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celebrating wine

sidewaysI’m no oenophile (connoisseur of wine), by any means. But I always enjoy a glass of red. Unlike Miles, Paul Giamatti’s character in Sideways who refuses to drink Merlot, almost any red wine will do. But I definitely have some favorites.

Tempranillo

Yesterday evening, I attended an event at Scalo Northern Italian Grill in Nob Hill (the one here in Albuquerque, not the one in San Francisco) and the happy hour reds included Cubo Tempranillo. Oh, I’ll have that! I said.

According to the Total Wine & More Guide to Tempranillo Wine:

The Tempranillo (tem-prah-NEE-yoh) grape is as important to Spain as the Cabernet Sauvignon grape is to the Médoc. The great reds of Rioja and Ribera del Duero are Tempranillo based. This versatile grape is capable of yielding big, full-bodied reds with firm tannins and loads of complexity to very light and easy-drinking wine with light tannins. Typically Tempranillo yields red wines with red-fruit flavors, which include cherry and ripe strawberry with rustic nuances of leather and earth. With substantial oak aging such as the Gran Reservas of Rioja, Tempranillo produces elegant and complex wine with multifaceted layers of flavors. Also known as Tinto de Toro, Tinto Fino, and Tinto del País.

I can neither confirm nor deny the firmness of the tannins or degree of complexity of the glass of wine I enjoyed last night, but it was very, very nice. I haven’t encountered Tempranillo often, but every time I’ve tasted it, I’ve always wanted more.

Malbec

Malbec is another wine I will usually choose if it’s available. The Total Wine & More Guide to Argentinian Malbec Wine says:

The flagship red grape of Argentina, Malbec [MOWL-beck] was once popular as a blending grape in Bordeaux, where it is still one of the permitted varietals. Malbec plays a supporting role in many appellations in South West France and especially Southeast of Bordeaux, in the region of Cahors, where it is the primary grape and is referred to as “the black wine,” due to its deep, dark color.

Nowhere does Malbec’s star shine as brightly as it does in the Mendoza region of Argentina. The ripe and plush Malbec wines of Argentina feature dark fruit flavors of blackberry, blueberry and black raspberry and supple tannins, with nuances of violets and toasty oak in the more expensive offerings. Blending with Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah add additional complexity.

1629

Winery_1But New Mexico has it’s own history of wine production, and my current favorite red wine is locally produced. Casa Rondena Winery is located in the Village of Los Ranchos de Albuquerque. The facility includes several buildings with indoor and outdoor tasting areas. You can hang out in one of them, bring your own picnic to enjoy on the grounds, or—if you can afford it—even get married there.

Thanks to the generosity of a friend, I’ve been treated to all of the Casa Rondena reds, the absolute best (and most expensive) of which is:

2009 1629 – A true Casa original: 50% deep dark Syrah; 41% dense, soft tannins of Cabernet Sauvignon and 9% spicy Tempranillo; – blended and named in honor of the first vinifera plantings in North America, right here in New Mexico!

The first time I enjoyed a few sips of this wine was at the end of a tasting. It was near closing and the owner, who happened to be behind the bar, wanted us to experience the effect the size and width of a wine glass can have on the way the wine tastes. So he gave us several more samples of this fantastic wine in various glasses. I hadn’t had dinner yet, but I kept on sipping, to the point where I got a bit tipsy.

Periodically my friend, who belongs to Casa Rondena’s wine club, will pick up a bottle of the 1629 and we will enjoy it together whenever we have something to celebrate. It just seems too good to have on an ordinary day. But maybe that thinking needs to change. Maybe we ought to use the wine to turn an ordinary day into a celebration. I’m game to give that a try if she is.

This post is part of April’s 30 Days of Celebration. To read more, click on the Celebration category link.

celebrating the desert

desertI’ve called New Mexico home for close to 14 years. The first time I visited the southwest, I was smitten with the wide-open skies, the abundant and ever-changing light, and the subtleties of the desert landscape. I even liked the heat.

The beautiful description of the desert that follows is courtesy of my friend Bob Walling, who—in addition to being a very fine writer—is also a former corporate trainer, university lecturer and British travel professional. Thank you, Bob.


