Just smell that!

Newly mown hay. Balsam Fir needles. Lilacs. Ocean air. Eucalyptus groves. These are some of the aromas you may love. Who doesn’t? After all they are freely available, although the decline in agriculture has deprived many people of the sweet scent of timothy grass hay. There are lots of naturally occurring smells which evoke positive responses. It is a very long list. It gives credence to the effectiveness of aromatherapy, the application of aromas to enhance or even induce a mood.

Then there are the cooking smells. They are in a class by themselves as conduits to rich memory experiences. There are the holiday sub-types such as roasting turkey, sand tarts and schmaltz. I’ll let you read about the latter on your own time if you need familiarization. That’s also where you will meet the fascinating world of gribenes. Then too there are the more ordinary aromas often associated with home baking. Grandmother used to set aside a singular day of the week to do all her baking. Her house and its environs were enveloped for the duration in the most deliciously attractive essence. As a result, baking bread of any flavor is a sure trigger for me. The point is that the power of certain cooking aromas has the potential to transport your imagination instantly to a place and time of distant reckoning where you were imprinted by a complete experience.

It is amusing and a little sad to see the attempts to commercialize this all too human association. What self-respecting candle store doesn’t carry some permutation of cinnamon fragrance? Every realtor knows that apple pie and cinnamon are attractants to nesting home buyers. Most open house showings include some element of aroma manipulation, calculated to soften up the prospects if not to mask some unpleasantness. Speaking of which, the lengths to which one can go to mask offensive smells has been taken to silly extremes. It is reminiscent of the preciosité of the seventeenth century French aristocracy who fairly fainted at the hint of a scent of anything untoward, not to mention the stench of the streets which were ripe enough. There is a town in Illinois, I think, where certain chewing gum flavors inescapably scent the air as a part of the manufacturing process. This may be preferable to living down-wind of a paper mill and it is no doubt taken in the same stride by the citizens as a fact of life.

The acceptance of this artificiality is a testament to olfactory tolerance.

The crowning extremes of this pre-occupation with aroma are the dizzying array of candles and electrified room fresheners which attempt to particularize the atmosphere with an ambient fragrance which someone somewhere somehow has determined to be essentially pleasant and positive. Are we becoming a culture of aroma addicts who require all sensory experiences to carry the generic heft of clothes dryer sheets? An occasional lavender sachet or a bar of scented soap is about all I require. That kind of refreshment is a wonderful complement to those beautifully folded linens and intimates that you so enjoy. It’s nice to evoke a feeling of calm and order with a subtle fragrance from time to time and to experience a peaceful harmony.

Still,

Celeste

Love-Hate

        Hyperbole is alive and well. We are in the midst of inflated discourse in the most ordinary exchanges from the political ring to the talk radio echo chamber to ordinary conversation. When I say “I simply love that blouse on you!” or “I adore that shoe, glove and purse combination!”, what I am really saying is that I agree with and admire your sense of style! From my point of view you are doing something right and I am not going to be shy about complimenting you. We all know that this exaggeration is for effect and an expression of exuberance. These enthusiasms deserve to be shared and they can act as much as a tonic for a blue mood as for chronic depression. We ought to be encouraging one another, don't you think? Consider it a figure of speech if it goes a little bit overboard. It's the spirit of the remark that really counts.

       I hope it brightens your day and heightens your confidence to hear, “That color is divine for you and really makes your gorgeous eye color even more attractive!” Most of us have enough self-awareness, especially at a certain age, to know all about our physical faults and defects that don't quite measure up to the highest standards of glamour stardom. This self-imposed critical judgment we may feel keenly or not, depending on our innate sensitivity and tolerance for social (dis)approval. Some people wear their confidence outwardly and appear to be models of self-assurance and may never reveal their own inner insecurity. That doesn't mean a well-aimed compliment isn't welcomed. Often it is desperately needed; to err on the side of hyperbole does no harm and can in fact be very beneficial.

