Day after tomorrow I leave for New York- and I will take a rock from our home.  Perhaps one of those that Mr. Owens found for me, heart shaped or encasing a shark-tooth, something special- for it is said that if you carry a bit of your home with you, you will never be lost.  "Touchstone, take me home, turn me round, make me whole"

Sometimes Bad is Good

Mr. Owens is asleep, which is good, because I *must* go to school today and work at getting the kids doing what they are supposed to be doing, getting everything squared up for the time spent away.  Yesterday was a complete wash-out, I couldn't even look at a screen until afternoon, and then all I did was lay on the couch and watch Criminal Minds. The beloved manz waited on me the whole time, bringing endless glasses of cold lemon tea, remaking the pitcher full because I drank at least two whole ones.  Kept my trash can of holding close by, took my temp, tucked me in even turned the ac on when I couldn't cool down no matter what.  Made me take the nausea medicine even though I tried to argue (we compromised on a half-dose.  I tried to just do a quarter dose, but he caught me and made me take the rest).  Made me toasted english muffins, plain, which worked.... scrambled eggs (that I *thought* was a good idea, but turned out not-so-much)...and then finally gave into my pleas for Pringles.   This was late afternoon and I was overcome with an absolute total craving for pringles- not just a 'some would be nice' but a 'if I don't get some I will die' craving. Like Rapunzel's mother in the fairy tale craved rapunzel, like I craved tuna and chocolate malted milkshakes when I was expecting Grendel.  I haven't craved anything like this for a long, long time.

Why?  The combination of very salty and light.  The salt settled my stomach and helps me to retain fluids, the crunch entertained me, and I ate the whole can over a few hours.  Not healthy, not on the diet at all, but it worked....enough so that I could manage the last of his chocolate ice cream later (oh the sacrifices he makes for me!) and take my medicine without gagging.  (It still feels like a thousand ants are crawling over me when I take that antibiotic, but it's manageable. barely).  I slept well last night, got up on time this morning, and so far my oatmeal has stayed where it is supposed to.  (But, if I wasn't going to be away for so long, I would stay home today- still dizzy, queasy, ear is ringing away...but what needs done needs done).

Pringles- a brief story about pringles and the first time I ever ate them.  Which is a very odd thing to remember, but I remember clearly when they came out in the 1970's and everyone was curious about them- Dad was dubious, but always adventurous in trying new things. The first time I ate pringles was when we were moving from Headacher to the house on Luzerne Ext.  We hadn't moved in yet, but were at the house painting and cleaning.  Sue and Tom where there to help, it was Springtime I think- the house still had (I think we switched it out later? Not sure) dark green carpet and this huge homemade breakfast bar thing was still in the kitchen. (Later the bar was moved down to the basement, and became my 'laboratory'- I was a strange kid)... anyway, I remember us all being in the kitchen.  There were soft drinks (coke/pepsi- Tom's favorite) and Pringles-in-the-red-can.  The smell of paint.  For me, it was love at first sight as far as Pringles went.  I liked their taste, lack of greasiness and weird green spots, that they all stacked up, fit right on the tongue like a little saddle, and best of all- the can.  I immediately drempt up a kabillion uses for the can- even then I was in love with making things out of other things.

Grendel always loved Pringles as well- they were one of his constant boy foods growing up.  We experimented with the different flavors, not the host of new ones, but those that were new back then- salt and vinegar, onion and sour cream.  I haven't eaten them much since then- they are not something that I would by for myself and Mr. Owens likes regular chips better.  I enjoyed them yesterday though, and they did the trick- 

Cure All...

They found the lost girl, safe and sound, and I am home again today.  Days like this I hate being home from school- there is a lot to do, the students are in the instructional phase and not ready for studio, I am going to be gone soon for a week.  And I tried- but there is no way I can go to school- can't even manage my way around the house, driving would be a disaster- and teaching? I'm struggling to complete a thought.