April 2015

Chamisa, sage, Morman tea, rabbitbush, broombush, desert rose, paintbush, cholla, prickly pear, scruboak are names to be spoken gently in this land of wind. These inhabitants of the desert enter the eye as quietly and gently as a Navajo person entering a room. Like the Navajo entering they seek harmony with their surroundings without disturbing the air. These plants take little from the land but without adding the silver of the sage, orange-red of the paintbrush or the white of the desert rose the painter’s palette would have missed the honest colors of the desert.

The words buttes, canyons, arroyos, and barrancas, stand as linguistic witnesses to the parade of visitors to this space during the last 400 years. Modern man’s attempt to give names in his language to the violent evidence of a land in turmoil–  land of volcanoes, eruptions and earthquakes. Travelers driving, travelers towing silver bullets, travelers pulling Winnebagos nearly as large as some of the villages they are named after pass down the road, and travelers with their life’s belongings stowed in the back seat traveling 75 miles an hour gawk sideways at the evidence of this geologic violence and hurry through as if the violence might be latent and intent on occurring again. The desert, as it appears at this speed looks like a colorful crime scene of scattered eruptions, deep cuts running blood red and jagged evidence of an angry god. Older people seem to be drawn to drive across the landscape, silent observers in metal boxes to this violence thrilling the eye with color as they once thrilled the body on a rollercoaster.

coyoteIt gives up only the obvious to these visitors in its colors of reds, oranges and browns and keeps concealed the silvers, chartreuses and greens which it keeps tucked close to the land. The rushing motorists soak the eyes with colors already obtained from National Geographic.  The sun bleaches the landscape to a one dimensional panorama. The language of the desert is subtle not read easily by the person passing hurriedly to some unknown destination. The desert speaks in profiles at sunrise and shadows at sunset and the barking howl of the coyote when least expected. The coyote speaks like a desert wind, first barking like a dog and then breaking into a lonely howl which causes a tiny shiver of melancholy in us the lonely audience. The coyote is the loon of the desert, looking like a dog at a distance, just as a loon looks like a duck at a distance. It is in their calls that both establish their lonely independence.

The wind is the storyteller of the desert. The wind wraps you up in a constant conversation, sometimes gently nudging you to think about yourself here and sometimes violently telling its story with wild gusts that kick up foreign thistles across the road. Visitors huddle from the wind when it gusts, make way quickly to their cars and take flight as if the wind’s story is too harsh a tale to be heard by gentle folk. It is the wind that tells us the story of the buttes, sings songs that are deep inside us and gestures with wind language to tell us where best to walk.

Many visitors come here to find purity in a world become too complex at home. Here they hope the colors are true and primeval, but the desert is the world and it is complex. The desert is a multi-cultural experience composed of the tracks left by people and animals that weren’t there four hundred years ago like the tumbleweed from the British Isles, the Russian Olive from Europe, the sheep, horses, and cows from Spain, and the river bed of a canyon yielding the spring buds of the tamarisk. Only the orange of the buttes is native and original here.


This post is part of April’s 30 Days of Celebration. To read more, click on the Celebration category link.

celebrating the music of poetry

music of poetryIt’s still April; still National Poetry Month.

Poetry and music often come together in unexpected ways. Poet Dorothea Lasky said:

The music of poetry is a delight for the mind.

When it’s read out loud—or set to music and sung—it’s can also be a great delight to the ear.

i carry your heart with me

Poem by e.e. cummings/performed by Michael Hedges (with David Crosby and Graham Nash singing harmony) from the album Taproot. Cummings is my favorite poet and Hedges is a wonderful musician.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go, my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)

the song of wandering Aengus

Poem by William Butler Yeats/performed by The Waterboys from the 2011 album An Appointment with Mr. Yeats. A surprising find. According to Mike Scott’s track guide, “This lyric conjures in my mind’s eye a moonlit wood on a hallucinatory night in some old Celtic dream time, and the bard Aengus, silver-bearded, wandering out on his quest. This music is the soundtrack to that vision.” Flute solo by Sarah Allen.
.

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

adventures of Isabel

Poem by Ogden Nash/performed by Natalie Merchant from the album Leave Your Sleep. I love the energy, the arrangement, the words, Merchant’s voice…everything! It’s my favorite tune on the album.

