Lavender

Antimicrobial. Antifungal. Anti-inflammatory.

There are all kinds of varieties of Lavender (aka Lavendula) growing in strong slender aromatic stalks with heads the colors of fairy-tale silvery-blue-haired old women living in cottages with gentle-looking gardens they tend themselves full of magical possibilities. Old ladies who know how to cure what ails you, and how to heal their own wounds.

My mouth is full of the scent of lavender right now after crushing dried bits of it between my fingers to release the oil. So strong. Even after sitting in a paper bag for a year, the potency of even just two heads of lavender crushed in this manner is penetrating.

Scattering it around my cabin after cleaning dusty spider remnants from the corners and ceiling and windowsills, trying to infuse the space with a fresh clean smell to replace the aroma of decaying insects, dust and hot cobwebs, the oil is still on my fingers; I didn’t think before rubbing my lips and inhaling. It is like I was given a dry spritz of nebulous herbal disinfectant, now clinging invisibly to my tongue, the lining of my cheeks, and the roof of my mouth, especially. Purifying my sinuses with a clean pretty soft-purple burn.

They say it is soothing and good for making you sleepy. On top of doing all kinds of more intensely medicinal things: disinfecting wounds, improving blood circulation, treating canker sores, and relieving joint pain. And repelling insects.

The best association I have with this smell of lavender is MASSAGE. Because lavender is one of the more common and familiar oils (it even has a name that makes sense to people because it is a color: a color that helps people relax even without any aroma attached to it), it’s not unusual for massage therapists to use lavender for aromatherapy or in the oil they use to lubricate your body so their hands glide over you smoothly.

I love being transported by the scent of lavender to one of my favorite invalid fantasy rooms: the room of a woman trained to perform full-body massage, with the entire space kitted out to provide hours of treatment aimed to HEAL, soothe and restore. Rooms kept super-clean, with fresh sheets, warm blankets, and heated tables. Small treatment rooms designed to be used by just two people: giver and receiver in close physical proximity. Sometimes with amethyst crystals — the colors of lavender — decorating the space. I love paying money to be welcomed into these rooms and treated like someone who NEEDS healing.

I have not been able to afford this kind of healing but once in all of these years since pre-pandemic, and I crave it. I yearn for it. So today the smell of lavender serves as a reminder and motivator to me. A taste of powerful, sensual, and feminine healing and wisdom, dripping drily with the magical clinical CLEANLINESS of lavender.

The older I get — the more silver-streaked my hair — the more I love lavender. I am not afraid of it making me look or smell like an old lady. Because I want to BE that powerful invisibly-cloaked enchantress who looks frail and harmless, but is girded with immeasurably potent strength. Who, when subjected to pressure, releases penetrating medicine-oil-magic that you cannot wash off or clean out of your nostrils. A smell you associate with fresh linens and clean corners tended by someone who knows what is necessary to survive with elegance and bitterly sharp defiance against disorder and disease.