I did go to dr. Lori yesterday who confirmed that I have a serious ear infection, as well as a stomach virus thing that has been going around.  She gave me antibiotics for the ear, and medications for the nausea and diarrhea (to much information, I know, but writing about it lets me whine about how icky I feel and also makes for rationalization of staying home from school).  Anyway, the nausea medication basically knocks you out- I took one last night at 6:30, went to bed and this morning- when Charles woke me up at 6 for school (I usually get up at fourish) I attempted but it is impossible.  I can't think straight, I'm groggy, can't balance or walk straight, and queasy again (but I am not taking another pill right now- I have feeling sluggish and stupid, and that is exactly how I feel). ..I'm back in bed typing on evie.  Keep closing my eyes though....but the antibiotics give me a serious case of the creepies- where you feel like there are thousands of tiny sharp bugs prickling your skin all over, can't sleep but to sedated to do anything... ugh.  I have a ton of paperwork/ school work that I should be doing (not to mention taxes) but I can't focus on much of anything.

I remember staying home from school when I was little, always the vaporizer (hot or cold- I loved how the steam/vapor felt, and the sound it made was reassuring, like a cats purr).  I would read encyclopedias, be dosed sometimes with castoria (which was a cure all that I remember tasting something like burnt molasses mixed with coke, but probably didn't taste like that at all), drink water and tea and play ghost with kleenexs.  (You play ghost by twisting one end into  a head shape, then holding it up so  the vaporizer steam catches it- it will fly for a second, before getting all soggy and crashing.  For some reason I really liked this game).  Watching the black and white tv, but only rarely....kids shows were not on during the day and I wasn't interested at all in the soaps and talk shows of the grownups.  Or game shows, other than Jeopardy.  

Today is like that in a way- no tv, tried to start to watch something with the manz but movement gets my tummy going.  Can't concentrate enough to work or read, so am rambling typing, listening to the birds outside, the cat snoring at the bottom of the bed.  Going to try to sleep today and get better- if I keep fighting it and try to work, it ends up being counterproductive.  I'll just have to redo the work- I like to work more if I am awake and alert and full of ideas- then I can work well and fast.  When I feel  likes, everything is disconnected and takes forever- like walking through pudding.  I mentioned it before, but I *hate* this feeling-  I want to wake up, get things done, go see the flowers outside...but not today.  Today is for sleep and rest and getting well.

Missing

Yesterday afternoon this girl, Rebecca, went missing after school- she was last seen at Trask, then nothing.  Her parents, friends and police are looking for her- everyone wants her back home and safe.  I hoping that she will be, that all will be well, that it was a misunderstanding or a simple wandering away or mixed up plans. I am extremely grateful that she has people to look for her, to care- and I worry about those who do not.

High school is not like what I experienced~ even though I disliked (I'm being polite) high school, it was firmly in the comfort zone of our time and place.  Everyone had parents, lived at home, and any shenanigans were covered up discreetly.  There was a safety net of... I don't know what to call it- standard practices? That dictated the response to any perceived indiscretions-  pregnant girls vanished (but I don't recall anyone even getting pregnant when I was in high school.  Obviously, we were teenagers and not exactly prudish, but babies?  Was it because so many of the kids were Catholic and ingrained in no-sex, or because of birth control, or what?),  there were drugs around of course (I avoided them.  It's funny, because when I talk about the time I grew up in, and living in California, people jump to all sorts of assumptions.  But no, I was not wild. At all.  Just the smell of regular cigarettes made me queasy, and I just didn't care about doing things to fit in.  Drinking wise as well- even back then, drinking was no big deal, because I was taught to appreciate wine with dinner, the adult ritual of 'cocktails', and learned very quickly that bad beer just isn't worth it. I just never got in to the partying scene.  Even at college, I 'tended bar'- poured the beers- rather than drinking much myself....bad beer sucks.)  Anyway, back to high school back then. (For frame of reference, I graduated in 1981, went to college 81-83 for the first time...then moved to California.)   I don't remember anyone running away... of course we had our quiet scandals.  One girl (older than me, also named Rebecca) who was 'sent away' to 'boarding school' because she was anorexic.  A beauty queen (literally- a pageant winner, back around 1977) who became pregnant by the physics teacher- but *after* she graduated and he was a very young teacher...so it was acceptable. Sort of.  A death in a car crash attributed to pills and drugs.  But mostly we were stable, in our stable lives and things that weren't were kept private.