Isabel met an enormous bear

Isabel, Isabel, she didn’t care
bear was hungry, bear was ravenous
bear’s big mouth was cruel and cavernous
bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you
How do, Isabel, now I’ll eat you
Isabel, Isabel, she didn’t worry
Isabel didn’t scream or scurry
Washed her hands straightened her hair up
Then Isabel ate the bear up

Once in a night black as pitch
Isabel met a wicked old witch
witch’s face was cross and wrinkled
witch’s gums with teeth were sprinkled
Ho, ho, Isabel! old witch crowed
I’ll turn you into an ugly toad
Isabel, Isabel, didn’t worry
Isabel didn’t scream or scurry
showed no rage, showed no rancor
turned the witch into milk and drank her
Oh yeah,

Isabel!!!

Isabel met a hideous giant
Isabel so self reliant
giant was hairy, giant horrid
One eye in the middle of his forehead
morning, Isabel, giant said
I’ll grind your bones and make my bread
Isabel, Isabel, she didn’t worry
Isabel didn’t scream or scurry
nibbled on his zwieback that she fed off
When it was gone, she cut the giant’s head off

Isabel!!!

Isabel met a troublesome doctor
punched and poked till he really shocked her
doctor’s talk was of coughs and chills
doctor’s satchel bulged with pills
doctor said wow Isabel
Swallow this, it will make you well
Isabel, Isabel, didn’t worry
Isabel didn’t scream or scurry

Took those pills from the pill concocter
Then Isabel cured the doctor, yeah, oh yeah

ozymandias

And now for something completely different.

Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley/performed by JJ Burnel (bass guitarist for the English group, the Stranglers) on the “b” side of his single, “Freddie Laker.” (Lyrics included in the video.) I confess to having once stolen a book from the public library–and it was the collected works of Percy Bysshe Shelley. I memorized this poem. I was in high school, but still, what was I thinking? What I’m thinking now is that this is actually pretty cool.

celebrating the senses: hearing

tree fallingIf a tree falls in a forest and there’s no one there to hear it, does it makes a sound? This has been a question debated by philosophers. Define sound…define hear…define tree. (I kid philosophers, but I once listened to a philosopher spend quite a long time trying to define is.) Now that scientists are weighing in on the tree question, the answer appears to be, as with many other questions, yes and no. And I’m OK with that.

Sounds are vibrations that travel through the air as waves. That puts me in mind of this song by Ray LaMontagne.

So let’s celebrate air, too, which not only gives us breath (and life) but also sound.

As I was thinking about identifying some of the sounds I like, I realized it would be easier to rattle off a list of sounds I don’t like than a list of sounds I do like. So the sound of silence definitely ranks near the top for me. (Having no sound coming from my computer processor is especially good.)

I also realized there are several sounds I like, but only in moderation. For example, I like the sound of rain now and then, but living in the Pacific Northwest would make me crazy. I like the sound of birds singing in the morning, but too much of it and it turns into birds making racket in the morning. I like the whisper of wind through the trees, but not the roar of the gale-force winds we get in New Mexico in the spring.

Other good sounds:

  • Laughter, which is a celebration all by itself
  • A fire burning in a fireplace
  • Popcorn popping
  • My cat purring; also the noise she makes at birds in the tree outside our window
  • All kinds of music

Music is definitely my favorite source of sound. I don’t know that I could pick a favorite (or desert-island album), but No Sun in Venice by The Modern Jazz Quartet comes close. Here’s Venice from that album.

I’ve noticed that sounds can wake me from my internal reverie and bring me back into the world faster than anything else. That’s something I appreciate, even if I may not always celebrate it when it happens.

What sounds do you enjoy most?

This post is part of April’s 30 Days of Celebration. To read more, click on the Celebration category link.

celebrating coffee and coffee shops

coffee2How did people get by before they figured out…coffee! And how did our species advance before we created coffee shops? I have at least two or three coffee shop get togethers (social or work-related) every week. (And now I want to publicly apologize to Lorena for spacing out our coffee date last week. Not that it’s an excuse, but by the time I got to the end of the week I was surprised I’d actually made it. Of course, I probably wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for coffee.)

