Morning thoughts
Must have more sleep. On a regular basis. Yesterday I lost my last 4.5" metal hairpin, unavailable in the US. I now look like a potted fern. Or Richard Simmons. This is obviously a sign I need to go to Paris and find a pharmacy. The lovely Ana sent me a huge box of perfume samples (If you have not seen her blog Invisible Magnet , you must ; she writes brilliantly.) Some vials, some full sized untouched bottles all wrapped in the pink pages of the New York Observer. An amazing present, one of the bottles is, of all things, a full sized L'Artisian Patchoul i. Not being a huge patchouli freak, I had to sample. Hmmm....dangerous. It causes hallucinations of Indian tea, cashmere shawls and shadowy rooms like being trapped inside a jewelry box. It's like dressing up like someone else more exotic for a day. (Patchouli is a known Republican repellent.) Meow. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Darling Ana. The husband has the most delicious skin inside his elbows. He is taking it