06/10/2020
Gold
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Into the heart
Comrades, I admit that I learned Russian in Shura's kitchen.
I miss Babushka Shura, her uncompromising nature, her grandmotherly affection for my daughter, her pelmenis.
"Avowal" comes from a Petersburg fragrance manufactory, whose products I did not know before. The kitchen table, where I learned Russian, is in Moscow. In a simple Khrushovka, a worker's apartment in the suburbs.
"Avowal" reminds me of the loaves of bread that Shura baked in her gas oven Dark flour, coriander en masse, some cinnamon. In the left corner on a cupboard there was a small samovar, still powered by charcoal. We sat on old chairs, covered with dark leather, slightly greasy shining.
Shura explained to me why she gave birth to only one son ("I wanted to go back to work quickly, the more children, the greater the dependencies") and why her heart was weak (level 2 insufficiency at that time).
"When my son fought in Afghanistan for two years, I got sick."
"Avowal" smells of unvarnished truth and real conversations in which we admit something, admit, stand by ourselves. Maybe in tears, maybe screaming.
"Avowal" is not a feel-good scent, but neither is "grand mystère par Nimère."
You could put on the scent, for example, Christmas Eve, because it reminds me a bit of Russian gingerbread.
Christmas in particular often requires an antidote to the usual family banter.
"Avowal" is a quick way to get down to business.
Yeah, it hits you right in the heart.
I miss Babushka Shura, her uncompromising nature, her grandmotherly affection for my daughter, her pelmenis.
"Avowal" comes from a Petersburg fragrance manufactory, whose products I did not know before. The kitchen table, where I learned Russian, is in Moscow. In a simple Khrushovka, a worker's apartment in the suburbs.
"Avowal" reminds me of the loaves of bread that Shura baked in her gas oven Dark flour, coriander en masse, some cinnamon. In the left corner on a cupboard there was a small samovar, still powered by charcoal. We sat on old chairs, covered with dark leather, slightly greasy shining.
Shura explained to me why she gave birth to only one son ("I wanted to go back to work quickly, the more children, the greater the dependencies") and why her heart was weak (level 2 insufficiency at that time).
"When my son fought in Afghanistan for two years, I got sick."
"Avowal" smells of unvarnished truth and real conversations in which we admit something, admit, stand by ourselves. Maybe in tears, maybe screaming.
"Avowal" is not a feel-good scent, but neither is "grand mystère par Nimère."
You could put on the scent, for example, Christmas Eve, because it reminds me a bit of Russian gingerbread.
Christmas in particular often requires an antidote to the usual family banter.
"Avowal" is a quick way to get down to business.
Yeah, it hits you right in the heart.
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