Written Word Wednesday

"...When he came back, Valmont was holding a small glass vial. He handed it to Eva. 'Here.'
    She looked up at him in surprise. 'What's this?'
    He shoved his hands into his pockets. 'Why don't you sniff it and see.'
    Eva lifted the lid off. The fragrance rising up was at first green, mossy and coolly fresh. Then, gradually, it warmed to a sweeter, subtly musky base. It was a perfume balanced precariously between unfolding layers of pure white flowers, spring green herbs and something darker, more knowing.
    'Where did you get this?'
    'I made it.'
    'You...?' She stared at him in disbelief.
    His cheeks coloured a little. 'I told you I could make perfume,'he said, turning away from her, adjusting his hat in the mirror.
    'But this is...it's beautiful!'
    'You didn't believe me, did you?'
    'No. Not at all.'
    'Well,' he tried to appear nonchalant, 'you can have it if you like.'
    'You can't give this to me,' she protested, putting the stopper in the vial and handing it back to him.
    'Don't you like it?'  'Yes, of course. But you mustn't waste it.'
    'Waste it? What were you going to do? Pour it around the room?'
    'No of course not. I don't mean to be ungrateful-'
    'Then don't be,' he cut her off, pushing it back into her hand as he headed for the door. 'Now you'll know better than to doubt me,' he added, on his way out.
   Madame glanced sideways at Eva as she lit another cigarette. 'He's trying to impress you, you know.'
   'Me, ma'am?'
   'Yes you.' She laughed. 'Men aren't as complicated as they seem. They simply want to be admired by everyone. Also,' she nodded to the vial in Eva's hand, 'that's good. The first really good perfume he's ever made...'


'You need to learn the art of seduction,' she continued. 'After all, prostitutes aren't paid for ambivalence. There is only one rule-you can sell me anything as long as you adore me.' 'But I...I don't know anything of these matters. I don't even want to. I only know how to make perfume.'
    'Yes, but I do. And let me tell you something-your arrogance is justified-you are a genius. With the smallest effort and guidance you could easily be the best perfumer in Paris.'
    'Really?' He'd doubt himself; her words were like a balm to his bruised and smarting ego.
    'I know all about these people. Their habits and secrets, how they think and feel, every single Achilles heel. And let me tell you, they're not complicated. You must trust me, Andre.'
    'Why would you help me?'
    'Because,' there was something both tender and melancholy in her tone, 'you made it rain.'
    He stared at her, enthralled. 'But tell me, what are you doing here? How did you come to be so, so exquisite?'
    She stood up. And with a little shake of her shoulders, her dress slipped to the floor. She was naked except for her silver sandals, which she kicked off as she came closer, stopping in front of him. She was radiant, her skin like white marble in the balmy darkness.
    Reaching out, he dared to run his fingers over the smooth arch of her back. 'Eva...'
    She held up a finger. 'Shhhh!'
    Leaning forward, she kissed him. Valmont felt his body warm with the heat of an unfamiliar desire.
    Pulling her to him, he closed his eyes, burying his face against her. He breathed her in- each moist hollow, every sumptuous curve-inhaling hungrily the vast, varied landscape of her skin.


Excerpts from The Perfume Collector.

Stressful Fridays Suck!

I was planning on relaxing at home yesterday after getting off from work and put together today's post.

That didn't happen.

When I got home, I mean literately pulled in the driveway, I had realized I have forgotten a crucial chore at work...I forgot to do payroll.

I go inside and the house is a pit! And the animals were out of their pen after I told my husband I would like them to stay in their pens since it was supposed to storm and I didn't want to corral our rooster into the coop in the middle of a storm. 

I had an awful meltdown. I lashed out at my husband in a disrespectful way, which I shouldn't have. 

After pulling myself together a bit I called my boss and told her I forgot to do payroll and I was so so so sorry. Thankfully, she was understandable and said we'll fix it together tomorrow. I felt loads better knowing that I'm not in the brink of getting fired.

