what I am wearing

Opal Oddity

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: In the rhythm of Pictorama posting, jewelry posts tend to appear a bit randomly, as items are purchased or catch my imagination over again. I have written about my passion for opals before and in particular for a ring I wear very often which is referred to as a boulder opal. (That post can be read here.) This is a recent acquisition post.

The charm of the boulder opal (for me) is that it was caught in the act of becoming an opal – forever frozen in the process of change. Wearing this ring so often I have had time to reflect on how much I like that aspect of it. Embracing growth and ongoing change is such an important aspect of life, I like reflecting on it when I look down at the ring and see it’s tiny flares of opal fire.

From my post on the boulder opal ring, shown here in the original listing.

Yesterday a friend was looking at some gem stones at a jeweler we know. One stone she mentioned seeing was lapis on one side and malachite on the other – fascinating! Forever frozen in their native fusion in a shared atmosphere for their evolution. I haven’t seen the stone, but the concept makes my mind twirl a bit.

Therefore, as a result, I keep my eye out for boulder opals which have been snatched from the wilds and made into jewelry. I saw a newer silver ring recently and agonized a bit – I didn’t like the setting so I would want to reset it and the stone was hard to see in the online posting. It sold and I still have mixed feelings about my choice not to buy it.

One that got away…

However, a few months later this necklace came up and from a seller I have never bought from or much seen in my feed before. (The seller can be found at http://trademarkantiques.com.) They were celebrating and promoting October’s birthstone, the opal. The pendant flashed before me in a video in a series of opal items and I snatched it up immediately.

The setting is such that it is clear it is the same dawn of the 20th century period as my ring. (This makes me wonder, was it a sort of thing at the time that fell out of fashion? If I keep looking is this the period I will largely find them from?) Upon receiving it in the mail, I realized that the bezel (the do-hickey where you string the chain through) is unusually small. Luckily I had a very thin gold chain the belonged to my sister, but the fragility and weight of it on the chain worries me a bit.

I gather that the idea of a boulder opal is that it retains some of its “host” rock. I am not clear if that is what is happening in this pendant or if it was manmade or something else entirely. I’ve done my best here to show you that it is a clear sphere chock full of tiny opal bits. These bits are full of fire when the light catches them – the essence of the charm of opals. A little research turns up the answers to my questions – once I figured out the right question to ask, always a trick with Mr. Google.

It turns out that this is a technique called floating opals. This method of suspending bits of opal in a glass orb filled with liquid. The idea for floating opals was created and patented by Horace Welch, a mechanical engineer, in 1920. From what I can find online this would be one of those early designs although others snatched up the technique after his death in the late 1940’s.

From the website where I purchased the pendant.

While the development of this may sound straightforward as a technique it was fraught with issues. Most notably, opals have a large percentage of water in them. This is in fact one of the things that contributes to their being quite fragile. (I once met a woman who sold fabulous high-end vintage jewelry and she told me never to wear my opals on an airplane, especially large ones. The altitude makes them crack. I worry about even shipping them by air now as a result.)

Just floating them in glass didn’t allow for their natural expansion and the sphere would crack. Ultimately Welch settled on the newly discovered Pyrex as his medium and a design where there is a space, hidden by the bezel, which allows for natural expansion and contraction. The “liquid” suspension appears to be confirmed as glycerin which also allows for the natural expansion and contraction of the tiny flecks of opals stones.

Mine has a patent mark (barely visible under a strong loupe) of 1931, the third of four patent marks on his jewelry. The site I found with much of this information gives tips for storing the pendant which I am grateful for (away from other pieces which could damage it), in an upright position if possible (have to think about that…) and of course away from temperature extremes. The chamber can be damaged it seems and air can get into it.

The pendant, which I have not done justice to here, is like a tiny snow globe (I love those too!), worn around my neck. It is infinitely cheering.

I will of course continue to look for boulder and now early floating opals. There is something else called a fire opal (bright orange!) and I have yet to find one that fits my collection. Opal lovers, more to come I hope.

Bare Bones

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: Today’s jewelry post might seem familiar to some longstanding readers. You’d be right because the skull on this necklace is the mate to a ring I have had for about 8 years. At least I think I may have included it in a prior post (or not since I can’t find one) and I have mentioned Muriel Chastanet Jewelry in Los Angeles, a family business where wonderful jewelry can be found. You all know that in addition to antique cats, I am a woman who likes her jewelry.

