As a little girl I loved to examine the exquisite bottles on Grandma’s dresser. She would open one and let me smell its sweet perfume, or wipe a bit of its lotion on my arm. I remember smelling lilacs out of season, and rich aromas that couldn’t be named—except in the creativity of Avon, which made most of them. One perfume bottle was particularly intriguing: a delicate glass snail, with gilded head and antennae, filled with a luxuriant amber liquid. I picked it up one day and twisted that head away so that I could breathe in its aroma. Grandma turned just then and startled me with her … [Read more...] about Breaking the Alabaster Jar