BUT there's still a lot to get done before Jared's family gets here Saturday afternoon. We have his parents, their dog, my sister-in-law, her four children, her puppy, and my brother-in-law (hopefully with no more dogs in tow since he has three of varying sizes). So we have a clan coming to stay for a week. I'm stoked...really!

My goal is to get as much house cleaning done as possible today and I would really, really, really love an hour or two of downtime (which means reading a good book while lying down on my hammock and listening to my critters chitchat) before everyone arrives.

Prayers and positive thoughts would be greatly appreciated.

Written Word Wednesday

"...Grace stared at the broken ashtray. 
    Le droit de choisir.
The phrase repeated itself again and again in her mind. No one had ever advocated her independence before. The entire success of her marriage, her whole career as a woman, depended largely upon her cheerful, uncomplicated dependence, first on her family and then on her husband. But now this stranger was challenging her; asking her to make choices, take responsibility.
   Why? 
   It supposed an intimacy; expectations. But Grace didn't even know her, let alone approve of Eva d'Orsey. Opening her handbag she took out a crumpled pack of Chesterfields and lit one.
   Pretty girls didn't lead independent lives; didn't Eva d'Orsey know that? Their triumphs were measured in the swiftness with which they moved from one pair of waiting arms to another. It was the less fortunate girls-the 'sensible' and 'clever' ones- who had to face the world on their own. (When she was young, if the word 'intelligent' was used to describe a girl, it was always a criticism; nothing signaled more completely the hopelessness of their future situation than the label of 'clever'.)
   Exhaling slowly, Grace watched the smoke gather just above her head.
   And yet their handicap bought them freedom-just the sort of liberty and responsibility this unknown woman was demanding of her now..."



"...'What are you doing?' Grace hissed, panicking. 
    'I'm conducting a thorough investigation on your behalf.' Leaning in hard with his shoulder, he pushed. The door handle was jammed.
    'Well, stop it this instant!' She looked around quickly to see if anyone had spotted them. 'I don't want you to! This is against the law, isn't it?'
    'It's all a matter of intent. You don't intend to steal anything, do you?' He pushed again, harder. The rotting wood of the door frame splintered and the door gave way, groaning as it opened. 'Voila!' he smiled, triumphant. 
    'You're mad!'
    'You're welcome.'
    Gingerly, they both stepped inside.
Ahead of her in the cool darkness, Grace could just make out the dim outlines of a shop counter, high shelves lining the walls. It smelled of damp, of cold, stale air and mildew. Wind whistled in through the shattered corner of one of the windows.
    Monsieur Tissot giggled the light switch to no avail. 'There's no electricity.' He pulled back the heavy velvet curtains that hung across the front window sand light flooded in.
    'My goodness!' Grace gasped.
    Even in its state of extreme neglect, the room dazzled; walls of glass and mirrors reflecting light so that Grace was blinded for a moment. As her eyes adjusted, she could see that the space had been designed as a series of bold contrasts. The dark wood counter was a rich warm mahogany. The floor was covered in black-and-white-marble tiles. A tiered crystal chandelier, thick with dust and filmy cobwebs, hung from a heavy black silk cord in the centre of the ceiling. And the shelves were filled with rows and rows of slim glass flacons, cloudy grey with dirt.
    In the curve of the bay window a pair of salon chairs stood, covered in black velvet, faded and rotting, and an ottoman in leopard skin. Grace reached down to touch the smooth fur. It was real.
    Silvery-white silk taffeta lined the walls, now badly water damaged and falling away in strips. The ceiling was fitted with an enormous mirror, cut from a single piece of glass, now shattered in one corner, long cracks reaching out like fingers from the central wound. Somewhere in the back recesses, water dripped: leaking, into a bucket long overfilled...'This isn't like any shop I've ever seen,' Grace said. 'It's more like a nightclub. But it's in a dreadful state-like it's been ransacked.'
   'It clearly hasn't been open in years but it may have been plundered by the Nazis. They weren't known for their manners. Also, we've been having strikes lately. There has been some violence.'

-Excerpts from The Perfume Collector by Kathleen Tessaro

Marriage Monday

Ok. This might not be directly about marriage but when I heard about this on the radio on my way to work I knew I had to talk about it.