While I don’t know the precise history or age of these skulls there is a Victorian tradition of memento mori bone skulls in jewelry. The Victorians were notoriously fascinated with the ultimate connection to death and the idea that we should mind that life is fleeting and can end abruptly, therefore we should make use of today. (Skulls and those made of yak bone in particular, were and are a popular Tibetan motif and I own some necklaces of carved skull bones from my trips there. They are distinct in their carving style, often made into what we might think of as rosaries and different as shown below.)

These Tibetan bone beads available on the internet.

The skull in this pendant and that of my ring are extremely similar, with the pendant being slightly larger and arguably more finely detailed. Different kinds of animal bones were used really as a visual substitute for ivory which was more expensive although still used at that time.

However the carving on both of these these is particularly fine and while many bone skulls labeled Victorian or Georgian are available, with a quick look just a few at auction have this much detail and are as nicely carved. The skulls are both in new settings. I saw the ring for sale about ten years ago now. At the time I didn’t think I was leading the sort of professional life where a large skull ring set in gold was appropriate. (At the time I advised older people on charitable gifts through their estate plans – a Victorian skull ring seemed a little pointed!)

When I left the Met a few years later to take the job at Jazz at Lincoln Center somehow it didn’t take long for the ring to roll back into my consciousness. I reached out and asked if by chance it was still available and Gizelle laughed and said that it was clearly meant for me and no one else. I wear it frequently and receive many compliments on it. The markings of the bone and the carving etched into my mind from staring at it day in and day out.

My much worn ring with a similar antique skull bead.

Fast forward a number of years. I always knew she had a couple of more of the skulls which could be set and the idea of a pendant nagged at me cheerfully for a bit and I finally told her I wanted it. For a number of reasons many things slowed the design and execution on both sides and it was about a year before it was completed and in hand.

Gizelle made the thoughtful suggestion that as my mother Betty had passed recently what would I think of including her initials in the design? That seemed very meaningful and as you can see there are intertwining B’s for Betty Butler in the back. (All of the photos are in antique boxes I have collected and are in no way connected with the skull pieces.)

The back with a double B for Betty Butler.

The skull is somewhat heavy, perhaps too much for a gold chain I decided and so thus far it is living on this silk cord quite happily. It will never be quite as intimately familiar to me as the ring since it lives on my neck and I don’t get to look at it daily the same way. I rarely wear them together (that is a lot of skull, let’s face it) although I sometimes I can’t resist. I have read that Victorian jewelry is becoming more popular and influencing current designers. I am ahead of the curve on that one I think and this one, with Mom’s initials tucked in, is most special to me indeed.

Neatness

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: Some Pictorama readers will remember previous posts on a small (but now clearly growing) collection of medals I have acquired. These award pins I assume were given out (at school?) to encourage various virtues.

I found one for Improvement and purchased it for my birthday in the winter of 2020. It was meant to commemorate how well I felt I had grown into my job over the first few rough years there. I had spotted it while getting some jewelry repaired – probably one of the watches, they seem to need to go frequently. Anyway, I fell in love with the idea. I do like encouragement.

That one and the one that came after for Excellence, purchased on eBay, were both made of 10k gold. This too amazed me. There was a time when real gold medals were given as awards to children at school. Man, I was happy when someone put a sticker with a star on my paper! (A post on the prior prizes can be found here.) I would have been over the moon for one of these pins – as I am sure the youthful recipients were.

Pams-Pictorama.com Collection.

I believe I only got to boast Improvement on the lapel of a jacket a few times before the world shut down for the pandemic. A few years later Excellence joined on the same jacket and people would frequently remark on them. (One of my staffers surprised me as he had read the post here.)

In many ways Neatness is another whole kettle of fish. Unlike my others, this one is made of silver. The other two date from 1910 and 1945 respectively. This one dates back to 1881! (This was clearly a longstanding tradition. It should be noted that my Excellence came from Canada, so we know that it was popular there too.)

I wonder how far back does the tradition go? Of course many of these were considered special and therefore saved over the years. Once I got the hang of the right search numerous ones seem to pass through the portals of eBay and Etsy. I am highly selective however about the message and have to have some sort of kinship to it.

This one is so special though. I love how it has a star shape and hangs off a banner – both declaring Neatness and the date above. It is a little like being the sheriff of neatness. In the center of the star shaped charm it also says 85 and I have no idea what that refers to since the date is so clearly marked as ’81. Twice on the back, top and bottom, it has the recipients initials and this gave me a giggle too. They are N.P.B. so it was in a sense clearly meant for me.

Back of pin. Pams-Pictorama.com Collection.

Alas, I’m afraid however that an award for neatness is indeed only aspirational in my case. I may strive for it, but neatness is more of a goal than a given. It is unlikely I would have earned it. As I look around our treasure filled single room abode, let’s just say neatness is not a concept it was built around. Our books and my toys and photos grow like topsy and cat hair and New York sooty dust is to be kept at bay. Luckily we now have the house in New Jersey for some of our booty.