In Albuquerque we have Starbucks conveniently located in every corner of every quadrant of the city, so that’s always a popular choice. They have good coffee, but their baristas have an unfortunate tendency to creatively interpret your order.

satellite coffeeFlying Star is another popular choice with locations all over the city. Indeed, their slogan is “You’re never far from a Flying Star.” Strictly speaking, Flying Star is a restaurant, and Satellite Coffee is their coffee-shop brand. I have two Flying Stars and one Satellite within 5-15 minutes of my home. There are more Flying Stars than Satellites, but they know coffee (Satellite’s slogan is “passionate about coffee”), so it’s reliably good at both places.

Napoli is a one-off coffee shop that is farther away, so I don’t get there very often. They recently moved into a new space that I really like. If they were closer, I’d make it my go-to spot. Obviously their coffee is excellent.

As is the home-brew that I’m drinking as I write this post.

java joe'sI also want to give an honorable mention to Java Joe’s. I’ve never actually been to their physical location, but they have a stand at the downtown growers market which I used to frequent on Saturday mornings. That was years ago, but I still remember how wonderful their coffee was. It almost made getting up in the middle of the night (or so 5:00am feels to me) worth it. And the fresh-baked scones were pretty amazing, too.

There are lots of other coffee joints in Albuquerque, some of which may be superior to the ones I patronize. So in order to fully celebrate coffee—and coffee shops—I’m now making a point of systematically checking them out. I see a lot more coffee in my future, and that means a lot more to celebrate.

How do you feel about coffee and coffee shops? Do you have a favorite coffee shop hangout?

This post is part of April’s 30 Days of Celebration. To read more, click on the Celebration category link.

celebrating the world of typography

fonts1Are you old enough to remember manual typewriters? If you wanted to produce decent-looking print material back then, you actually had to have it professionally typeset and printed. Selectric typewriters made proportional fonts possible, but they were no threat to printing professionals. During the selectric-typewriter age, I worked for a book publisher in San Francisco where I spent a fair amount of time editing proofs. And for quite a few years after that, I continued interacting with printing companies.

The introduction of word processors and then personal computers didn’t initially have any effect on the traditional print process. But enter Apple computers, and all of that changed in a very short time. Adobe started making fonts—and font families—available for Apple computers, and in short order, I was totally on their hook. I drooled over the Adobe font catalog trying to decide which fonts to buy. (I mean these fonts could actually be mine!) After making my decision, I went to the Apple store to purchase them, after which I had to manually install them on my computer.

Somewhere I came across a bumper sticker that read, “He who dies with the most fonts wins.” I put it up in my office. Because I intended to win.

I work on a PC now, and the graphic interface just isn’t as good as a Mac’s. I’ve learned to live with it, but I don’t like it. Yes, I have access to far more fonts now than I did 25 years ago when I had to go to the Apple store to pick them out one or two at a time. But printing from a PC leaves a lot to be desired when compared to either printing from a Mac or professional typesetting.

fonts2Occasionally I indulge myself by “leafing through” some of the online font catalogs reacquainting myself with some old favorite: Antique Olive, ITC Berkeley Oldstyle, Friz Quadrata, ITC Novarese, Nueva (used in the photo on the right), Ocean Sans, and Optima. There’s something about the shape and proportion of letters that I think I’ve always paid attention to—sometimes more than to the actual words or even the meaning. It’s not unusual for me to check out what font was used in a book I’m reading.

Typography is something most of us ordinarily take for granted. So I’m celebrating typography today, along with the artists who design typefaces, because beautiful typography has added a dimension of pleasure to my life for many decades. Maybe it has done the same for you without your being aware of it.

This post is part of April’s 30 Days of Celebration. To read more, click on the Celebration category link.

celebrating a few beloved books

BD1234-001There’s something wonderful, both comfortable and exciting, about rereading a favorite novel. I know people who claim never to read a book (or watch a movie) more than once. I believe them, but I don’t understand them at all. It’s impossible to get all there is to get from a really good book after a single reading. You might as well say you’ve heard that piece of music before so you’re never going to listen to it again. That makes no sense.