It's different now, it's even different since I began teaching 15 years ago, even since Grendel went to school.  Part of it is context- instead of the upper middle class area of Westmont (we were a bit of an anomaly- we did ok, but most of the students at my small school were the kids of doctors, lawyers, company men) - is that we live in a rural Southern community, where money and jobs are hard to come by and often impacted by the variables of weather and economy.  Part of it is the changing morals of the country, which is a good/bad thing-  in my heart, I know that everything under the sun has always gone on, and was most likely buried away in the land of 'things-not-to-talk-about-in-public'.  Dirty laundry, skeletons in the closet, party line gossip.  It is good now that people discuss these things, and better even that they find the strength to get out when life is toxic.  Sometimes it is said that these generations do not try hard enough to stay married, stay committed to a job or relationship or what not- but what they do have is the wisdom and power to escape and survive.  That can be a strength.

What has happened though at the high school level is that many of my kids are constantly lost- they are in fractured families, drift from home to home, try to live on their own.  While there are many good foster parents around, foster kids- especially teenagers- are seen as a kind of 'cash crop' during tough times.  They are taken in and traded like playing cards, some move every month, some just as soon as they begin to settle- especially those that are 'aging out' of the system.  Many, many of our students live on their own- they may be staying with a friends family, or in a camper, or tent or car.  They may be someones 'boy/girl friend' just so they have a place to stay, food to eat.  It sounds desperate and it is- and there is absolutely no safety net for these kids once they graduate.  The smart ones join the military, or scrape up enough financial aid/ scholarships to go to college (blindly, like Grendel and I, hoping for a miracle to wipe out student loans).  A few of the lucky ones snag jobs in high school and hold on to them, or take advantage of some of the certifications they can get in school~ there is always a need for nurses aids in the city.  Sometimes they just drift off.

The girl that is missing is not one of these- she has a home, and parents, and friends.  She does well in school and- at least on the surface- everything seems ok.  People love her, care about her, noticed her absence right away....and we are all hoping praying wishing for her safe return.  It doesn't matter if she chose to runaway or was taken- right now the importance is that she is missing and needs to be found, she is someones child and is loved.   I hope though that this care would be there if others went missing- the lost ones- that someone would notice their absence (they tend to be frequently absent) and raise an alarm.  That is another reason that I let kids find me on facebook, have my text number- so they have *someone* to check in with, or that checks in on them, someone who they could call if they really need help.  I am not the only teacher that does this- not by a long shot.  We have become another kind of safety net, something that, though invisible, is there.

I wasn't at school yesterday.  My head started Monday afternoon, and I cam home early and went to bed- it continued on through the night and into the wake-up time....about 4 am the manz convinced me to call in and go back to bed, where I stayed all day long.  It is an infection of some sort- head and ear, my balance is shot, I'm hearing all cotton clogged and echoy with ringing- and last night it moved down into the tummy region and the bathroom became my best friend.  Today I am up, keeping my coffee down, must go to school- am going to be out a week for the NYC trip and cannot abandon the students more than that...work waits on no one.  I am fortunate though because I have someone who cares, someone who looked after me from Monday night until now (and is continuing to) bringing me hot tea and toast, lovely cool Mexican ice creams, checking on me constantly. Calling the doctor and will make sure I go (today after school), taking good care, worrying over every small thing.  And I know that the world would not end if I stayed home today- I am still queasy and dizzy, it's like being car sick- but I also know that going to school isn't likely to be fatal, and I will feel mentally better if I go.  So I will.  And I will talk to the students, check in on my lost ones, find out what I can, hope that all will be well.

Einstein's Brain!

I love Albert Einstein... he always reminded me of a Koala bear, small, fuzzy, cute and unexpectedly grumpy but mostly good natured.   Add to that the awesome brain power, the intense curiosity and love of thinking, invention, compassion, regret.  Good humor, great hair and tweed suits... he is an icon, a modern god of playful intelligence that is at once blinding in its brilliance and shabby in the side chair.  If I get to choose what God-the-Father would look like, I'll take Albert any day.