Still, when it came up for sale via my Texas team on Instagram @Curiositiesantiques (or via their website here) I knew it should be mine. While Jason and Sandi thoughtfully keep a weather eye out for things that might interest me, resulting in a mounting number of cat related items of various kinds, they may not know that these are a developing passion.

I am told this pin belonged to Terry, Jason’s mom – thank you Terry! (A few prior purchase posts from this Dallas duo can be found here and here, for starters.) Sandi as a regular reader knew I might find it of interest. Here’s to hoping I find myself in Dallas and can meet them one of these days – or perhaps a meet up at Brimfield. Hmmmm. A girl can dream.

I need to find the right jacket to pin this to, although maybe a black sundress will do for summer. I always think that it’s good to have ideals and I will indeed strive to exhibit and embody all these desirable qualities.

Cats in Hats

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: Good morning! Sunny April day here and today’s picture post presents these three self-possessed looking miscreants curled up in a variety of battered chapeaux. Although this was evidently used as a Valentine greeting (written in admirable script at the bottom), I am thinking of it as a nod to the season and time to break out my straw hat.

The two tabbies, who are remarkably identical, are curled up in the first two hats while my sort of tuxie friend is vacating his black one. The disintegrating straw hat is the most interesting, not sure what is perched on the side – a tossed out cigarette? A bit of paper? What I call a claw paw grips the brim. Comfy kitty in the first hat fits nicely, tail curled around himself, the very tip pointing out. The odd fellow (or gal) out appears to be a tux or tuxie mix of some kind, hard to tell as his entire back half is in this black hat. The bad guy hat!

All three kitties have had their attention drawn off camera in the same direction. To that extent at least they are posed.

Someone has scratched into the negative, The Latest Thing in Hats in Wilawana. PA. According to my (albeit limited) map reading on Google, Wilawana appears to be a small town near the Chemung river and on the border of New York state.

In penned script on the back it reads, With love, From Mrs. ME Knighte and For Beulock Cosaiy [?] Wills NY Hamilton Co. However, there is no stamp so it was hand delivered or ultimately put in an envelope.

Dad in his white hat, more or less dead center of this photo.

My father was a devoted wearer of hats. I have written about Dad’s career as a news cameraman for many decades. (One of those posts can be read here.) At more than 6’5″ and with a ubiquitous fisherman’s hat on his head he was easy to pick out in a crowd and we would look for him on long shots of events on other news stations. Although a cotton fisherman’s cap (usually a fairly crisp, newer one) was most frequently worn to work, the older ones and a series of baseball style caps were employed outside at home. My father kept his hat on a great, small bronze statue of a running horse which I (sadly) no longer have, on a table outside our kitchen with his keys in it. I’m not sure I ever saw my father outside without a hat and prescription sunglasses.

The style of hat most frequently worn by my father.

The rest of the family did not sport hats. I cannot remember my mother wearing one, even on the coldest of winter days. (Mom would head outside with her short hair wet and the ends would freeze. She was hat resistant.) My sister Loren skied and therefore must have worn the occasional winter hat, although I can’t remember it and must feel she eschewed them in general. Edward (who may be reading this) was not especially inclined toward them either. (Ed, have you become a hat wearer?)

The much beloved Buck Jone Rangers hat.

I had an early inclination to hats, but in practice did not really figure them out until well into adulthood. There is my much sweated in cotton baseball cap for running (from the Gap, no logo) which reminds me of Dad’s, keeps the sun and sweat out of my eyes and also helps keep my hair up. Winter running requires a warmer (but washable) hat however – sometimes a hood too – something over my ears. The NJ variant is bright yellow green so I don’t get shot in the woods or runover in the low morning light.

I am very devoted to hat wearing in the cold in general and have a series of wool hats, always one stuffed in my purse in the transitional seasons, just in case. I lean toward a loose black wool one these days. As a kid I delighted in stocking caps and went through a stage of rather electric long ski hats that were popular for a bit. I was employing a wool cowboy style one in winter (sun protection, but good in light precipitation) until it was accidentally taken from a party. It was returned to the hostess, but I have yet to retrieve it from her. That one came from a hat store in Red Bank, NJ near where I like to have brunch if I first come into town on the weekend, the Dublin House.