      This lively expressiveness can have a dark side however when we announce displeasure. Bald statements such as “I hate blue” or ”I hate parsnips” leave no allowance for shades of meaning and are potent pronouncements which, as hyperbole, are not so lightly dismissed. For some reason, that word “hate” has insinuated itself into our discussions as commonly acceptable speech. My feeling is that the word ought to be reserved within our inner well of dark matter and be dispensed with some stinginess. Reserve your hate for racism, Nazism and starvation. Save that hyperbole for things that really matter and not just for sports opponents or people with Massachusetts license plates or strip mall developers. The power of this word has infected our discourse to such a degree that it actually stirs up totally misplaced animosity and encourages divisiveness. Hate puts you solidly in one intractable camp with all those who don't agree on the other side. Its casual use has promoted distrust, disbelief and wariness of the “Other” - that person outside your group of association. This cannot be good for civilization when the word “hate” is so generously dispensed. The unintended consequence of it its overuse cannot bode well and gives permission to others to use it freely as well.

       I love my hyperbole and my metaphors sunny side up.

Kisses forever, Celeste

Baseball Lingo

Baseball is such a charming game. Some people think it is the best thing going and packed with action, strategy and surprise achievements. Well, maybe. I have to choose my words carefully because there are overzealous fanatics who will not brook any criticism. Also, patriotism has a way of creeping into any discussion of the topic. On the other hand, to its credit it has evolved to modern standards of entertainment and has a treasured place in summertime activity.

Americans in general are perplexed by foreign sporting tradition and I mention the game of cricket as an example. The rules are one thing but the lingo creates another impenetrable barrier to appreciation of the sport. For those who are not familiar with baseball and are continually perplexed by its so called virtues, I have compiled a short list of terms that may help demystify some of the accounts given by savvy broadcasters.

Celeste’s Clip ‘n’ Save Guide to Baseball Lingo

Can of corn – an easily caught fly ball to the outfield.

Catbird seat – a position of unarguable advantage. Not just physical, as in the press box.

Dinger – a home run. Round all the bases and score.

Fan him – strike him out. It takes three by the way.

Full count – three balls and two strikes against a batter. A foul ball then doesn’t count.

Gas inside – a fast pitch close to the hitter. A brush back is a dangerously close one.

Go with the heat (or gas) – serve up a very fast pitch. 100 mph is not unheard of.

Johnson – a home run. I have no idea who Johnson is or was.

Off speed – a slower pitch. 70 mph is considered lethargic!

On the corners – simultaneously a runner at first base and a runner at third base.

One (two or three) aboard – number of base runners.

Paint the corners – pitches delivered close to the corners of the rectangular strike zone.

Punch out – a strike out.

Put mustard on it – a throw or a hit with energy and vigor.

Swing for the fences – muscular and aggressive batting.

Walk off home run – a game winning home run for the home team in the last inning.

Huge hugs, Celeste

A public service announcement

Have an escape plan, Celeste’s tips on emergency preparedness:

Put together a small kit for travel and be sure it includes all the cosmetics you might not be able to find “on the road”. If you use certain serums, like many of us do, it is unlikely you will be able to pop into a corner store to replenish. It is very important for your morale in the face of danger to present a planned appearance. Also it will put your fellow travelers (I hesitate to use the word evacuees, which sounds almost biological) at ease in any unexpected interactions. Don’t forget that an extra set of your best brushes will be needed.

Access to your own special hair products are extremely useful to have. Nothing could be more shocking than to go for a day and possibly more, without firm holding spray. Special tip: in an extremis survival situation I am told that they are flammable and can be used to ward off wild animals.

Set aside a proper wardrobe. No need to pack it, just set it aside in a section of your walk-in. Since you won’t know what time of day the disaster may strike, include practical selections from your daily routine. In this set aside area you may still continue to use them only be sure to replace them cleaned in the set aside when you dip into them. Don’t feel you have to alter your habiliments, except maybe to add a head covering that you might ordinarily use just for gardening or the beach. As the seasons change so should your set aside too!

Practical footwear is a must so include any casual wear you ordinarily use. For my use I have a very nice carry bag with a pair of flats, boardwalks, mules and zip boots. It is a comfort to know that they are there any time I need them. Select your own types but avoid wedges no matter how comfy they might feel. Toss in some footies too!

It goes without saying that essential medicine is a requirement. You might also add in the kit any over the counter relief aids that you usually take. My dear partner has an extensive list of such things and I make him segregate these on one side of his medicine cabinet where I placed a small plastic bag. When the time comes we could just scoop them all in one motion into the bag and be on our merry way. Et Voila!

