Having made it through all seven or whatever seasons of TNG, we are now watching DS9. Ývan, for the umpteenth time, but me, I am seeing all of these characters and learning their stories for the first time. Except for Cabbage Patch doll-faced Chief O’Brien, with whom I was already familiar from his time on the Enterprise under Picard’s command. He was never really a favorite of mine. Sorry, Chief!
I didn’t think I was going to like Deep Space Nine, because I loved Next Generation so much, but…I do like it. Quite a bit. It’s just a very different sort of story. The Enterprise was exploring the galaxy, always on the move and going where no one’s gone before. They stopped somewhere, learned something, saw something, did something, sometimes even really screwed things up, and then, whoosh–they zoomed off. Next adventure! Deep Space Nine, being a Federation space station, is more or less in a fixed spot–relatively speaking– orbiting the planet of Bajor and guarding the wormhole. If things go wrong and they fuck things up…well…they can’t just write it off in a ship’s log as a bungled situation, set in a course for somewhere else, and then take off on a new mission. These guys are stuck on DS9, or if not stuck there, I mean, I guess it’s their job to be there. They can’t just up and leave. They have to deal with the consequences of their actions. And I think that sets up a show with more interesting dynamics and which leads to more complex storylines and long-form story arcs. I think I will always love TNG, but I am finding myself really emotionally and intellectually engaging with DS9, which I didn’t expect! I actually didn’t expect any of this, if I am being honest. For the longest time, I thought I hated all things Star Trek and I was never going to watch any of it. Of course. Never say never.
I just watched the season 2 episode, “Whispers” which was pretty intense, and fairly dark and freaky for Star Trek. At least in my experience. I am obviously no expert here. In this story, Chief O’Brien returns from a mission to find everyone, including his wife and daughter, acting strangely around him. Over the increasingly paranoid, noir-ish episode he encounters his crew carrying out orders that he didn’t give them, he’s locked out of access to the ship’s logs, he gets called in for complicated, unscheduled physicals, and his own wife doesn’t even want to be in the same room with him. After a twisty chase, an escape, and the discovery of a secret lair (or something? I don’t quite remember this part) O’Brien is fatally shot, as the real O’Brien steps out from a concealed doorway, where he had been being held captive. The episode concludes with the revelation that the O’Brien story we had been following was a “replicant”of the real O’Brien, created by an alien race to sabotage peace talks. The replicant O’Brien never knew he wasn’t the real Chief and never understood that he was the cause of the strange actions and behaviors of the crew. He dies, pleading to the real O’Brien to give his love to his wife, Keiko.
THAT. FUCKED. ME. UP.
I always get a little freaked out by imposter episodes. Like the ones in TNG where Lore shows up and pretends to be Data and then someone has to suss out which is the real Data so that they can incapacitate Lore? How do you know? How are you certain? Are you absolutely sure that the face you’re shooting is the real friend and crew member, and not the malicious shapeshifter or the evil android twin, or the villain with the freakily realistic mask? Those situations are bad enough, but what if the imposter truly believes that they ARE the individual they are pretending to be? This opens up all sorts of tricky philosophical questions about identity and personhood and uncanny musings on self and otherness and when the person in question is the show’s steady, reliable Chief…and the character that I’ve known the longest…that makes the reveal that he isn’t even the real Chief that much more of a gut-punch. Oooof! Well played, DS9.
I will admit that I did not at all see that coming. The story was so marvelously compelling and so engrossing and I really had no idea where they were taking it, BUT, I will say this. The whole time I was following along, I was also distracted by the memory of a book I read a few years ago. FOE by Iain Reid. Similarly suspenseful and atmospheric, it was also a story I was intensely engrossed in, and in the case of that book, I actually did figure out the ending…which, I think, is why my mind kept flickering back to it while watching “Whispers.” At the time I didn’t think I knew what was unfolding with Chief’s situation, but somehow on some level, maybe I did know. I will say no more about the book. If you want to read it (and I highly suggest it!) you should probably go into the story with as little knowledge as possible, and I won’t spoil it any more than I already have.
P.S. Also please read I’m Thinking of Ending Thingsby the same author. It’s a short book that came out a year or so before FOE, and I believe they also made a Netflix adaptation, though I can’t speak to that, because I’ve never seen it. The book, though? Hoo boy. I have NEVER been so mad about a book, or furious with an author, and I think you should read it too, so we can rant and rail about it together.