This time of the year I break out one of a few straw hats. I like a small brim fedora style straw hat, although it has been pointed out to me that if keeping the sun off my face is my motive (which it is in large part) that a wider brim would serve better, but I don’t seem to be able to commit to those hats the way I can to a smaller one. For one thing my head size is small and it has helped to learn that a large hat is awkward on me. I like being able to smush it into my bag if needed. Like Dad I have adopted prescription sunglasses.

These days the favored hat is an aging straw one purchased in the airport on the way back from a business trip. I was in an airport in Arizona I think, on a leg back from California, San Diego I want to say which makes it a number of years ago now. I was killing time and vaguely in the market for a new summer hat. As these things go, I had no idea that I would still be wearing it daily for 2.5 seasons a year for so many years to come. It has only become every so slightly disreputable.

Recently purchased and subsequently installed hat and coat rack in NJ.

It’s elderly cousin is a blue straw version which was purchased in San Francisco on a donor visit years ago when I worked at the Met Museum. I had gone to visit an elderly (and remarkably fashionable) woman out there, Mona Picket, who was appalled that I was wandering around California in spring time without a hat so we went to a department store and bought me this one. Mona has subsequently passed on and I do think fondly of her when I wear that hat. It is very nicely made (and terribly expensive) and will probably outlast me if I continue to care for it.

Last summer Kim and I were on our way to meet people for dinner on the lower Eastside and I stopped us in our tracks to go into a store and buy a rather electric blue one. It was actually a yellow cousin which caught my eye but they did not have that color in my size. This blue one got a lot of action last summer and is my “good” work hat now.

Kim is an inveterate hat wearer in the tradition of my Dad. I’ve seen him through numerous baseball caps since we met, all of which somehow crossed his path and acquired somewhat (although not entirely) indiscriminately. To my memory, in some order or other, the following baseball hats have been employed: a blue Tar Heels one, a favorite was one acquired at a reading he did in Seattle for Fantagraphics, and the sort of stone favorite was a Buck Jones Rangers hat – the remains of which sit on a shelf over my head even as I write.

Seasonally a series of straw cowboy hats followed and there was one purchased at a K-Mart on a trip to Butte, Montana; a business trip for Kim. (Read about that trip which featured a whorehouse museum here!) For a cheap hat it lasted a good long while.

Kim keeps a bright Kelly green leprechaun-ish bowler around for wearing on someday other than St. Pat’s. Early in our relationship I stretched my wallet and purchased him a very good Stetson as a gift. It languished for several decades before it evolved into use and has now been his daily hat for a number of years. It is getting a good worn-in look and gets frequent compliments.

Kim was willing to pose for this out-the-door pic earlier.

I just installed a coat and hat rack in NJ. However, much in the style of my father, our hats are piled near the front door, some decorating an unused lamp. I do try to resist the temptation to put hats on the cats, but sometimes the Devil wins on that one.

Miltie, senior feline of NJ, in a hat from a post earlier this year.

Onward and Upward

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: I purchased this pin back in August and it arrived during an especially hectic period while I was traveling and Blackie was in the kitty hospital. (He is slowly returning to his handsome, suave, feline self. I have promised him I will not post any photos of him until he is back to his full glory however.) I have written about my occasional dysmorphia when buying online – slightly enormous and smaller than anticipated toys show up all the time. (A post addressing that can be found here.) There is, for example, a huge wax cloth Uncle Walt doll on our shelf that I have not found a proper spot for yet. (Future post, I assure you.) Most famously, there is a beloved Mickey Mouse by Dean’s Rag that was a store display which is the size of a six year old in our bedroom. I have taken to measuring more often, which lead to my not buying a rather splendid Felix decorated drum that came my way. Alas, life in a small apartment.

I had my heart set on this sterling silver Victorian arrow as soon as I saw it posted in a coming attraction reel with some other items posted by one of my go-to’s, @marsh.and.meadow (Heather, one of these days I will be in Ohio with the band and say hello!) and I set my cap for it. I was admittedly rushed when it came up for sale. All this to say, I had not really stopped to consider that it’s three and a half inches is about an inch longer than expected. But it is a solidly beautiful item and frankly, it has sat on my desk where I have just delighted in it over recent weeks.

We all want to be Excellent! Pams-Pictorama.com Collection.

Although it is silver there is something vaguely more industrial looking about it, like steel. It is wonderfully solid looking. It was clearly meant for a scarf, shawl, hat or bulky knit sweater. While I had originally envisioned securing it, pointing upward of course, to the lapel of a blazer it is too thick for that and I am now thinking winter coat or hat – which assumes I will leave recent years of nothing but an outer attire of an old down storm coat and watch cap behind and resume wearing a nicer wool coat and with some attitude. (This also assumes that the moth farm I have inadvertently cultivated has left me a shred of wool to wear.)

