I Am Purple

Recently, in the process of working through The Artist's Way, I was asked to do a bit of self-reflective writing.  The task was to pick a colour and write about yourself as that colour.  I picked my favorite colour and was really surprised by how much this writing task spoke to me.  This is what I wrote:


I am purple.  

I am red and blue simultaneously. I'm Royal, rare, at times misunderstood or undervalued. I'm work to understand or create but I'm elegant. I'm distinguished. I'm irises, dreams, warm grapes in the summer.

Purple Iris photo by Melinda Wilson 

I'm complicated, a blend of hot and cold mixed with abandon and passion. I'm quiet and ferocious by turns. I'm the subtle smell of lilacs and the intoxicating smell of lavender. I'm curling Iris petals and unfurling, lavender, velvety roses.

I'm refined and a wild spirit. I'm ethereal, magical and indefinable. I'm bold and shy. I'm the sort of complex that dusk and magic are made of. Real and romantic.

Purple Irises in Colonial Williamsburg photo by Melinda Wilson

I'm a wild Violet growing amidst the cracks of a sidewalk. I'm an Iris in a formal bed lining the path to an ancient stone Manor house. I'm immutable stained glass in a cathedral and fleeting hues in a sunset over the ocean.

I'm plums with sour skin and sweet flesh. Rich smooth color. I'm silk, velvet and satin. I'm flowers and fairytales. I'm fragile hope and vibrant strength.

Purple Flower in Geneva by Melinda Wilson

Have I stepped into a Western Film?

Boardwalk, train tracks, Town Square complete with gazebo, this is clearly a Western town.

Hello?  Is anybody there?  No?  Fine, I'll just address these queries to the ether then, shall I?  I'm assuming by your silence that you are not in charge of the madness here.  That could be a rash assumption, true, but what else am I to make of it?

Nevertheless I demand an explanation of some sort.

To start with I'd like to know how I ended up in this strange western film.  I don't remember auditioning.  I clearly remember packing my things up in London and traveling across the ocean and then the continent to arrive in California.  I remember that my visa was up and I had no choice but to return home.  I remember that California was drier and less green than I'd recalled.  And then, I remember waking up here in some sort of strange western film without John Wayne in it to lead the action.  I do NOT remember an audition.  When exactly was it that I was selected to play the heroine in a western film?

Again, train tracks, boardwalk, small house from Gold Rush days.  This feels like a film set.  It can't be my life, can it?

So you're choosing not to answer I see.  I am assuming by the protracted silence that you are denying such things are, or could ever be, true.  People do not just wake up in Western films you say with your decided lack of words.

In this dry western desert I struggle to grow any flowers.  Note the overwhelming amount of dry dust around.

And yet, here I am.  I live in an old farm house, parts of which date to the 1880's.  There are chickens running around in my yard and I have to worry about defending them from the coyotes.  I stamp my boots on the mat to get the dry brown desert dust off of them and I have found a hat indispensable in this hot sunny climate.  I had to chase a "bad guy" out of my house the other week as if this were a lawless town where help and the sheriff are several miles ride from here.  I stomped across a board-walk last weekend to listen to the community band play in the town park's gazebo.  And there are lots of little tumbleweeds growing in my yard.

Tumbleweed!!!  I am growing tumbleweed!

Two months ago I was living in London and now I'm chasing criminals out of my house and raising tumbleweed, dust and chickens.  I used to stroll down wrought-iron lined pavements and now I'm stamping along wooden board-walks.  Two months ago I neatly side-stepped inebriates on London's streets and now I listen for the howl of coyotes before I let my cat outside at night.

Sometimes it all feels like a terrible joke.  Except I'm not laughing people.  So, if you happen to be in charge of casting, or you're the director, or some such nonsense, I have a few things to discuss with you.  Firstly, I would like the bad guys to stop visiting my ranch and busting in through my door.  John Wayne isn't here to help out with the brawling and jailing of said nasty individuals.  Until he is I will not stand for any more intruders.  Secondly, I'm not sure why you cast me in a western, but I'd like the plot to change a little.  I'd like a little less madness if you don't mind.  Not to mention fire.  Why is there always fire in a western?  This southern California film has been no exception.  I'd like to request a cessation of fires as well.  And if you happen to throw in a few strokes of good fortune and maybe give me a job or money I won't complain either.

Well, that's about all for now.  I've got to go corral a few chickens and herd some tumbleweed before I sit peaceably on my front porch watching the sun as it sets over the desert hills.  And I need to ponder the acquisition of a horse.  If I'm to continue living in this western film I may need one.

Transplantation: in which I have been moved

This is a simple post.  It has only one purpose and that is, namely, to inform the unfortunate souls who have stumbled upon this blog of a single fact.  No, wait, that's not quite right.  If you had by some great misfortune stumbled upon this blog you probably wouldn't be reading this post.  Most people stumble into things by finding peculiar images, and I admit that they abound on this blog.  Or perhaps by finding unusually mad titles associated with some term they've just searched...

