Finished

Like the year, my hand cream is finished.
Every last drop of Caudalie's Creme Gourmande Mains et Ongles was squeezed from the tube last night, which is completely flattened and wonderfully gnarled: I do hate waste, and I do love the feeling of the finally exhausting something (so I can start on something new!). It was a great, nourishing cream, satisfyingly heavy going on, but quickly absorbed, immediately effective, and smelled wonderfully of oranges, not grapes, even though it's from Caudalie's Vinotherapie line. Or maybe grapes smell like oranges in France. I'm also done with the bottle of Rosengarten Rosenbluten Tagescreme (its companion, Rosenbluten Nachtcreme, continues to languish in the closet, barely used). I bought this because Air France lost my luggage when I went to Berlin in the Fall of 2007, and I had to buy stuff untill they sent my bag on from London, from a shop called Breathe in Rochstrabe. All this before AS met me the next day. The campy Yorkshire doorman (he chatted nineteen to the dozen) at the Hotel de Rome pointed me there in a taxi, in the rain. It rained and rained, and AS and I spent our days in adorable Art Nouveau museums and had coffee in organic coffeeshops in little streets, and then drinks in posh bars with crackling fireplaces, talking and talking. Berlin is relaxed, easy, masculine.
One day, as I was going down to the basement spa (in my bathrobe!) to get a massage, I met Ellen Von Unwerth waiting for the lift. She seemed shy and weathered and smiled at me kindly, like a maiden aunt with crooked teeth.