Benevolent Sexism.

Apparently that is the term when a man holds open a door for a woman or expresses his wanting to take care of her. Basically, when a man treats a woman (or the other way I suppose) differently in a positive way it is called benevolent sexism. Here is a link about a study on it.

Isn't that the craziest thing? 

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Then I was listening to the radio show hosts discussing the subject and one host said, "I do those things out of respect. That's how I was raised." 

THANK YOU!

In this modern age and with the idea of equality with men and women, I think it confuses men now because they don't know what they're supposed to do anymore. And calling chivalry and politeness 'sexism' confuses not only men, but also women. For example, if a gentleman opened up a door for a woman and allows her to pass through first, and after hearing about this term, that act confuses her and she will think, 'Is he just being nice or is he sexist? Does he not think that I am capable of opening the door myself?'

These behaviors that are now considered 'Benevolent Sexism' have been ingrained into men for centuries. It was expected of them to provide and take care of women. Men were raised in chivalry. Even I will raise my sons (if I have any) to treat women with respect. 

It just makes me furious that chivalry and showing respect is being twisted into a negative term. 

When my husband opens doors, guides me through parking lots, or tell me that I deserve the world (which I know I don't) I feel loved and respected. He will carry as much as of the groceries himself before letting me help. His reasoning: "I do all this because you are going to be the mother of my children and I want to show respect." 

Yes, we women are capable of taking care of ourselves. We don't need a man to take care of us financially or in any other way. We are equal to men. But that also does not mean we have to argue or fight with men every time they show an act of kindness. You don't have to get butt-hurt every time a man stands up and wants you to take his seat. Just say thank you and move on.

Foodie Friday

I can't remember if I posted about this recipe but if I did I apologize. This is one of my favorites that I've learned from my mother. 

Thai Coconut Soup

* 1 14 oz. can coconut milk             * 1 C chicken broth

*curry paste (red or green)             * frozen stirfry veggies

*2 cloves garlic, diced                     * 1 shallot, diced

* juice from half a lime                    * protein ( It can be chicken, beef stir fry, 
                                                                      shrimp, or even fish )

* 1 C brown rice                              *sprinkle of ground ginger



1) Dice the garlic cloves and the shallot and add to a medium-high skillet or soup pot with olive oil, coconut oil, or whatever oil you would like to use. 

2) Once garlic is golden and shallot is translucent, add whatever protein you are using and cook thoroughly. 

3) Add the chicken broth and the coconut milk to the pot.

4) Once the juices start to boil add the frozen stirfry veggies, add a tsp. of the curry paste and a sprinkle of ground ginger. Let it simmer for about 5-8 minutes. For the curry paste you can add more or use less to your liking. You can also cut a 1/4 of a red pepper and cut it in long strips to give the soup more color, and spice.

5)  Cut a lime in half and squeeze the juice in the pot. You can leave the rind in the pot too, for a few minutes, but remember to take it out. 

6) Turn heat to medium low. Boil water for brown rice (follow directions for how much you want)

7) Once the rice is ready, turn heat off for rice and soup. Use an individual soup bowl to pour however much rice you want (I add in 2 spoonfuls) and add the soup into the bowl. 

Enjoy!

Written Word Wednesday

I've read this once before when I was in England and loved it so much I had to buy it to add it to my 'library'. The Perfume Collector by Kathleen Tessaro is beautifully written and I mimic my emotions with the main character. If she's angry and frustrated so am I. If she is feeling insignificant or sad I too feel the same. The story sort of has this glamorous Gatsby feel with a mystery twist. It's about a young woman, Grace Monroe, wife of her social climbing husband. She receives a letter with a plane ticket to Paris that explains to her that she is to receive an inheritance from a woman name Eva d'Orsey, who she has never met before. 

Here's a snippet.

"The doctor had given up on her months ago. His diagnosis: she was not a good patient; arrogant, refused to follow directions. The cirrhosis was spreading rapidly now, pitting her liver like a sponge. For him it was simple: she had to stop drinking.