I don’t really like odd numbers–I feel like they are super aggressive? Probably a weird take, I know. Odd numbers just make me feel intensely uncomfortable and itchy in my soul. But somehow a list of four things just doesn’t sound as interesting as a list of five things.
your quarterly madcap on a budget thread: what is the ONE thing you would tell someone to buy to gild or enhance — even SLIGHTLY — their life in lockdown that costs $25 or under. i’m talking something frivolous and silly but that sparks joy.
So here are five gilded good things and life enhancements that are small sources of joy to me right now. Some of them didn’t cost anything at all, but most were under $25.
1.“Rajio taiso” exercises, a program of Japanese morning exercises and gentle calisthenics broadcast in the early mornings on NHK, Japan’s public broadcasting company. I’ve read that the first broadcast took place in 1928, and the aim was to improve the health of the general public in Japan. What’s nice about it is that it’s been designed for anyone at any age to do on their own, without any equipment required. Everyone from children to the elderly can join in, and there are even versions that you can do while seated. On mornings when it’s raining outside and I can’t go for a wake-up walk (or maybe I’ve just woken up too late, whoops!) I do ten minutes of Rajio Taiso exercises instead.
Alternately, I’ve been trying my best to follow along with this “yoga for sensitive knees” video, but don’t be fooled. If you, like me, don’t have much in the way of a regular yoga practice, this is not as easy as you think it’s going to be!
2. There are times I can’t commit to sitting in a bathtub full of water and getting my whole body wet. On some days, that seems like a major production and I haven’t got the energy for it. It sounds like an exercise in misery, but at the same time, my bones are are crying out for some sort of relaxing soak.
On those days, I run the tub half full, use all the bath bombs and salts and oils that I have at my disposal…except maybe even more than I might use for a regular bath, and then proceed to roll up my pants, sit on the edge of the tub, and lower my feet in. I bring a book with me and I read for about 10-15 minutes while my toes wiggle under the warm water, and then I use a nice salt or sugar scrub to slough away the barnacles and follow it up with an enthusiastic callous scraping. I dry off with a good towel, slather on a thick, healing foot lotion, and then suit my feet up with a cute pair of socks. I make a weekly ritual of this, and it is so very, very nice!
I thought I had a more illustrative photo of this process, but apparently, I do not. The above imagery is from an Instagram story I posted a few months ago. It’s definitely not that chilly anymore, which is even more reason not to immerse my entire body in a tub of hot juice!
3 . The Faculty of Horror Podcast. I believe I have mentioned before how picky I am when it comes to podcasts. They have to hit me in the right spot (weirdness, witchy tidbits, horror) AND they have to not be obnoxious. There’s nothing I hate more than listening to two people rambling off-topic and amusing themselves with a whole bunch of inside jokes. There’s a fine line between two friends who are having a good time and keeping their audience amused, entertained, and informed, and two friends who record themselves because they think they are hilarious but no one outside of the two of them knows what they are laughing about. So that’s my problem with a lot of buddy-podcasts. I don’t have the patience for them and they embarrass me. Not that you asked.
Andrea Subasatti and Alex West, however! I enjoy the heck out of their discussions in their Faculty of Horror podcast. If you are interested in horror analysis and scholarship through a contemporary, feminist lens, Andrea and Alex’s fabulously insightful, passionate, and incredibly fun chats are such a treat. I believe there’s over seven years worth of content, so if you’re unsure where to start, just pick through and look for some of your favorite films, and dive right in. I find that hearing people talk about a thing you already love is a great way to get a feel for their treatment of and read on a thing.
And I’ve recently been inspired to rewatch so many films due to their commentary and perspective! See Interview with the Vampire, Event Horizon, The Mist, and Hausu, for a few of my favorites. Additionally, they just did a “best of 2020” and I really just gobble up lists like that, so that’s a highly recommended episode, as well. The Faculty of Horror also has a Patreon where one can get access to additional content if one is inclined to support them in that way!
4. 505 by Elektroforez. I don’t know what to say about these guys, but I sure am enjoying them. I have been listening to them nonstop for the past week. They make me want to dance! Albeit, in a moody, morose, sort of way. A recommendation from my good friend Sonya, who I hear has got an excellent list of these austere, gloomy Russian goth, new-wave, synth-pop, post-punk type musicians that they’re going to share for our ears over at Haute Macabre sometime in the near future. Yay for new music! It’s been a while, but I’m suddenly becoming interested again and that is both a pleasure and a deeply relieving realization.