Small food items, such as energy bars, and water deserve to be in the kit. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to include some Richart chocolate from Paris or even some dark Scharffen Berger as mood enhancers under the circumstances. They come in nice little squares.

Lastly, don’t ignore a set aside of delicates and handkerchiefs. A small flask of strained and decanted sherry wouldn’t be a bad thing either.

Hugs all around,

Celeste

Three cheers for cooks!

      Cooking is not chef-ing, although it seems that chefs are everywhere. Chefs run kitchens, create signature dishes, host television programs, sign their cookbooks and generally live the life of the adulated few. Cooks, on the other hand, may or may not aspire to that high wire upon which a chef balances, where a lapse may be career-ending and not just an unsuccessful stutter. It is true that all chefs were cooks at one time, laboring for long hours in the hot sweaty line of pressured production for little money and no recognition. A chef's life isn't for everyone and not everyone aspires to it, although some cooks may admire the apparent rewards lavished on the most successful chefs. This doesn't deny that chefs have attendant headaches behind all the glamor and they might say “Oy, you have no idea” to that. But today's American food culture places an extraordinary value on the accomplishments of chefs and by doing so hints that the contribution of the cook is of lesser value. How wrong-headed is that? Many cooks have undergone extensive and exquisite training in particular specialties, and have served ably with loyalty and distinction on the battle line in the kitchen. They have been responsible for the presentation of countless tables of richness and worth that have pleased customers of the most, and of the least, discriminating taste. These are the professional cooks of whom I speak, whether their work tables are barbeque or blue ribbon.

     Then there are the dedicated and superior amateurs who not only serve their families on a daily basis but also their friends and guests in an unselfish effort to entertain, amuse and beguile in addition to satisfying them. To be good at that requires dedication among other qualities including creativity if not artistry, technical skill, improvisational deftness, concentrated organization and, not least of all, a caring nature. For someone to cook a meal with the particular desires and preferences of the recipient in mind is a process that involves time and effort both in and outside the kitchen. The menu planning, the ingredient gathering and the recipe selections are not a small part of this performance and can require as much attention to detail as time spent in the kitchen. To do this with excellence on a daily basis is an exhibition of remarkable love and caring, no doubt about it. You may know what I mean. To create these little essential artworks of tribute regularly is a sign of great devotion. It doesn't matter whether the dish is potage or pheasant, as any cook will tell you. Cooks undertake these tasks willingly with the hopeful attitude of aiming to please. Just the accommodation for varied dietary preferences, let alone requirements, at a single table can be daunting. There is nothing easy or simple about it and a lack of appreciation for this can sting terribly. Praise is not expected at forkful but an acknowledgment of the effort that goes into the entire presentation is always gratefully received in my experience. The simplest sincere expression by a guest or a family member can make all the difference to the cook's assessment of achievement.

     To those cooks who identify with this description, I say thank you and can only say that I trust that your loving care does not go unnoticed, nor should it ever.

   Biggest Smooches, Celeste

Family guests - it can happen anytime!

          Guests are one thing but family guests are another. They require special consideration and rules mainly due to the delicacy of the familial bonds that dare not be broken, except in cases of distant incarceration, in which instance the best policy would be to send holiday cards only without any personal notes, thereby maintaining the thinnest connectivity. When there is a disturbance in the family fabric it has a tendency to propel vibrations far and wide and to engender tremors in faraway and unexpected places. One of the consequences of which is that the original actors in the drama are misunderstood, misquoted and generally maligned by persons who hardly know them and can’t be bothered to find out the facts. In order to preserve the status quo of cherished family values and character, some precepts ought to be observed by the host and hostess when sheltering family:

         1. Never loan them money as a house guest. Its corollary: never ask for repayment by a guest, lest it be misunderstood as “rent”. 2. Do not encourage the family guest to give up a cherished vice, such as drinking, smoking or gambling while in your home as this is likely to exacerbate violent mood swings. 3. Limit sharp objects around the house, especially within easy reach on kitchen counters. 4. If a family guest makes an inane and offensive remark at table such as, “Not all slave owners were really bad people,” ask them to help in the kitchen with some menial task in order to defuse any ill-will, especially if it happens to be Martin Luther King Day. 5. Placate dietary requirements as best you can but do not be vexed by unanticipated and unexpressed needs. Meet them with casual nonchalance such as, “I don’t believe you mentioned that to me” or “Help me find a substitute in your food pyramid.” 6. Provide ample brochures for local activity in rooms and meet requests for things to do with a slightly bewildered deflection to them. 7. Plainly express your day’s plan ahead of time and let the family guests work around your schedule. Leave explanatory notes with diagrams on the kitchen counter when you must be away. 8. Inform the family that your pet has a delicate nature and that territorial displays are to be expected, the consequences for which you will not be responsible, no matter the provocation. Stock in stain remover. 9. The second phrase after welcome must be, “Remind me how long you said you will be with us?” A direct declaration is important for clarity. Much sorrow and ill-will has arisen from over-staying, Benjamin Franklin’s quotation notwithstanding. Remind your guest how thin your walls are. Blame the builder. 10. Your goal is to make it all look easy. Even those who exploit your kindness with unexpressed appreciation can sense the effort you have made. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of self the rewards of kinship will be felt. Offer to reciprocate with a visit of your own in the near future.

Kisses,

Celeste

Best summer ever

    Oldsters love nostalgia, if one is to judge from the shameless non-profit funding appeals featuring music groups from 60 years ago. Nostalgia is not a bad thing although it sounds vaguely like a medical condition. I think what we mean by nostalgia is the reflection on a period, a day, even an instant when things were going our way. Never mind that the actual experiences of the era of the music appeals may have been fraught with insecurities, broken hearts and teenage or coed angst. Taken to this extreme, we can concoct a sappy sentimentalism totally unmoored from reality; yet the upwelling of images, feelings and impressions can be calming and reassuring if they are of an affirmative nature. Let’s not dwell on unpleasantness, I say, past or present. Taken in its literal sense, nostalgia is a form of homesickness; that undefinable yearning for things as they were when one had a comfort, security and predictability in one’s home life, no matter at what age. I don’t think growing up in a chaotic, noisy, competitive and uncertain home can engender nostalgia but then that was not the childhood I experienced. For me dangers were at least at arm’s length and a caring embrace was as close as a casual glance around.

      For me the sweet anchor of at least one summer was associated with our Tastee-Freez ice cream stand, located along the road between my home and downtown Euphoria. It really was a stand, four-sided with a slanting modernist roof and a great glass front soaring up and into the heavenly future. Mr. Goober, the manager was a little round man who wore very wide ties clipped to his always white shirt and who had a weakness for ice cream and pretty young girls, with whom he flirted constantly and hired exclusively. I was lucky enough to make the grade as counter help and the summer was passing with delightful regularity as I observed more extended tongues than a sore throat clinic and spent considerable time cooling myself over the open chest freezer.

      It happened that our supervisor, Miss Emily, of the dimpled smile and cheerleading enthusiasm found herself in some biological difficulty in July, well before the end of the season. Mr. G. turned to me as the next in line. Was I ever flattered! The importance of the “TF”, as everyone in the know called it, cannot be exagerrated. For my age group it was the galactic hub around which everything revolved. This wasn’t just because we had the best dip-top cones with sprinkles or not. After dark it might be a deserted neon yellow beacon but only because the gangs, groups and cliques had already met there and moved on to wherever summer’s distilled essence (whether liquid or not) was to be quaffed. The “TF” allowed me an entré into a rarified popularity I might not have enjoyed otherwise. People wanted to be my friend, wanted to know what I thought, wanted to invite me to pool parties, wanted be around me and in short sought me out and included me in every teenage social ritual. It was a dream and the best summer ever.

     Even my coworkers over whom I held complete sway treated me with respect and I daresay some affection. By the end of the season as we closed for the last time they all came by to say goodbye. They presented me with a stuffed polar bear with a card attached. “You’ve got a Brrrrright future!”, it said. I remember.

Kisses,

Celeste

A fine mountebank

Forgive me if I swerve from the track for a moment.