I’ve read all of these books more than once. In the case of One Hundred Years of Solitude, I’ve lost count of the number of rereadings. (But I can remember some of the physical locations I was in when I read it.) The writing still entrances. The characters still live. The story still captures my attention.

But first…

Early November. It’s nine o’clock. The titmice are banging against the window. Sometimes they fly dizzily off after the impact, other times they fall and lie struggling in the new snow until they can take off again. I don’t know what they want that I have. I look out the window at the forest. There is a reddish light over the trees by the lake. It is starting to blow. I can see the shape of the wind on the water.

—Per Petterson, Out Stealing Horses

Birdsong strikes up and musters in the first soft press of dawn. Starlings, sparrows, magpies, meadowlarks, blackbirds. There is the flush and shuffle of feathers. Throat tunings. The hollowing chitter of beaks. Bursts of flight. Wrens, flycatchers, cowbirds, crows. Complaint. Exultation. They work the meadow grass, the cottonwoods along the creek, the open barnloft, alive in tilting sweeps of hand-size shadows. The raptors float silently a thousand feet above, turning, spiraling atop the early-morning thermals, hunting the edge of the ebbing night.

—Mark Spragg, The Fruit of Stone

The accused man, Kabuo Miyamoto, sat proudly upright with a rigid grace, his palms placed softly on the defendant’s table—the posture of a man who has detached himself insofar as this is possible at his own trial. Some in the gallery would later say that his stillness suggested a disdain for the proceedings; others felt certain it veiled a fear of the verdict that was to come. Whichever it was, Kabuo showed nothing—not even a flicker of the eyes. He was dressed in a white shirt worn buttoned to the throat and gray, neatly pressed trousers. His figure, especially the neck and shoulders, communicated the impression of irrefutable physical strength and of precise, even imperial bearing. Kabuo’s features were smooth and angular; his hair had been cropped close to his skull in a manner that made its musculature prominent. In the face of the charge that had been leveled against him he sat with his dark eyes trained straight ahead and did not appear moved at all.

—David Guterson, Snow Falling on Cedars

Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice. At that time Macondo was a village of twenty adobe houses, built on the bank of a river of clear water that ran along a bed of polished stones, which were white and enormous, like prehistoric eggs. The world was so recent that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to point. Every year during the month of March a family of ragged gypsies would set up their tents near the village, and with a great uproar of pipes and kettledrums they would display new inventions.

—Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

May in Ayemenem is a hot, brooding month. The days are long and humid. The river shrinks and black crows gorge on bright mangoes in still, dustgreen trees. Red bananas ripen. Jackfruits burst. Dissolute bluebottles hum vacuously in the fruity air. Then they stun themselves against clear windowpanes and die, fatly baffled in the sun.

The nights are clear, but suffused with sloth and sullen expectation.

—Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

In order to pay off an old debt that someone else had contracted, Austin King had said yes when he knew that he ought to have said no, and now at five o’clock of a July afternoon he saw the grinning face of trouble everywhere he turned. The house was full of strangers from Mississippi; within an hour the friends and neighbours he had invited to an evening party would begin ringing the doorbell; and his wife (whom he loved) was not speaking to him.

—William Maxwell, Time Will Darken It

Glorious! Now I just have to decide which one of these stories to delve into again next.

How do you feel about rereading books? Do you have favorites that you’ve reread more than once?

This post is part of April’s 30 Days of Celebration. To read more, click on the Celebration category link.

celebrating bright things redux

sparkleThe world is full of poetry.
The air is living with its spirit;
and the waves dance
to the music of its melodies,
and sparkle in its brightness.

–James Gates Percival

One cold, dark winter afternoon when the temperature never rose above freezing all day and I felt trapped inside my office in front of my computer, I looked around the room at all the bright things I’ve put here.

I won’t go so far as to say say my world is full of poetry right now, but there’s a hint of its brightness here and there.

Butterfly

Butterfly

Lizards

Lizards

Suncatcher

Suncatcher

Tiger

Tiger

Mandala

Mandala

Vase (underwater upside down)

Vase (underwater upside down)

Reality (ala Brian Andreas)

Reality (ala Brian Andreas)

Good Advice!