5. Oh, Suddenly Egyptian God! These little six-minute slice-of-life snippets are just too, too adorable. “This is sudden, but welcome to the world of Egyptian gods, where ancient deities work, have fun, and relax like the rest of us.” These little stories are, as one dour reviewer points out, probably full of inaccuracies, but come on. It’s cute fun.
Some bonus good things!
-We placed an order with Botanical Interests for a gazillion seeds and are so excited for our summer garden possibilities. -This chili crisp oil is, at $17 or so, insanely overpriced (damn you, persuasive Instagram ads!) but SO GOOD. – This addictively trashy book which I am looking forward to finishing while soaking my feet in the tub and enjoying a glass of wine. –This Marshmallow Fireside candle, which is just as amazing as everyone says it is -Twinkle lights for my shelves, seen in the feature photo for this post. Granted there’s only one string of them up now, but they just make the workday so much nicer that I can’t help but to think more lights will make the day even better? Eventually with enough twinkle lights, I will look forward to my 9-5? It’s probably too much to hope for, but I’m going to give it a try.
When I was in community college, I was part of the school’s “literary society.” I’m not quite sure how it happened, but one of my sisters and I, once learning that this small organization existed but was languishing under the slipshod leadership of someone or other (I honestly can’t remember who it was but I think he had sort of a “bro vibe”) well, we somehow ousted all of the members and resurrected the club as something entirely new? I can’t even imagine how that must have come about–and I am fairly certain I couldn’t figure it out even while it was happening!– but when my sister wants to get something done, she gets it done!
So we invited a few friends to join, and began writing and meeting regularly. We scored an excellent advisor, one of the school’s librarians that I admired tremendously, and I am still sort-of friends with, to this day, several decades later. Well, Facebook friends. But still! I’m barely friends with anyone from that time, so that’s quite a feat.
We began taking submissions and planning a literary magazine. We published two or three of them! I had pieces published in them (if we are friends on Instagram, you may have gotten a peep at them in my stories this week!) But I was also the secretary of the club, so we kind of had to include me, ha. We hosted events and invited authors to speak, we held little soirees on campus for writers and poets, we attended local poetry readings and volunteered our time for various causes. I can barely believe I did any of those things. Who was that person? I think those endeavors were made possible because I was part of something. I know I certainly would have been too fearful to attempt a single one of those things on my own. And though it eventually fell apart, it remains an utterly magical time in my life. Despite the fact that it was only community college, and I was poor and broke and in every other respect, I had no idea what to do with myself or my future. I knew for a time, as long as I was writing, I was dreaming things. And that felt like hope.
Right before our holiday break one year, we threw a potluck Yule-gathering and read poetry to children. I shared a few passages from the book A Circle of Seasons by Myra Cohn Livingston, which included wonderful artwork from painter Leonard Everett Fisher. I read aloud the winter portion of the book, which I thought so beautifully evocative, the imagery of which I hoped might catch the fancy of at least one or two small audience members.
Winter etches windowpanes, finger paints in white sculptures strange soft shapes in snow that glister in the night. Filigrees the snowflake, spins icicles of glass, Paints the ground in hoarfrost, its needles sharp with light.
Winter blows a blizzard, rages with a gale, Spews ice crystals through the clouds, pellets earth with hail. Breathes a freezing snowstorm, buries hedge and path, Quiets down in chalky drifts, on mornings bleak and pale.
These many years later (ooof! Too many years to feel comfortable thinking about for too long) I still write poetry. I was never formally educated or trained in writing and I haven’t spent much time honing my craft in that regard… and so I can’t say my efforts have vastly improved. But whatever. I enjoy writing poems anyway! And of course, I also spend a great deal of time reading poetry.
On a particularly chilly day last week, I was reminded for the first time in ages of Myra Cohn Livingston’s wintry word-spells, but could only remember a few words of these poems. I definitely could not recall the name of the book or the author! And no matter how I strung those words together or rearranged them, I could find no instance of the poems on the internet. I kept at it though and eventually was led to and rediscovered the book at archive.org, where you can check it out for an hour and read it in its entirety.
This post is dedicated to Katie, who loves winter so very much, and whose fantastical blog of marvels inspired me to challenge myself to write these daily posts for an entire month.
One of the first pieces of writing for which I was recognized was an essay, of sorts, that I wrote in the first grade, detailing my grandmother’s love for feeding local birds in wintertime. I don’t recall anything of what I wrote, save for a passage that my mother thought was hilarious and my grandmother herself got a little huffy about. “I do NOT do that”, she remarked when she read my passage about her hollering at the squirrels and chipmunks who stole tidbits and treats meant for the birds, as she stamped and swore in front of the kitchen window. Well, it could have happened that way, I thought. A few dramatics certainly made my ruminations more interesting! And my young writerly instincts were correct; this piece of writing won first place for the whole grade level in a contest I hadn’t even realized I had entered into.
