Always remember to wear black velvet

I had a really bad week. Everything imaginable went wrong. People say bad luck happens in threes, well, it was more like 30 things that went wrong this week. So many times I held back tears during the past few days, to the point that my throat felt like there was a permanent lump, a constricted sensation like I swallowed a kiwi whole. On the drive home from work this evening I finally let those tears roll down my cheeks. As I was driving along, completely immersed in my own self pity, I looked around at the pretty scenery and noticed for the first time today that it was simply gorgeous outside. The sky was blue with just a few wispy clouds, it was hot but not humid; just the perfect day that I always wish for when it’s either sweltering hot or too cold. The aroma of my fragrance caught my attention; I wore Annick Goutal Le Chevrefeuille. Le Chevrefeuille is a soliflore honeysuckle fragrance. It’s beautiful and just about the only honeysuckle I’ve ever smelt that’s absolutely perfect. Honeysuckle reminds me of my Grandmother. I got to thinking about my Grandmother. She would have loved a perfect summer day like today. I remember her standing in the back yard at the house where I grew up. She would look out at the meadows behind the house, at the horses and cows and the fields and lake beyond, she’d get a peaceful look on her face and she’d always say “this is God’s country.” My Grandmother wore two different perfumes, surely both were drugstore cheapies, but she always smelled so nice, of either honeysuckle or lily of the valley. My Grandmother’s last moments came to me, as I was driving along, tears running down my cheeks, but slowly beginning to stop crying as I thought about my Grandmother. She was only 61 years old when she died. She died of cancer. She was initially diagnosed with cancer at a mere 54. She went through chemotherapy and then lived until the cancer emerged again. I remember exactly what she told me on her death bed, she said “Ahhh-bi (she thought it was amusing to pronounce my name with an affected British accent) if I had my life to live over again, I’d wear more black velvet. I’d wear black velvet and red lipstick and have perfectly manicured red nails and beautiful perfume.” I was 13 years old when she said this to me and she died that very night. I’m certain you can track the beginning of my perfume addiction to a few days after my Grandmother died. I understand she was telling me to take life less seriously, to have fun, to be happy and enjoy the beautiful and oftentimes frivolous things in life. Maybe she could have said this to me more eloquently but I completely understood what she meant. Whenever I’m feeling down my mind usually wanders back to what my Grandmother said, about black velvet and perfume. Man, she would have loved Le Chevrefeuille.