Sunset through the fruit tree

No.  If you're reading this post, it would seem likely that you are in fact a reader of more than one post.  And the only reason for that must be madness.  Why else would you be reading this?  Well, I suppose you could be here out of curiosity.  This blog is sort of an online zoo for madness.  All manner and types of madness are present here, expressed in my thoughts and the absurd things that always seem to happen to me...

But I digress.  Whatever the reason you are here, and I'm sorry you must have put up with so much already, I must inform you that I have in fact moved.

I am now situated amongst the rolling hills of southern California.  I no longer have the good fortune to live on the rainy and perpetually cold island known as Great Britain.  I do enjoy the sunshine here in southern California.

Hey, where did all the rain go?

But I miss the history and vibrancy of life in London and I really don't enjoy the constant fear of wild fires.  But my transition to life here is for another day.  I merely wanted to inform you, my poor unfortunate reader, that I am now living here rather than there.

Now that I have done so, you must excuse me.  I have things to unpack, mad tea parties to host, and chaos to involve myself in. 

For the Broken Ones

There are some times when words just fail.  When words are stripped away and you are left with nothing.  Nothing but raw emotion.  There are times and situations when raw emotion is the only thing you can offer and even that is not enough.  It is not enough to comfort, it is not enough to deal, it is simply not enough.

Sunset over Leeds rooftops

Sometimes the world strikes you such a blow that you reel backwards in shock.  And the world suddenly goes in slow motion.  Time seems to have no relevance.  It's hard to describe unless you have been there and felt it.  Perhaps the best illustration is the way that stubbing your toe really hard can make you breathless, speechless, and literally stuck out of time for a few seconds with pain.  Only it's a poor analogy because instead of physical pain, it is raw emotion that is so intense that it almost consumes you, so intense that it actually physically hurts as well.  Milliseconds can seem like hours.  Time passes but it means nothing to you because you are so utterly consumed by the emotions that are tearing you up inside.  How could any mundane routine possibly matter after what has just happened?

Lamplight on a street in Leeds

Unless you've been in that place it may seem weird to you to think of drowning in emotions.  But you really can.  Anyone who has dealt with grief, abandonment, or any sort of real loss could tell you.  It really is like its own form of drowning.  Your eyes fill up with water and cloud your view of anything happening in the world around you.  You choke on tears and emotions.  It is actually difficult to breathe with the weight of the swirling emotions around you.  If breathing is difficult, carrying on with mundane tasks is nearly impossible.  Walking seems harder, slower.  Your legs, all of you, feel as though they are made of lead, and you cannot swim or slosh through the thick mud.  You feel smaller and colder and more alone.  Everything seems pointless.

Sometimes you just want to scream and make everyone stop what they're doing, and sometimes you just need a quiet corner to cry in unwatched.  How does the world carry on like nothing has changed when your whole world has shattered?  The world should stop with you, to witness this shattering.  Everybody and everything should just pause for a moment the way you need to pause and learn how to breathe again.  How can they not?  Why don't they care?  How can they not see the world the way you do with all these new priorities and heightened sensibilities?  What does it matter if the shirts are ironed, or dance class starts at precisely eight?  How can they think of such trivial things when the world is shattering?  It doesn't seem right that everything should be different but nobody else even seems to notice. 

You are angry, and heartbroken, overwhelmed and confused, hurt and lost, and sad.  So sad it hurts.  You feel empty, and sad, and scared by turn and then sometimes, inexplicably, you feel nothing.  And you don't know how to cope with it and there are no words to deal with it, but part of you desperately wants someone to come along with words that make everything make sense and feel better.  I know.  I've been there.  And I wish I could offer you the words that you long for, the words that make everything make sense and bring you peace, but I can't.  I can tell you that it gets better.  Slowly, it gets better.  Very slowly my faith saved me from drowning once.  That isn't to say that I wasn't mad at God.  I was.  I was angry for a long time.  But he was patient and slowly restored bits of me with small but important realizations of beauty.

Rainy night-time street in Leeds

I learned perhaps the most important lesson of my life when I learned the beauty of life.  I learned to appreciate how precious it is.  How short, how sweet, how precious it is.  I learned how important it is to cherish people you love and truly appreciate every moment you have with them.  You must live as though each moment may be your last for you never know what the future holds.  It was the most painful lesson I've ever learned and also the most beautiful.

I began to appreciate the people in my life more.  I listened better, was more patient.  I was there for them and they were there for me.  And slowly I began to see beauty other places too.  I saw it in sunsets, and rain-drops that clung like jewels onto tiny tree branches.  I began to appreciate little moments and see little things that other people rushed passed.  And slowly, oh so slowly, I was restored.  I no longer felt like I was drowning.

Sunset over Leeds

The anger and the pain slowly faded.  The pain never really goes away.  It just subsides into a dull ache that is finally small enough to live with.  Some stories, movies or situations can bring back twinges of pain again.  Sometimes it is a song or a phrase that takes you back.  There is always a little bit of it with you.  But I've learned to accept that too.  Because we are all broken in our own ways.  And if the pain truly went away we wouldn't have the same compassion for one another.  It is what makes us real and human.  It is what gives us empathy and understanding and makes us better people. 