Back of the pin. Pams-Pictorama.com Collection.

There are certain symbols that appeal repeatedly to me in jewelry. Although my recent fascination with insects confounds me somewhat (posts on those can be found here and here), I have collected a few old school medals which provide unabashed encouragement – Improvement! Excellence! – and a post on those can be found here. I like the idea of a sly advertisement or hopefulness, a horseshoe perhaps, and a bit of encouragement for myself to be found in my pins.

A favorite insect pin, also coincidentally from Marsh.and.Meadow.

I am far from the first person to wander down this path and for example it has been done much more intelligently by the likes of Madeleine Albright, former Secretary of State, as she famously signaled her diplomatic intentions with her pins. I like arrows and have been looking for one for awhile. Somewhere I have a nice rhinestone one I acquired all the way back in high school, but I cannot find it and as a friend of Kim’s says, if you can’t find it you don’t own it. (It has become a mantra in this house!) I have made a few attempts to purchase pins that depict Haley’s Comet (yes, those are a thing) which is more like an arrow shooting out of a star.

While piercing is the first thing that comes to mind when thinking about arrow, the symbolism of the arrow goes beyond being a badass. They represent triumph over struggle, strength and perseverance. And of course optimism, upward, let’s go this way. I think it is always good to acknowledge triumph over struggles, both large and small, and also a good reminder to be pointed on the path upward and ahead.

Fall Again

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: Like most of us, mid-September flips the back-to-school switch in my brain, honed by decades of school shopping (hard new shoes for feet that had grown) and the purchase of lunch boxes, notebooks, pads and Ticonderoga pencils to be sharpened. When very small, clothes came from my grandfather’s store or the Sears catalogue. Later there was a mall where over time I would shop for my clothes on my own, with my sister or friends.

As a tot if shoes were to be acquired they were purchased from a store called Sid’s in the next town over. (There is an excellent Italian market where Sid’s used to be. I stop there occasionally when in Jersey to buy soup for my mom or maybe a prepared dish or two. However, I always remember Sid’s too.) While they may not have sold children’s shoes exclusively (that sort of exclusivity was not as prevalent in 1960’s and ’70’s New Jersey suburbs and there were fewer speciality shops) they seemed to have a lock on the local market for children and sent us away with balloons, coloring books and Buster Brown type trinkets annually.

Kislin’s in the 1980’s but more or less how I remember the facade. This was the annual sidewalk sale in Red Bank I believe.

Sneakers, however, might also come from a store called Kislens one town over in Red Bank. Kislens would not only supply sneakers (of course a much more basic model of Keds and a vastly limited array than we are dazzled by now), but it was also the purveyor of gym clothes, uniforms, boots and any and all athletic related items and necessities. (I wonder, did every town have one of these?)

Kislin’s was close to a century old when it closed around ’05 and one could find items from prior decades peeping out from top shelves and cabinets, layered under and around more contemporary items. My memory is of wooden cabinets, fixtures and shelves that likely went back to the store’s origin. Even in my childhood, the floors creaked heavily when trod on. It felt like you could never truly get to the know all of Kislin’s hidden secrets, but whatever sporting needs, nascent or advanced, camping or scouts, Kislins would magically produce the necessary items when requested – they weren’t much on devoting space to display. When you embarked on an outdoor activity or sport, a trip to Kislin’s may have been on the agenda. All of the Speedo bathing suits of my youth were purchased there in a no fuss, no muss sort of way until well into my teenage years.

A rather excellent bit of chalk drawing recorded on the first part of my run last weekend.

Meanwhile, speaking of sports, last weekend enjoying the first lovely cool morning for running in a number of weeks I was feeling great until I fell just as I was reaching mile 8 on a run that would have been my first approach on 9 miles. A bit bloody, but luckily not badly hurt (nothing broken and a thank you to the runner who helped me up and the gentleman drinking ice coffee on a bench who even gave me ice for my hand), I ran home and still recorded 8.8 miles. However, it has kept me sidelined this week while my knee fully recuperates, as well as my hands, one of which took the brunt of the fall. Therefore, I found myself walking to work on Wednesday, through Central Park when I had my back-to-school moment. The light was pure September and the trees are just starting to consider embarking on their winter waning.

End of my walk to work Wednesday in Central Park. Anyone know what these flowers are? I thought jasmine but they didn’t smell like it.

Unlike my childhood incarnation, instead of sporting a new outfit to celebrate a post-Labor Day turning over of a new leaf, I had pulled on a pair of pre-pandemic pair of trousers getting their first outing in several years. They were fine except the running has moved muscle around and things from the Before Time are pulling in some places with new muscle (calves!) and evaporated from others (thighs!). In the end this may be what ultimately empties my closet of these frozen in time clothes at last.