And guess what?  On our roadtrip, in Philadelphia at the Mutter Museum, Einstein's brain is on display!  I am absurdly happy to know that, and to know that I will be able to see it- and with a bit of luck, photograph it.  Nothing of the mystery and pleasure of the image of Einstein is reduced for me by the gross anatomy- instead it is like visiting the relic of a saint...I understand pilgrimages and the desire to inspect some martyr's thumb.  It's wanting to see a part of them, try to know *why* they are different.... 

Yesterday Mother told me she lived in Philadelphia during the war, worked there maybe, loved the city.  I didn't quite know that- I knew Jack went to Temple University, and I think Gladys studied nursing there for a bit, but that is a whole chapter of family history that I don't know about.  There are so many stories I don't know and I would like to- I'm great at remembering what I experienced first hand, and much of what was told at dinner tables and in living rooms...but there are giant chunks that I don't know and would like to.  I'm not bored by it, I am fascinated...and would love to sit and listen and draw it all down, or read what is written (handwriting doesn't matter) or hear a recording- I wonder what happened to all the recordings that Jack and Dad made.  They used to send letters back and forth via tape recorder.....  at the time I wasn't interested, and I don't know what became of them, if anyone bothered to save them- or the recordings of the old ladies at Eiffler house, other things.  I have all the photos, all the letters written to me, family trees and even the collection of hair- but not those.  I wonder what was on them.... I know Dad loved to write, to tell stories and was very good at it- I know Jack loved to think, to talk, to collect information.  I do both in my own way- this blog is like diaries and letters, an open book, and information?  I have tons. And heaps. And gobs of it~ I want to know everything.

I wonder what it would be like if my family had the internet as a communication tool back then- I can see Dad loving to write, keeping a blog, sending emails.  I can see Mother avidly a fan of pintrest and polyvore- using her skills of design and taste to collect and create for herself and others.  I can see Jack still able to work and research and discuss without the limits of the bed and body- but part of the collective conscious, shaping the way we think. I really think that in another world and time, they would enjoy these tools immensely, find that the ease of creation and communication is accessible to everyone.  It is one of my things, this wanting to know- this wanting to time travel back and see and know what everyone thought about, listen more closely to the stories, explore the scary rooms and closets of Auntie Lou's house, discuss the psychology, thought and science with Jack.  Make art with Mother, let Granny Wrye make me over just once, go antiquing with Aunt Gladys, explore the desert with Uncle Don.  Listen to Popop talk about the old country and soccer and the mills, be quiet and still and listen to the stories adults tell when they forget you are in the room.  There was so much I don't remember and didn't understand- and want to know.  History is my family treasure, stories are my heirlooms.

Test Farm Road

Yesterday was beautiful- bright and sunny, warm- it was supposed to get all stormy, but that was delayed until now and I ended up playing all day instead of working.  Not by intention, exactly, but I decided to go to the Dollar Store to get some things for the NYC trip.  Nothing much, just the stuff I always forget- toothpaste, bandaids, cold meds, you know, small toiletries.  Then- because the dollar store parking lot was crowded and I parked on the side- I drove around back for an easier escape.  I ran right into distraction #1.

I love abandoned places~ and there was a small abandoned building *right there* in a field.  It looked like a tractor shed, but in front was a blue metal folding chair and a toilet- I decided to take a photo.  Turned out that the building was a homemade house, unoccupied.  Mostly just fallen boards, but some odd things left behind- pictures on the wall, an empty desk, a hardhat, welding mask, two Singer sewing machines in table cases- one of which was an old pedal machine with the lovely scrollwork iron legs on the case- rusted into oblivion, but one day quite a prize.  Horseshoes fixed to the wall for clothing hooks.  Tapestry dining room chairs broken and rotted, but quite elegant still. Strange combination of things for a house in a field.

Then I went to the Mexican bakery (which is becoming more of a bakery/botanica- hooray!) for some Flordia water since I was all smell obsessed yesterday.  That accomplished, I decided to drive out to the daffodil tree and pick some wild ones for Turrello...and I took a different way.  I still ended up on Railroad Street, but for the first time I noticed that there was *something* behind the wood line where Test Farm road connects. I never explored that road because of the name- while interesting sounding, I knew (correctly it turns out) that it lead to one of the Murphy Factory Farm sites.  These are feed/ hog farms and the testfarms tend to lean towards genetically engineered crops/critters, sounds interesting, but nothing to see but metal barns and fields with numbers.  There are usually hidden by woods/land and this was no exception.   To explain a bit about the terrain, railroad street follows the line of the railway- which now stops in Wallace.  There is still the elevated track bed and bridges, the depots in Willard and Burgaw, but the railroad itself is long gone.  Because it belongs to the state, it has grown up mostly in trees that block everything when in leaf.  Today though was exceptionally clear, I was looking from a different angle and I saw......the barn.