    'You're not even trying,' he'd reprimanded her at the last appointment. 

    She was buttoning her blouse, on top of the examination table. 'I'm having difficulty sleeping.'

    'Well, I'm not surprised,' he sighed. 'Your liver is completely inflamed.' She caught his eye. 'I need something to help me.'

    Shaking his head, he crossed to his desk; scribbled out a prescription. 'I shouldn't even give you these, you know. Take only one, they're very strong,' he warned, handing her the script.

    'Thank you.'

     Still, he couldn't resist one last try. 'Why don't you at least cut down on smoking?'

     Why indeed?...

The clock ticked loudly.

     She wavered only a moment.

     Reaching for a glass, Eva took down the bottle of cheap cognac and poured with unsteady hands, gulping it down. 

     Instantly the alcohol warmed her, radiating out through her limbs; taking the edge off.

     That doctor understood nothing.

     He didn't know what it was like to live between memory and regret with nothing to numb it.

     Pouring another, Eva ran her finger over the rough edge of the broken porcelain.

     She would glue it.

     Bathe.

     Wear her navy suit.

     Tilting her head back, she took another swallow. 

     It didn't matter any more if the cracks showed.

Marriage Monday

Yesterday, Jared and I took a trip to Killeen TX to pick up our three pygmy goats (more about that later). On the way over, a thought came to my head. Here's the basics of the conversation.

We both know why I want to do this 'homesteading hobby' buy why do YOU want to do it?

Jared: Well...I enjoy doing our hobby together. 

Right. But you're not partaking in this just for my sake right?

Jared: No. What I mean is, it's something that we both enjoy doing and we do it together. You don't like nor care for working on the truck with me.

*I nod* You are right about that. I think it's because I don't know anything about cars. 

Jared: We've worked on the fence, the coop, and the garden together and I love it. It's something for us to do together that we enjoy. I love doing things with you.

Aww. You really do? 

Yep.

You're so sweet love. 

I try.

Farm Friday

I haven't made/eaten anything exciting enough for a post so today will be another farm Friday. I will try to change things up next Friday.

I'll just update everyone about the chickens. These babies are growing! Feathers are coming out and the girls are getting bigger and bigger. (Now when I say 'girls' I mean the chicks) My husband swears that every day when he checks on them (they've become fond of him and vice versa) he sees new feathers coming out. There's one girl who's almost complete covered in feathers while there's one just now getting feathers on her shoulders.

This is the best one we can get

I didn't realize how much they have changed until Jared and I had to go to the tractor supply for some things and saw 2-3 day old chicks. It's been four weeks since we've gotten them.

Meanwhile, Jared finally got the foundation of the chicken coop done so now we can focus on the roof and the exterior walls. I'm so excited to move the girls out there soon and see them thrive. I'm so thankful for my hardworking husband who goes out in cold winds, rain, or sleet to try to get my chicken coop built. But I know that deep down he's just as excited for the girls.

Written Word Wednesday

Still haven't found a new book since I've been busy with work and yard projects. Here is an inspirational quote I've found through Pinterest.

Marriage Monday

I think, maybe not all but, several women can admit with me when I say that there are some 'periods' when I don't feel good about myself. I don't feel good about my body image, or I just look at myself in the mirror and wonder how my husband truly thinks about me. I honestly would not call myself vain but, again, I believe every woman wants some assurance every now and then. 

Sure my husband has complimented me and expressed how pretty I am from time to time but I still can't help but feel that way. So the other night I asked him what he truly and honestly thinks of me, physically. 'Do you love my face?' basically what I asked. Of course my husband looks at me warily and assumed it was a trick question. I assured to him it was not and it was just an honest question. Feeling safe he proceeded to share how much he loves me and finds me beautiful. 

His running joke is that he believes I'm the one who 'settled' with him...which is not true. 

The conversation did make me feel a little better about myself and I find myself silently thanking the good Lord for my loving husband.

Anyone else feel the same sometimes? Do you ever feel like you're not enough and possibly your spouse is the one who 'settled'?