September light in the Park.

When I got to the office my colleagues all seemed to be in a similar fall frame of mind embracing the new season, but a bit confused. We are all still struggling with the hybrid routine, days in the office together, others at home. Every meeting starts with a technology hiccup as we work the bugs out of new conferences software. (Move the camera please, and Can you hear me? I can hear you.) From home earlier in the week I realized one conference room has a zone where everyone sounds like they are Charlie Brown’s teacher, or vaguely underwater, made worse of course by wearing masks. (Can you all move to the other side of the table please?)

Pictorama readers and IG followers might remember that Kim and I purchased this in Chinatown over vacation, a new lucky waving cat for the office.

Several new folks joined the team in the weeks before Labor Day and they are still learning the ropes including which conference room is which – all are named for Jazz legends which adds a bit of complexity as we thoughtlessly toss out Jellyroll or Lady Day (the one with the sound issue) confidently and they just look at us befuddled. Computers remain a mash up of desktop, personal laptops, iPads and whatnot as new equipment has been delayed in being rolled out. Sometimes whole meetings happen with our colleagues of site represented only by my phone in the middle of the table, eating battery which I will forget until it is dead later in the day.

As for me, I can’t seem to stay on schedule in person and as meetings run long I blow through others or end meetings early because my timing is wrong. I try to make sure that those who are joining on camera are included, as well as being present for those in the office. Breakfast, lunch and dinner meetings take me out of the office, exacerbating the timing issues. It is exhausting. Eventually, I come home, work a bit more and collapse each night. Fall is here.

Scent

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: Some Pictorama readers know that I was among the folks who lost my sense of smell when I got Covid a few months back. It slowly returned, patchy at first, as did my coordinating sense of taste which had disappeared with it. Over time I could suddenly smell the river again during my run and found that I wasn’t just guessing when I salted the soup I was making as I habitually taste tested it.

As foretold, as it returned I found that smell in particular, was a bit more messy than taste. Some smells seemed to break apart somehow. Perfumes in particular would sock my nose with overwhelming notes of alcohol or something chemical after an initial whiff of something more pleasant. I favored strong musky scents briefly, probably because they were strongest for my limited ability. I routinely sniffed the kitchen herbs as I cooked. Whiffs of dill, oregano, basil, but also spice like cumin, coriander, red pepper, ginger and mace daily.

Citrus was the last scent to come back, as well as taste. (Frustratingly though the taste of summer corn and tomatoes also lagged!) I made a practice of smelling citrus in all forms whenever I could and testing different kinds. It remained flatly unavailable to me.

As it happens the perfume I have worn for many years is a citrus scent that crosses grapefruit with something like an etrog. If you are unfamiliar with etrogs, they are a lumpy looking lemon-esque citrus fruit which is perhaps best known for being part of the observance of the Jewish autumn holiday Sukkot. While not familiar with them or the holiday first hand, I am told that my perfume is reminiscent of it with a strong lemony citrus note.

An etrog.

Somehow during the course of the pandemic I ignored the fact that I was almost out of perfume (sitting home didn’t require much) and even more notably, I missed the fact that it was suddenly hard to find and purchase. So, I have been looking around and sampling citrus smells.

I tried a pricey Tom Ford which I liked until I actually put it on me. There is something very disconcerting about not smelling like yourself and scents, those I could in fact smell over time, had an odd way of changing with my body chemistry. I frequently thought I liked something and wanted to take a shower an hour later to thoroughly get it off me.

Love the blue bottle, but this was more of an orange scent than I was looking for.

I revisited a few scents from when I was younger and was amazed at how much I disliked them, while finding them hauntingly familiar. Jasmine is one and while I still love to smell the actual plant I disliked every perfume version I tried. I wore Chanel for a period in my 20’s and early 30’s and I find it overwhelming now, although their Chance eau Fraiche was a citrus contender, but again there was something sort of heavy about it over time.

Another one from my youth – this one is also orange scented so maybe I was moving toward citrus already.

My grandmother wore a carnation oriented Chanel I believe, a pleasantly spiky scent that I have not been able to replicate, at least on me. (My very no nonsense mother tells a story of one day many years ago when I was still very little. She was taking the garbage out and suddenly she was surrounded by my grandmother’s scent. It was my father’s mother with whom she was close and she said she found it very comforting.) My sister wore Chanel too, No. 19 I think, but I don’t associate it with her. My mother has never worn perfume, but my father would bring it back for me and Loren from duty-free work related flights.

A very close entry.