The barn is *not* a typical Southern barn.  In fact, I have *never* seen this type of barn down here- yet there it was in all of its abandoned glory.  It reminded me of the great red barns of Pennsylvania, and it was still a bit reddish....and- all those silos- I had to explore.  Dutch Gambrel barns are built to maximize storage, facilitate snow/water shedding, and provide for extended sheltering/working with livestock.  They are expensive to build, and locally rather unnecessary- most barns are build in the Tobacco steep pitch style.  There are Gambrels in the mountains, but they have a lower roof line and are built of wood- and usually have adjoining tobacco slopes on the side.  This was irresistible- I parked Capone, grabbed my camera and cell phone and started through the fields.  (If you are worrying, stop.  I explore safely- not in sketchy areas, not when it doesn't look stable or safe, never without my phone and camera, and I leave no trace.  I'm careful and have been doing this for years and years now- so- no worries!)

The fields around the barn are used- they are low cut and full of early spring growth of mushrooms, wild chives, purple eyebright, dandelions and shamrocks.  Woods in front of the barn I am guessing at one time held a house that is now long gone- but there is the remains of a drive, and pivet has grown up everywhere.  I couldn't spot a chimney, so I may be wrong.  The barn itself is a beauty- again, atypical for our region because it is not made of wood, but brick, cement and stone.  (Stone! We don't have stone!)  The roof is not only a true Gambrel, but has ornate shingles- diamond shaped, but curved and with points- I haven't been able to find out what they are called yet, but they are *very* decorative for a barn. The second story had windows, and the top gables with cupola vents.  Five silos are around one side, two on the other, and there is another barn behind this one- a bit smaller and with only three silos.  I'm guessing from the foundation that this was also once a grambrel, but the roof was gone.  Both barns were used for dairy cattle- they still have the milking framework, water/food stations and can lanes.  Small side rooms have access to silos, and areas I suppose used for equipment. The barn with the missing roof still has moldering hay bales (no, I didn't go in.  Sneezing is not my favorite sport)- but the big barn is intact.  The roof has some holes, but the floor is cement and sound, and oddly enough, the floor to the second story is also cement (how did they do that?)- cement stairs lead up and the roof arches over head- huge, lovely beams.  The silos are empty, there are still a few things stored in the barn long ago and forgotten- an ancient bike covered in dust and cobwebs, a rotting horse blanket, tack that is nothing but the rusted metal rings and buckles.  A plastic target buck (with real antlers tied on) that is covered in moss.  Beautiful, strange.

My guess is that this is what remains of a huge dairy farm.  This is supported by the dairy barns, silos, proximity to the train tracks- fresh milk could be sent rapidly to Wilmington via train.  The dairy was obviously very successful at one time- I wonder what happened, and how long ago they were abandoned.  Why they weren't either preserved or torn down- though I am very glad that they still stand. I will do some research- I like to know the stories.  Maybe Charles's dad will know- he is a local history kinda guy, but more in the Penderlea area than here.  I should like to go back there and paint it, photograph it some more, someday, someday. 

Scents

I am picky about smells.  I dislike commercial perfumes, artificial scents, sweet smells (unless it means actual cookies are baking), over the top fruity-floral.  I like herbal smells, wood, spices, 'green' (things like grass, hay, pine, rosemary, eucalyptus), citrus, natural flowers (except gardenias, jasmine and freesia- way to sweet).  Favorite flower smells are geraniums, daffodils, rose, violet, mock orange- but I like them mixed with some spice or green.  I love the smell of the sea, hot sand, paint, cedar, leather, ginger, linseed oil, curry, garlic, pepper, cloves, fresh cigarettes, burnt matches, tea, coffee- but no thanks to new car, cigars/hookah stale smoke, patchouli, musk, fake apple and most anything labeled 'tropical'- unless it is just plain coconut.  That's great- 