Good Advice!

A bit of brightness landed on that one. Happy Saturday!


Note: This was originally published in January 2013. If anything, my office (a/k/a my playroom, at least on a good day) is filled with even more bright things.


This post is part of April’s 30 Days of Celebration. To read more, click on the Celebration category link.

celebrating Naima

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAThis is my cat, Naima—the cat I definitely was not going to get. First of all, I wasn’t going to get another cat, period, after Tashi (my previous cat) died. Secondly, I certainly wasn’t going to get a kitten. But three months without a cat wore down my cat-free insistence. After some deliberation, I decided a 1-1/2 to 2-year old cat would be a good idea.

So off I went to Animal Humane in search of a young adult female. Unfortunately, the gal who was assisting me had to go in search of keys to unlock the doors of the individual rooms in La Casa de Los Gatos, and she left me standing in front of a room full of kittens. When she returned a long five minutes later, she went right to that door and opened it. Of course, I followed her inside.

Naima4And there was my cat—a 3-1/2 month old kitten—curled up next to a look-alike sibling. The difference between the two was that my cat got up, stretched, and went off in search of a bite to eat, checking first one food bowl and then another (a cat with a mind of her own) till she found one to her liking. When I picked her up, she immediately started licking my arm. Sold! I said and adopted her on the spot.

There are so many things to celebrate about Naima, also known as Naima-the-Wonderful and Best-Cat-Ever! She’s ridiculously smart, extremely well-trained, and sleeps through the night (usually curled against my legs). She is more amusing than any other cat I’ve had. She’s quite affectionate and interactive and greets me whenever I come home. And she’s damn cute, not to mention cross-eyed. Here she is in action:

Every morning after breakfast, I take my coffee into my bedroom and sit in the comfy wicker chair by the window. Naima jumps into my lap and hangs out with me, sometimes getting brushed, sometimes watching birds in the yard or keeping an eye on the neighborhood activity. It’s the perfect way to start a day, every day.

Naima will be five years old this summer. I will celebrate by getting her another catnip filled fluorescent green plush mouse. She will love it.

Do you have a furry or feathered friend to celebrate?

This post is part of April’s 30 Days of Celebration. To read more, click on the Celebration category link.

celebrating the senses: smell

roasting chilesSmell is different from our other senses. It has a direct connection to the brain, and its signals are in a hurry (per John Medina, author of Brain Rules). Smell immediately stimulates our emotions. But we don’t all like or dislike the same odors or feel the same emotions when we experience them.

One of my favorite smells is green chiles (yes, that’s the correct spelling) roasting outdoors in the fall. Come August or September in Albuquerque, chile roasters spring up all over the place. You can sometimes get a whiff as you drive past one. The local Whole Foods operates a couple of roasters right outside the front door. I’ve been known to stand in front of them with my eyes closed breathing in the intoxicating aroma. It’s too bad the internet isn’t scratch-and-sniff capable. I’ve yet to encounter anyone who actively dislikes the smell of roasting green chiles—or at least who’s willing to admit it.

coffeeOther smells I love are coffee, pine trees, rain on hot pavement, strawberries, jasmine and gardenia (both in moderation), wood smoke, popcorn, rosemary, citrus, ginger, and libraries.

cilantroBut my second favorite thing to smell, after roasting green chiles, is cilantro—which also makes the list of my favorite tastes. Every time I rinse a bunch of cilantro leaves I have to stop and inhale the scent before using them. Cilantro used to come in at number one but got bumped down a notch after I moved to New Mexico and got my first sniff of roasting green chiles. If either of those scents could be bottled, that’s probably what I’d be wearing, so maybe it’s good they aren’t available.

In thinking about celebrating the sense of smell, I’ve realized that although I go out of my way to create a visually appealing environment for myself, I don’t put much thought into the way things smell. I’ve fallen out of the habit of using essential oils on a regular basis, maybe as a result of getting a curious kitten. But the kitten is going on five years old, so I think it’s time to bring out the tea lights and the oil burner and reintroduce some celebratory scents to my space.

What are your favorite things to smell?

This post is part of April’s 30 Days of Celebration. To read more, click on the Celebration category link.

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