I find something I think I like but then I find myself asking, do I want to smell like this all the time after an hour or so. Kim was brought into a judgement call occasionally. He had a really bad reaction to one of the early musky scents I tried. The good news was that over time I was able to smell much better again.

My beloved Green Tea is back!

I was on the verge of settling for a perfume by Diptyque (citrus but woody), when I tried looking for my Bulgari scent one more time and there it was! My beloved Au the Vert (Green Tea) unisex spray is available once again.

Dragon Flying

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: This pin was waiting for me when I got back from my Denver trip. It traveled here from Great Britain and an Instagram seller I have purchased from before, @lucyameliasvintage. As it happens my prior purchase was also celluloid – an elephant box for Kim and a butterfly which I wrote about in a post that can be found here. It makes me assume that the British knew something about celluloid we did not in the US – or they were just more careful with theirs.

I have written a few times before about the subtle mania for insect related jewelry that seemed to overtake me during the pandemic, a product of online shopping and perhaps being too confined. These acquisitions have ranged from a silver bracelet with spiders in webs to a few tiny insects, and as well as these sort of glorious plastic winged critters. This spring I got to live a fantasy of pinning several to a jacket lapel at once. A small tableau of bugs.

Deitch Studio Collection.

This latest acquisition is both a tad cheesy and a bit delicate, but I like it. The body is a light metal, painted a shiny green, appropriately bug-eyed, and the long delicate celluloid wings, pin underneath. I will have to wear it before coat season because he should not be smushed under a coat or bag shoulder strap. He is a fair tribute to the dragonfly, but that is an insect whose iridescent beauty is almost impossible to capture and jewelers from Tiffany to whoever made my plastic pins have been inspired to try.

Celluloid butterfly, Pams-Pictorama.com collection.

Frankly, I am not especially kindly in my feelings toward real insects. A waterbug showed up in the kitchen a few weeks ago and not unlike a cartoon if I could have found a chair to climb on, Olive Oil style, I would have. Instead, despite being on the phone with my mother, I yelled while the cats looked on, amused but doing nothing except an occasional soft “pudding paw” swat while it ran to safety under the fridge.

Spotted Lanternfly via the NYT.

Those of you in New York may know about the Spotted Lanternfly which has landed on our shores to munch all of our trees. The New York Times had a cover page story asking us to stomp on them whenever we see them. Oddly, about a day later I was on an all day staff retreat in borrowed but palatial office digs when a yell went up at the far end of the table. My colleagues were standing around pointing – at a Lanterfly of all things. Much to her credit, our CMO popped off her sandal and whacked the guy! Bam!

Meanwhile, I also had chance to step on one leaving my office the other day. Sadly, they are quite beautiful really. It should be noted that they do not go easily and I felt badly, not to mention that this is obviously an ineffectual campaign all said and done. Shortly after the original article the Times published a follow up – some folks expressing sympathy for the Spotted Lanternfly with its appealing design and hiding them from would be assassins. Will I commit to insect killer or savior? Clearly more to come on this, but I am already sure that Lanternflys would make a very nice pin design.

Opal

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: I don’t think I have ever opined on my affection for opals. I’m not exactly sure of the evolution of my fascination, but at some point I fell hard for opals. I was discussing this passion with Kim this morning. It may be the organic and individual nature of opals that fascinates me – each one with a different fire, a unique sensibility, hard to capture.

Opals are sensitive to shifts in humidity and moisture and one jeweler of antique gems told me that she is even careful about wearing them on airplanes as the shifts in altitude could cause cracking. I believe they are somewhat soft as gem stones go.

I cut my teeth on opal collecting teeth with the purchase of two necklaces, one from Australia and the other from New Zealand (both acquired via @murielchastanet_finejewelry) which appears to be one of the world’s natural El Dorados of opals, over a long period of time as they were significant indulgences.

Opals can be (generally are) very expensive, but my strings of opals can pass for nicely strung cheerful beads – circus beads I always call them, not calling attention to themselves unless you know what you are looking at. It is the endless variation and change in each light and against different colors that fascinates me, a never ending display, different each time.

Australian opals; Pams-Pictorama.com collection

The ring I am writing about today was purchased online right before I got sick with Covid. An IG dealer (@marsh.and.meadow) had previewed the ring and I asked for a heads up when it went on sale. The notification came while I was at work one night – in the middle of a set at Dizzy’s – and I bought it with having seen only one small photo and with no idea of the price! Absolutely no regrets – I was thrilled to have gotten it and I have nothing like it, nor am I entirely sure what it is.

Slices of New Zealand opals; Pams-Pictorama.com collection.