The manz is incredibly sensitive to smells for a smoker- and that is so strange because he picks up things I do not- things that are usually classified as 'bad smell get it away' such as: the doggs, feet, burnt toast (anytime we use the toaster oven he smells burnt toast forever- even though toast was never burnt in it-), some of my art supplies (oh no!  It's the stink ink!).  Odd thing is that Turrello the cat is exactly like him- sniffs like a bloodhound, comes running to smells.  When we come home from everywhere the cat has to sniff us all over along with anything we bring new into the house.  He loves to smell our food (rarely tastes it- just thoroughly smells), is particularly attracted to the smell of certain colors of my paint (blue watercolor is his favorite- he even tries to lick it), but his over the top favorite smell has to be daffodils.  This has gone on since he was a kitten, and his first springtime- since he is an indoors-only cat, we attributed it to 'outside- what is that?' curiosity.  But the next spring it was the same, and this early spring that we are having- I brought in our only blooming daffodil for him on Valentines day.  Joy!  Cat Joy!   Much sniffing- we held it out to him until we got tired, then put it in a small vase on the book shelf where he extended his cat self as much as possible in order to smell it.  When I get up in the morning he has raced out to the studio and must smell his flower first thing.  It's been a few days and the daffodil is dried now- I will go out in search of others today (they are my favorite spring flower).  Never have seen a cat smell like this.

So, in my quest for good smells I am experimenting with creating my own.  We have a candle plate- a small lowtemp hot plate made to put candles-in-glass on.  It melts the wax and releases the scent without burning the candle- lasts longer, no smoke, safer supposedly.  With the bonus bonus that I always have melted wax to use with art~ hooray!  It was awesome at first- during the fall when there are the sharp scented candles like apple cider (which smells not so overpoweringly of artificial apple, but rather apples, woods and spices) and pumpkin.  When Christmas came it became harder- the pine candles usually smell like car-trees, the food scents are to sweet and disappointing when you discover that the cookies/pie/cake/gingerbread are imaginary, and then it dissolved into spring scents that tend to be overly floral sweet or perfumed.  And we've noticed over the years that the scents don't seem to last as long- and we have tried a variety of candles- it has become frustrating.  We also tried the reed diffusers but they tend to be either to strong (especially when the cat knocks it over) or dry out because I forget to flip them.  When I clean, I use Flordia water in the mix (and the rosemary soap when I have it- I am out now, and the only place I can get it is at Enams, which requires a trip up to Grifton.  On pinterest, I read about how to make scented oil lamps using dried orange peels- and I have since been obsessively learning how to peel oranges into perfect bowls and drying them.  It's kinda hard to peel an orange into a perfect bowl, so I also dried all my mistakes- I have a tin of them at home now, and more drying at school.  

What I have done this morning is to gather all of the dried bits at home, cut them small with kitchen shears and then grind/mash them in my mortar.  I added some dried rosemary from the yarden, and have a jar of wax melting on the warmer.  I intend to add this all together and hopefully end up with something that smells good. I did go investigate and sniff various commercial candle scents, but they are artificial, expensive and ....just not what I want.  I could get essential oils- and should like to- but that again requires a trip to Enams or downtown to the smelly-store (which is a wonderful place, but very expensive.  They have all sorts of oils though and do custom blends- that you can then have made into perfume, lotions, salts, whatever- but again, expensive.)  In the meantime, it costs nothing to experiment with what I have on hand.  And it makes me feel happily witchy on this morning of a changing day.  (The weather for this weekend includes: sun, highs above 70, seriously strong thunderstorms with high winds this afternoon, extreme drop in temperatures and a very likely chance of sticking snow by tomorrow afternoon. Go figure.)

As usual, I have an abundance and beyond of school work to do- but right this moment I am feeling domestic and in the mood for making, drinking coffee, writing and cleaning....all nesty.  Maybe venturing out and taking photos, finding daffodils for the cat.  Documenting this day and making lists- I would even be up for a road trip to Enams, but timewise- to much work, and would rather not be on that road in heavy weather.  Besides, perhaps I can find a cool botanical store and interesting smells on my journeys- or in my own back yard.