I adore old words, even the archaic ones that are out of place in current usage, which, when they pop up, can sound like a fog horn in a love song or look like a desperate attempt at smug scholarship. When you look up their etymology sometimes there are surprises about their origins. I always enjoy the rich diversity that underlies the English language, from roots that derive from Arabia to Scandinavia and from every linguistic group in between: French to Finno-Ugric. In America there are often direct connections to our immigrant forebears. Not a lot of people see the Dutch as having enriched our vocabulary, but then they may not be yacht owners, the boss being the captain. See also frolic, Yankee, and snoop among many others. On the other hand, testamentary to our tradition of xenophobia is the long list of pejorative terms attached to the word Dutch-: treat, door, oven, prince, rub, uncle, courage and on and on.

Anyhoo, there are some old-fashioned not exactly archaic words which deserve more pointed usage today. The 16th century word mountebank is a good one found in Shakespeare's work and fits nicely into current conversation without any effort. I name no names. The descriptor blow-hard is not heard enough these days, neither is windbag for that matter. The former describes a loud braggart (from unrelated nautical origins) and the other a tediously self-extending speaker (from the term for an organ bellows). These under-appreciated terms carry the weight of time with them and are reassuring in their apt currency to describe some notorious characters at work these days. The connotations and disapproving associations ought to travel with them.

Without too much mental exertion the old word charlatan springs to mind in the rich vocabulary of scoundrels, cheats and tricksters. The modernized version is the well known snake oil salesman, who has a cure for whatever ails you, coming from the Italian or French language and mixes chatterbox tendencies with a medicinal sales pitch. A carnival barker sounds about in the same vein.

Depending on the damage inflicted, a person may be a scallywag or scalawag but that denomination is far too moderate for someone whose power is enormous and able to do great harm with so little effort, such as a few keystrokes. As a side note it is interesting that the Scalawags as a group actually had a political and practical role in the life of the South after the Civil War but that is another topic.

Recognizing the appropriate word and its origin clearly does not prevent some people from being taken in and swindled. For the victim, the admission of this fact and recognition as a “stooge” is far too painful to admit, let alone embrace. Therefore the cautious and discerning individuals can only stand to the side and cluck tongues. At least we have a long history of naming these destructive rogues who damage our faith in humanity and continually affirm the willful gullibility of some.

There. I feel better.

For a gracious tomorrow with abundant kisses,

Celeste

Pillow talk

Cheries;

Girls, let’s talk. Excuse the informality but this is simply too important not to mention. It is about pillows. The current trend is a tidal wave and beginning to crest for goodness sake. We are being swamped with them. I have actually seen bed arrangements that literally engulf more than half the space available. Stop before it is too late!

It is no less inviting to prepare a bed with two pillows per person and a nice bolster for support if needed than it is to establish a beach-head of fluffy obstructions to wade through. Where on earth do you put them all when you sleep? I hope not on the floor but I suspect as much. Spend your effort on economy in the bedroom and do it tastefully with a sleeping pillow and a nicely covered display pillow for accent. If you can, have the display pillowcase monogrammed or use very fine material to make a special presentation. Many heirloom fabrics are still available in the better linen stores. Let the hotels exaggerate the pillow-mania and reserve a signature style for your home. Please don’t make it look like a hotel. Your guests are there for you.

Then there are the sofas. Call them davenports, couches, lounges or what you will they are usually quite comfortable as they are made, usually with abundant cushioning. Use pillows as accents and not as an excuse to slouch and slump in dreadful postures. Is it any wonder that the advertisements for back pain remedies and even for surgeries are more and more commonly displayed everywhere? The modern American back muscles have been softened to a frightful degree and excessive pillofication is the culprit. Pillows are accents. Use them accordingly. They are not to hide behind or wrestle with unless you are under ten years old. Choose contrasting colors, patterns or fabrics to make your points. A fine bargello needlepoint offers a touch of refinement and plenty of support. Don’t be stampeded into over-doing it just because you see them cascading in catalogues. Remember that their purpose there is to sell you more pillows. A tsunami of pillows is an obstacle and not an accompaniment to conversation or to rest. And you really don’t have to crease them in that sort of artificial manner seen in hotel lobbies across the land.

Girls, my advice is that if you want to make a fashion statement, do it with subtlety and an artful choice of restraint. One is not impressed with piling on. It is easy to avoid this fault of common-ness. Your home ought to exemplify your personal standards in every way. Make your style stand out with an exercise of moderation when it comes to pillows, the accents that display a warm welcome and solid comfort.

As ever, Celeste