While antiquing today with my friend Mary, I found a decorative wooden object-- a small, hollow container decorated with a clumsy and rustic combination of pyrography and paint. It could be called tourist kitsch. But hidden inside is a vial of Bulgarian attar of roses (розово масло). Pure, sweet, buttery, delectable, this attar could change my mind about the scent of roses, which up to now has never been on my list of favorites.
Or has it?
One rose for which I have a decided infatuation is Estée Lauder's White Linen. It takes the very same velvety Damascene rose, sets it against a carpet of glossy dark green foliage, and casts a layer of sparkling aldehydes over all like the faintest, coldest snowfall. As if by serendipity, a tiny trio of White Linen Perfume miniatures had been placed on the shelf next to the Bulgarian attar of roses. Not one to question kismet, I took them all home together.
As I type this, I sit secure in a veil of White Linen, augmented here and there with judicious touches of that rich, incomparable Bulgarian attar. Through my eyes at this very moment, the world indeed looks nothing less than rose-colored.