Je Reviens Worth 1932 Parfum

only becomes something precious in retrospect. Je reviens has accompanied me my whole life. In my childhood, the scent of my grandmother, alongside a few others like Shalimar and Mitsouko, was her everyday fragrance, her signature scent, belonging to my childhood like the smell of chicken soup. Chicken soup is good for the soul, whether for a cold, bad grades, or heartache, chicken soup provided comfort in the bleakness of adolescence. And her warm, flattering scent, sandalwood, vanilla, violet. Even today, I love violets. After her death, I found 3 unopened boxes of Je reviens in her wardrobe. Still in cellophane. She had bought them for herself, the price tag was still on the boxes. What do I conclude from this? 60 D-Mark, exactly 60. Not like today 59.99. A round sum and back then, a lot of money. I sit in her bedroom, the neighbors are gone, anyone who wanted something from her earthly treasures has taken it, I open a partially used bottle, dab some on my wrist, sniff, I do not find her in this scent. Aldehydes, lemon, some piercing note, off?
Disappointed, I continue packing for Caritas and for the trash. And suddenly..... powdery, warm, sweet, it rises from my wrist, the purple violet pastilles that I liked so much, the iris that powders it all, something herbal, but only slightly and strangely the scent of her face cream. She is back, in my heart, embraces me and finally, finally I no longer function, but can cry.

Time jump: Decades later, the ship of life has carried me through calm waters and through storms. And after a great, wild storm, in which I sometimes thought I would sink, I finally reached an island. Like Robinson, I set up anew.
In this phase, I met a man, 35 years older than me, a widower, where I suspected a good paternal friend was looking for a new partner.
A gentleman of the old school, he invited me to the opera, wrote letters in an old-fashioned way, shared some life wisdom with me, tamed my overflowing temperament, engaged in sensitive conversations with me, and taught me patience. For Christmas, he then gave me a bottle of Je reviens, the perfume. I did not mention that I had the old version at home multiple times, I thanked him.
He told me that it had been his late wife's favorite scent, and I thought quite heretically: no, really, of course, and the scent of my grandmother.
I did not say it out loud, it would not have been good style.
We never became a couple, but he always remained a paternal friend to me. By now, he resides mentally in another world, in the past, the deeply internalized core values have remained with him, still, when I visit him in the nursing home, he adjusts my chair, gives me small charming compliments, and when he occasionally, increasingly rarely, enters this world, he is still a pleasant conversational partner. Otherwise, I can only listen to him, let him address me by very different names, and enter his world that is so foreign to me. But always, really always, when I visit him, he smiles and is happy, which is not the case with all visitors; he can become quite grumpy.
Is it due to je reviens, this warmth, this sandalwood and violet-laden dry warmth? To which world does this perfume carry him? Can olfactory memory influence the past more strongly than, for example, stories?
It will probably always remain a mystery for us.
But je reviens remains our shared secret.