Heather (aka Marsh and Meadow, whose daughter is named Opal incidentally) identified it as a boulder opal which I would say is very likely. When I research a bit I would also say a fire opal is possible as well, hard to tell and I welcome better informed opinions if any. Heather noted the setting as pre-1900, 10k gold – the doom of the stone .5″ from the setting. For me it appears to be an opal in formation, as if someone managed to catch it in the very act of becoming an opal, an entire world captured within, trapped in my ring.

This is the listing photo by Heather Hagans – a much better job than I can do!

Because I got sick immediately following buying it, the box sat unopened for a bit before I rallied enough to open it. What a treat! (Strangely I also acquired a very old, gold bracelet from Australia at the same time which also waited through my Covid period before being revealed. What was going on in my pre-Covid brain I wonder? More to come on this but I was on a bit of a jewelry tear – all extraordinary things though and some very old, future posts all.) I felt better immediately – the healing value of jewelry.

As some things do, it became an instant favorite and I have worn it several times a week ever since. I never tire of it.

I researched today and opals are formed by the evaporation of silica rich water over millions of years according to Mr. Google. The internet also informs that boulder opals (which evidently all originate in Queensland, Australia) represent serenity of the soul and actualization, but also success and rebirth. If it is a fire opal (mined largely in Mexico) it symbolizes a joy of the heart and a passion for the elements of life, as well as good fortune and success.

If I had to chose I would lean toward feeling the former. I slip it on frequently where it perches high on my hand and encourages day dreaming about that tiny internal opal world on my finger.

Manly Pleasures?

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: This is a small, but curious item that wandered into the house with some incredibly interesting antique rings I purchased from a woman in the Midwest who goes under the moniker of @Witchyvintage, aka Paula Bates.

My Felix avatar on social media.

Paula (who is always @witchyvintage in my mind’s eye and ear, as I assume I am @deitchstudio to her, my little Italian Felix toy avatar her only image of me), has an Instagram account most notable in my estimation for really extraordinary vintage early American clothing.

There is something endlessly fascinating about seeing the shoes and dresses she presents for sale – some wearable and others fragile now and better suite for study. Sunbonnets that made the trip west, jackets with leg-o-mutton sleeves, capes and undergarments; cottons, silks and muslins.

The parade of boots she sells surprise me each time she posts them. Wear is evident on them, but they look remarkably well for having made the trip from the 1890’s. (My Nike spoiled feet scream in horror at the idea of wearing them, but they could easily be fashionable today.) I don’t need to own these (luckily for her there are others who feel different and she seems to do a brisk business), but I am addicted to looking at them and considering the lives these items have lived.

For sale on the Witchyvintage online store.

I have, on occasion, purchased jewelry from her, although less frequently than the folks in Britain I have written about (some of those posts here and here) or another favorite young woman in the Midwest who I have a soft spot for, @Marsh.and.Meadow, aka Heather Hagans.

During the shutdown period of the pandemic I found myself revisiting my interest in antique jewelry. Both because of its history (somehow objects with a past remind us that we have a future), and because buying it was putting a stake in the ground for the time I would start wearing jewelry again.

Ring purchased from Paula. I happened to have this screen grab from showing her which one I wanted. Lucky me, it came with this lovely box!

That time is slowly emerging now an my lapels are festooned with a collection of early 20th century insects, and rings sometimes adorn my hands again when I go out. A gold bracelet hallmarked 1895 sits from a vendor in Australia (@madamebrocante) on my right wrist. With a recent purchase of two rings (such indulgence! – I will write more about those another time after they have been fully considered for a bit), this interesting card was tucked in with a somewhat less compelling cabinet card shown below.

Cabinet card also included.

It is a bit larger than an average business card. Nothing is printed or written on the back. I can’t really imagine what purpose such a card might have served. And there is the obvious question of how is a woman’s hand reaching for a bird’s nest among flowers a manly pleasure? Am I missing some obvious or subtle Victorian symbolism? I love it, but it is a little hard to figure the guy who wanted to use this card.

As far as I can gather it is indeed a man’s calling card, although obviously lacking in a printed name – did they perhaps write their name on the back? Evidently, men’s cards were longer and thinner than women’s of the day, designed to fit better in a vest pocket. I especially liked the detail that if a caller left a card personally the right corner was generally folded down in as a way of denoting that the effort was made. A corner might be folded to indicate that he was there to see the entire family, and the litany of rules for unmarried women was intricate.

Kim and I both fell hard for this little item and we would like to find a way to get it and a few other of these tiny items up on our (very crowded) wall where we can admire them daily. Thank you Paula! A very nice bonus!