Petrichor

Back in the 1960s, a couple of hippies were stumbling around the Mojave Desert (Technically, they were grad students, but they were grad students in the ‘60s, so I guess they technically had to be hippies, right?). 

Anyway, they were stoned enough to want to figure out the answer to a question we all have probably asked at one point or another: “Dude, like, what’s that crazy smell that happens when it hasn’t rained for a long time, and then it rains, and then, there’s that smell? You know? Dude? Also, why do we even have fingers?”

The smell, in case you haven’t experienced it, is hard to describe. It’s about 40% like a musty stone basement in an old manor home; 30% like a waterfall; 20% like leather; and 10% like smoke. It’s lovely, and not really like any other smell. It fills you up. But, invariably, it’s always gone in only a few minutes. This scent is impossible to recreate (thanks, science), and it only happens in certain places, and under certain circumstances, so who knows. Maybe part of its allure and mystery is the fact that it’s one of those rare things in life. 

So, the hippies went out and experimented. And they found out that, over time, especially in an arid environment where it hasn’t rained in a while, all sorts of pollen, resin, sap, and other little particles that float through the air eventually settle down in a fine layer, they dry out, and they just chill there. And then, when it rains, the water reanimates all these aggregate bits of terrestrial flotsam and jetsam, and the smell to explodes into the air. So that’s where it comes from.

When you discover something, you get to name it. So I assume they lit up an epic doob (a real fatty; some primo kush), and started thinking. The name they came up with?

Petrichor. 

Isn’t that nice? Petrichor. Ooof. From the Greek petri meaning stone, and chor, meaning blood. Stoneblood.  

As I’m typing this, that smell is lingering in the air, a bit longer than it usually tends to. I’m not sure about the rest of you (though I’ve heard I’m not alone), but it’s been hot here. Dry. Yellow. Arid. One of those deep penetrating kinds of heat where a fan only serves to blow hot air at you. 

As for myself, I’ve been feeling like one of those women in a baroque painting who’s solidly in the process of dying a painful death. Only instead of twisted expression being caused by the wrath of an unforgiving and cruel God, it’s only my body’s natural inclination to keep physical exertion at an absolute minimum. Cold water? Essential. Brain functions? Limited. The show on loop? Parks and Recreation. The air in the room? Circulation, and nothing more. An epic bottle of Gold Bond? Always close by. 

This last one is important. While you’re going to find gals out there with pictures waaay more provocative than the ones I post, you should all be thoroughly grateful that I spare you visual evidence of some of the more unpleasant elements of my life: I’ve already endured one miserable underboob rash this summer, and I am NOT going through that bullshit again. (That’s some horror movie shit, there.)

But today is good. There’s wind! And it’s a cool wind! And it brought rain! And not that kind of rain that stops after five minutes, rendering the atmosphere both hot and humid, but a cooling rain! The kind of rain that doesn’t make you want to die anymore! Much like the various tiny particles of stuff scattered across the countryside, Heather, too, has reanimated. 

And so. A part of my mind has finally been freed up to focus on some of the more fun aspects of living in this part of the world. It’s festival season right now, and there are little shindigs left and right, even in this far-removed part of the world. One of them is a costume soiree that I’ve been invited to, and frankly… I’ve always sucked at costumes. I mean, Halloween, sure… I can feel my way around that. If worse comes to worse, I can just go as creepy nun! But a summer fiesta? Where do you begin? 

Not to get too collegiate, but the basic idea I’m running with right now is… Toga? Is that too cliche? Am I just going to look insane/like I put no thought into it/positively absurd for obvious reasons? Am I just too old for this shit? (Not going to lie, it’s literally a bedsheet). I mean, it’s going to be a pretty informal thing, small-ish, and I know most of the people there already (pretty chill, mostly ladies), so at least I’ll have a little clique with which to hang and get sloppy on sangria. (Though will the sangria stain when I inevitably spill it on myself? Does that matter? It’s just a bedsheet.) And then, the million-dollar question: does it make my boobs look too big? (Be objective.) Should I wear a bra? (I mean, I’ll definitely wear something underneath, because duh and nipples, but I’m just balancing different types of support.) Overall, is it trying too hard? Am I thinking too much about this?

I really cannot tell if it’s the sluttiest option, or the most conservative.

The party is next weekend, and if it gets the thumbs up, I’ll invest in a rope for the waist and maybe a green wreath for my head, or something (The Goddess Petrichor! Full circle!). I welcome other ideas when it comes to relatively home-made summer-themed costume ideas.