Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery

I was just checking my e-mail and caught the scent of a candle I have beside my desk. Immediately I thought of Lori: a fabulous blogger and someone I consider to be quite a fine example to emulate in just about any situation. An attempt to copy her was exactly the reason I purchased the candle in the first place. In my new home, a quirky island 180 degrees removed from anything with which Alan and I have been familiar, there is a street/area downtown known as The Strand. In many ways it is similar to any artsy area of any touristy place. But this is the island, so there's always a twist. On this street I can ride in a horse-drawn carriage with a pug (not mine - this one is named Jeffery) and then walk into the shops and purchase Tibetan good luck charms, antique maritime memorabilia, all manner of cheap, tacky Mardi Gras accessories, a tin of "fancy chocolate cake" soldier's rations from the '40s and fine handmade soaps and candles. It was a slice of swanky green soap in one shop that caught my eye and nose. Instantly I was in Lori's college apartment, which was always spotless and always smelled wonderful - even with indoor pets! Either Lori's catdog (yes, catdog) Simba didn't care that he lived in a home with a pleasant scent, or hadn't yet conquered it. The soap and memory of the apartment inspired me. Because I am owned by a pair of stubborn, curly tailed, flat-nosed Chinese pups, I fear our humble abode may not always smell so spicy citrus fresh. So I snapped up a small cube candle of the same scent as the soap and promised to return for more to disperse throughout the house. But it's a losing battle. These pugs are sneaky. They'll find a way to overpower my weapon. Another scent that triggers a memory: White Rain hairspray. One whiff of that stuff and I'm in the girls bath house of Pine Springs camp just before supper time. A thick cloud of the pungent spray hangs in the air as 100 or so girls prepare themselves to impress the 14-year-old boy of their heart's desire. Oh how I do not miss those days!