The writing portion of this recollection is neither here nor there, really. In my 44th year, and during my little garden’s period of looking crappy and dead, I have recently hung up my first ever bird feeder. Though it took a week or so for the neighborhood avian population to take notice, check it out, and feel safe enough to start poking around, I am now enjoying watching them from my office window all throughout the day. It’s a delightful pastime, and I wish I’d thought to have done it sooner! And it occurred to me, as I ran outside this morning, shaking my spatula at a particularly audacious squirrel and shouting “fuck off into the sun, you thieving little shit!” that perhaps my grandmother is the one who is laughing now.
This is cross-posted from the Haute Macabre blog today, but I think in my effort to post once a day in February, this should count as a post here, too!
I’ve been struggling lately. I know I am not alone; I believe we all encounter this particular phenomenon in the 21st century and I don’t think it necessarily does me any good belaboring the point, if not only to say that yes–I too suffer from this modern-day affliction of social media comparisons. Sometimes when I log into Instagram and see person X, Y, or Z being successful and ambitious and motivated, it just makes me feel like a big, stupid blob in the shape of a human.
And yes, yes, I know, we all know, that Instagram and Facebook, etc., are just highly curated, specific aspects of people’s lives and no one knows what is going on behind the scenes. I have some friends who have written so beautifully and articulately on this subject and of course, it all makes so much sense when you’re reading these thoughts and nodding your head and saying “yes, yes that is SO TRUE!” But…sometimes knowing these things on an intellectual level doesn’t do your sensitive, vulnerable heart an ounce of good when you happen scroll across the accounts of certain individuals and then all of your insecurities and fears are triggered and you begin the lousy-feeling blobular spiral. And so, sometimes, it’s better not to look at all. Or at least…spend a lot less time looking.
I’ve been trying to recall how I spent my time before I was constantly and routinely peeping in on people’s lives and projects and purchases and press events on social media. I think I had some interesting past times and habits, possibly? I finally remembered how I used to be in eternal pursuit of the perfect new album, and would spend hours reading new music reviews and listening to everything that came across my radar. I used to channel my frustrated and untrained artistic inclinations into things like creating little fantasy outfits and stories to go along with them. Oh, yeah. My languishing How To Wears. I forgot about how much I loved them!
So in an effort to remind myself of the things I like to do and the things that I have a knack for, here are a few recent ensembles I have pieced together, and as an extra something, I’ve shared the new (to me) music I was listening to when I created them!
P.S. If you’re looking for the item particulars included in the feature set, you can find them here. Accompanying album: Demonologia by Mala Herba
P.P.S. I have made this disclaimer before but it’s been awhile: sometimes some of these things may be sold out. I’m sorry! It happens! And most of these things are not budget-friendly. I don’t have economical daydreams!
I was upset by something I saw on Facebook this past weekend. I won’t go into any details and I will never confront the individual, but I’m still thinking about it almost 24 hours later. It was just…mean. There’s no other word for it. Mean.
It’s possible that this person’s observations and remarks hit me so hard because I too, can be mean. I’ve tried to reign it in over the years. And I don’t think it’s that I am mean to someone’s face. But I have certainly been known to make a snide or snarky remark, sotto voce, or perhaps internet-dm-voce, to a circle of close friends or sisters, about someone who I think has done something dumb or foolish.
Maybe I thought I was making a funny observation. Maybe I thought I had some sort of point, hinging on some sort of principle. I don’t know. I’m not denying it, though. I can definitely be kinda bitchy, and I am not sure that I always recognize it for what it is when I am doing it, but when I see it in someone else…oooof. It is not a good look. It’s awfully ugly, as a matter of fact. And in seeing this, and drawing parallels with my own behavior, I begin to feel a deep sense of shame. No doubt this is why I can’t stop thinking about this other person. Because that’s been me, as well. More times than I can count.
Bernard Meltzer is credited with having offered the following:
“Before you speak ask yourself if what you are going to say is true, is kind, is necessary, is helpful. If the answer is no, maybe what you are about to say should be left unsaid.”
And granted, there’s nothing fun about keeping your mouth shut. The experience of someone laughing at your clever commentary can be a high, and certainly one that I can ride on all day long. And there’s nothing worse than someone pooh-poohing your fun, I know! “That’s not nice,” seems like such a weenie thing to say, or to hear, like having a bucket of water dashed in your face, when you’re being hilarious, or at least you think you are, and on a roll!
