I was walking home from the subway, and up the winding stairs through my gardens...granted, my gardens are technically owned by the New York Parks system, but let us not split hairs...I was feeling rather gloomy: it was cold and rainy and it had been a really long day. Even my red rubber boots failed to cheer me up. All of a sudden, I caught a whiff of one of my favorites scents. The lavender, which has been dry and scentless all winter, was sending its delicate odour my way. I love to walk by in the summer and drag my hand over the plants, then rub my neck so that I can smell it all the way home. It is so refreshing, and it reminds me of summers spent in my grandmother's apartment, where she had homemade sachets of dried lavender in the dressers and wardrobes. (Lest this give the Reader the impression that my grandmother was a "granny" type, living in an old musty flat with calico everywhere, I will tell you that my other favorite scent is Narcisse Noir, a fragrance from Paris from the '30s that is about as strong as Betty Davis' gaze. My most vivid sense memory moment is as a child, nestling up into my grandmother's voluptuous mink coat in the back seat when we picked her up at the airport for Christmas, gulping in this delicious foreign aroma. It was full of promise: big hugs, loud hearty laughs, ice cream in winter, cigarettes, Cordon Rouge Brut and little glasses of burning liqueurs that I dare not sip: I am still convinced that Mame was secretly based on my grandmother's life, but with all the really outrageous bits left out)
But back to the lavender. I was so happy with this little moment, the memories it brought back and the hope for future moments of joy, and I just want you all to reflect on the little things that make you happy. It is easy enough to forget them...
This is the little pot where I keep my dried lavender.
It has holes in the roof to let the scent out.
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