Wednesday, April 3, 2013

still-sound 159. Chamomile

I put some chamomile in a vase at our perfume store.  A very fancy woman came in wanting to stock up on her favorite fragrances.   I've met her several times in the past.  She's unforgettable.  She speaks with a soft Spanish accent and is usually en route to one of her houses on another continent.  Usually I would find this a little annoying, but she carries her worldliness so well.  A happiness seems to emanate from her face - as though she actually enjoys having houses around the world.  I always look forward to her visits and hope (in vain) that she'll sit down and tell me all about Acapulco in the 70s or how she'll spend her summer in France.  But there's usually a driver waiting in the car outside and our chats are kept brief.

She was delighted to see the chamomile.  She told me that she grows chamomile in her garden and regularly makes tea from the flowers.  She asked if she could take a little bit with her.  It was my pleasure to snap off a few stems which she took in the hand that wasn't holding a purple crocodile Birkin bag.

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