But…more and more I realize (and I’m pretty sure I have always known this, deep down, where my heart is supposed to be) that being cutting and contemptuous, disguised as clever, and at the expense of kindness and compassion…well it’s not being clever at all. It’s rude and shitty.
There’s nothing clever or cool about shitting on people who are just enjoying things and living their lives. You’re just mean. And you look like an asshole. And so do I.
Maybe let’s just say nothing next time. Or if we do, let’s be more discreet* about it.
*And here’s where maybe I am the biggest asshole of all. Am I upset because the person was so mean and shitty, or because they were so thoughtless about who might be reading their words? Am I suggesting that we keep our mouths shut, or that we read the room and know our audience if we choose to flap our mean girl mandibles?
As usual, I have no answer. Maybe it’s just best to write about these things, passive-agressively.
You may have noticed that Unquiet Things has a new look. You have a keen eye! After about five years I think it was time for a change, don’t you? Many thanks to the folks at RecSpec for helping to shed our old form and emerge as something new, brimming with moody glooms and midnight blooms, but with an overall look and functionality that remains familiar, because let’s face it, we don’t like change very much.
A lot of blogs that I see recently just don’t look like a blog to me. They look more like a commerce site, like they are trying to sell me something. I suppose I am mentally and emotionally stuck in the look of the 2003-2008 era blog. Maybe before people realized they could monetize their content…they didn’t even view it as “content” yet perhaps, and they were just shouting into the void, hoping to make a connection. When blogs looked like blogs! So that’s my comfort spot. And “when blogs looked like blogs” is also maybe the dumbest sentence I’ve ever typed. Whatever! I know what I like!
Jan Davidsz. de Heem (1606–1683/1684), Vase of Flowers, c. 1660
Additionally, you have perhaps noticed I am posting more frequently than usual here in this blog space. Indeed, I am. For the month of February, I have challenged myself to create one blog post per day for the entirety of the month. I’ve got a few ideas, and a handful of things already scheduled, some snack-sized, and others more meal-shaped morsels. But you know, with words. Not food. But there might also be food! You know me.
Finishing a thing–whether it’s a book, or a television show, a piece of writing, or, in this case, a knitting project, always makes me a little sad. This thing and I, we built something together, we took a journey together, traveled as companions, unraveled mysteries and solved problems together, we probably hit more than a few bumps in the road, and then… we reached the end of the line. Rewatching, re-reading that same story, recreating that sweater or shawl or whatever, it’s just not going to be the same as the first time we embarked upon and engaged with that experience. This reddit user sums it up pretty well.
And although holding a finished project in your hands is nice…that *thing* you’ve now got is never really the point. It was the stitches we made along the way, you know? And anyway, I don’t keep most of the things I knit, so having the thing after I have bound off the last stitch is definitely not the reason I knit it to begin with, and certainly not what kept me working on it for five months only to rip out the whole thing and turn it into something else entirely.
Whoa, that is strangely specific, isn’t it?
This is the Vedbaek shawl, which began its life as the Carlina sweater. I had knit up the entirety of the body and half of a sleeve when I decided it absolutely was not working for me, and I then proceeded to unknit the whole thing. I will confess that the demise of that sweater is one ending which did not make me at all sad.
In the process of taking that sweater apart, I was not able to unravel the yarn in one entire unbroken piece, and so there are several knots that poke through the pattern of the shawl now, in places where I had to tie the snipped pieced back together. I’m trying to convince myself that these imperfection add to the wabi-sabi rustic beauty of this piece, but I don’t know that I am entirely persuaded.
But you know what? It doesn’t matter! That project is bound off, pinned down, and stretched out, and there’s nothing more I can do with it. Furthermore, as soon as it is dry and and the ends are woven in, it’s going to surprise someone in the form of a parcel at their doorstep in the next week or two, and I will never have to see it again!
Unless, of course, this individual sends me a photo of it being draped or dangled or worn or used in some way, in which case I will be very happy to see* the beginnings of this finished thing’s next journey.
*P.S. if I have ever sent you something that I knit, I hope you will always feel free to share with me photos of you wearing it! Nothing delights me more do see how these projects live out their new lives.
[Edit] Looks like that video above was taken down due to copyright violations. Hope you were able to see it while it was up on YouTube! Otherwise, maybe it will show up somewhere else. I realize it’s more a less a broken link, but I am leaving it there as evidence that it once existed.]
When I was young, oh maybe about five or six years old or so, one of my very favorite television shows was Benson. Which…was kind of a weird pick for a little kid. Not a cartoon or a fairytale or kid’s variety show, or even anything that I might typically watch now, as an adult–I think it was what I might refer to as a “classy comedy”, which some critics and reviewers note as being on par with MAS*H and Barney Miller. Neither of which I have ever watched, but so I can’t really comment on that!
I’m not sure how this sitcom came across my radar or what my mom thought about me watching it (she didn’t let us watch The Flintstones because she thought Fred Flinstone was an asshole) but somehow I guess Benson was okay.
Running from 1979–1986, Benson was a spin-off of Soap, a show which apparently parodied the melodramatic antics of soap opera families. Witty, sharp-tongued Benson DuBois is a former butler from Soap who becomes the title character in his own show, and the “director of household affairs,” to a bumbling state governor. Benson moves up in the world, becoming the state’s budget director, then lieutenant governor and eventually candidate for the executive mansion. I am not sure what on earth drew me to this show, but I loved Benson’s character so very much and wanted us to be the very best of friends. I thought he was silly and smart, and that he would be an amazing person to have on my side.
Up until the season 4 opener episode, “Death in a Funny Position,” Benson was just a funny, light-hearted television program that I looked forward to watching once a week and which made me laugh. Everything changed when I first saw this particular storyline, and I mean EVERYTHING.
As a little girl at that age, I don’t think had encountered many references to death at all, let alone any instances of it. And on a lesser note, I certainly didn’t realize that television shows had episode titles, to even pick up on this particular episode’s theme. I don’t think I really even comprehended the idea of a season of television. It was just an ongoing story, as far as I was concerned.
There were a lot of things I didn’t pick up on. Either due to my immaturity or just being an oblivious little person, in general (maybe both, I am still pretty oblivious as an adult and there are many things I don’t pick up on!) Re-watching a snippet of this episode just now, it’s clear they are setting it up as some sort of mystery, whodunit episode, but I don’t recall that as keeping in tone with the typical plots on Benson. And so you must understand that child-me was totally blindsided and shocked by what happened next. I thought this guy was declaring his romantic love to Miss Kraus, but instead, he was pleading for help because HE HAD BEEN STABBED IN THE BACK. The visuals of which I have tried to capture for you, above, but it’s awfully fuzzy and grainy.
As an aside, it’s just been in the past few days that I have been thinking of all of this, and if you look to see when the video was uploaded to YouTube, it was February 4, 2021–just two days ago! How weird is that?! Must be a sign from the universe! Definitely time to write this blog post you’ve been sitting on, Sarah.
I screamed and hollered right alongside Miss Kraus. I was in such a state of profound panic and extreme terror that if my mother had some sort of sedative, I am quite sure she would have administered it. What WAS that? WHAT HAPPENED? The guy was alive and then…then…he just WASN’T ALIVE?! And not only that, someone stuck a KNIFE in him? What was the point of that? What was the point of someone witnessing that (both Miss Kraus and me)? If this is what happens to that guy, is that what happens to all of us? And if so, what was the point of…anything?
Hoo boy.
I don’t think I ever quite recovered from that betrayal and loss of innocence, and I certainly never watched another episode of Benson. As an adult many decades later, sometimes I still question the point of anything. Of everything. But you know what? I think I am ready to forgive my old friend Benson, and finish watching this episode.
If you want to watch it as well, it’s a two parter! Here’s “Death in a Funny Position” part 2, below.
1. Amber Recycled Glass Vase from Terrain I’ve been obsessed with vases and vessels lately, and these handmade beauties are exactly what I’ve been looking for.
3. Pyrrha Andromeda 14K Gold Goddess Talisman I’ve been enamored of Pyrrha’s wax seal jewelry, full of myth and meaning, for the longest time. I recently peeped at their Goddess collection and it was tough to choose between the empowering energies of all of these beautiful talismans, but how could I not go with the dreamy, heart-following light of Andromeda?
4. Aesop Hwyl Eau de Parfum In looking for smoky, campfire scents for a friend recently, I stumbled across a review for Hwyl, which, according to the perfumer, was inspired by the calming nature of Japanese forests and “walking among the remarkable 300-year-old Hiba trees in an ancient Japanese forest and experiencing the country’s lush temple moss gardens.” The reviewer’s succinct summation describes the fragrance as “the one that smells like Totoro’s home.” Enough said. Gimme!