I can't make sense of it all for you, or take away the pain.  But I can promise you that it gets better with time.  So hold on, dear broken one.  Search for the little things that you can appreciate now, a kind word, a warm hug.  And slowly, you will start to see the beauty around you until you are restored.  Just hold on. 

A Sunday Drive to Hebden Bridge

Today was entirely too lovely to be spent indoors.  So, although I had slept but a scant few hours I knew I needed to go ahead with the plans to hike with friends.  Why, you may ask, had I not slept much?  I had been working incredibly hard on an application for a job.  This is no ordinary job.  This job is so unusual, so specific, and so remarkable that it must have been made for me.  This job is to conserve, repair and generally work with model ships in bottles.  If I were to get it I would work at the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, under an organic conservator and help do tiny repairs to ships in bottles.  I cannot think of a more random or delightful job to do.   I love ships in bottles.  I make miniature dollhouse furniture etc. in my spare time.  I studied the history and science and sailing at university and learned how to calculate longitude.  Yeah, that's right.  So, because I cannot think of a more amazing job and because I am randomly the most perfectly suited person for this job I spent hours agonizing over every detail of my resume and cover letter.  Eventually I admitted defeat, sent the application in its imperfect state and went to bed far too late.

Why did I need to go on this hike today?  Well for one thing, I told them I was going.  I am a person of my word.  If I say something I mean it and if I tell you I will do something I will.  For another thing, the sun was actually shining.  In case you do not know or cannot appreciate the significance of this I will explain.  I live in the UK.  This means that the sun NEVER shines.  Ok, to be fair it shines three days a year.  But this is simply not enough days in the year for me to fulfill my sunlight quota and replenish my vitamin D levels.  I was born on the West coast of the USA and I need my sunlight.  Needless to say I needed to savor the rare and delicious sunshine on this fine day.

The Hole in the Wall: Pubmaster.  I just loved this lantern.

Reluctantly and determinedly I got up way too early and got ready to go.  We were going to Hebden Bridge a cute little town on the edge of the Yorkshire Dales.  The drive was leisurely as we wound our way past idyllic landscapes made even more perfect by the delicious sunlight pouring down on them. Hebden Bridge was delightful.  We had a nice lunch outside in a park.  We strolled along the river.  We admired architectural details, ducks, and dogs.

Tiny hillside cemetery on the way up the hill.

We climbed a small hill to go explore the little town of Heptonstall.  It was adorable as well.  It had its own tiny museum, the place where Sylvia Plath was buried, and a fascinating church ruin.  The old medieval church ruin sits majestically at the top of the hill nestled amongst the gravestones of the long dead.  Just at the other end of the small cemetery in the same churchyard is the newer larger church that is still used.  The ruined medieval church began its life in the 1200's and its stones bore witness to the many changes it saw during its lifetime.  The roofline was clearly altered, raised to match the new nave that was added.  The arches and windows were updated to be a bit more gothic.  Many churches have changes made to them through the centuries, but what made this church unique was the fact that it had two naves side by side.  When the town was prospering and growing in the sixteenth century the church was made larger to accommodate the growth of the town.  The walls and aisles were not just widened, an entire second nave with a new north aisle was added alongside the first.  I have never seen a church with two naves like that before.  It was fascinating to think about and gorgeous to behold.

The flowers growing among the stones mark the division between the two naves of this church. 

In case this was not evidence enough for you that this was a fascinating church I have another oddity for you.  The south entryway into the church seems to have been roofed with old gravestones.  I'm not sure at what point in history that decision was made, but I suppose they were a handy material as there are lots of them lying about the church yard.

Note the writing on the gravestones now acting as roofing material.

In the newer cemetery we did not find Sylvia Plath's grave.  The weeds were quite troublesome to wade through in much of the cemetery and we eventually gave up our search. I did see a headstone with RIP on it though.  I don't believe I've ever seen one outside of cartoons.

We walked back down the hill climbing on a few nice boulders on the way down.  We sang some songs about rocks, mostly meant to be about rock and roll, but we giggled anyway.  Then we ended our day back along the river in Hebden Bridge eating ice cream.  It was a lovely way to soak up some sunshine.  If my luck holds I may read in the sunshine tomorrow.

Sunset over Leeds

Expressions of exhaustion

Today was one of those weirdly long days.  I got up early this morning to sneak off to a book fair at the Medieval Congress.  I met a friend hopped on a bus and got all the way there to discover that the book fair wasn't on today.  Grumble.  So I got rained on and then had to pay two pounds extra to get home without the solace of books.  I did get to see some pretty moss growing on a wall though.  And I got a lovely picture, so it wasn't a total waste of a trip.

Moss on a rainy July morning in Leeds

Then it was laundry time before work.  I tiptoed around the freshly mopped floors, did a bit of cleaning of counters and threw in my laundry.  Then I rushed off to work where I had a fashion client again today.  It was a long day of looking up prospective link targets.  So, my colleague and I took turns sighing and using our various expressions for exhaustion.  She would say, "oh honey" with a large sigh, then she'd look at me with exhaustion on her face. Sometimes she would add "I'm just too tired for this", or "I'm not making any progress".  A few minutes later when I hit a wall with my client I'd sigh and use my very American expression "Oh man".  I really don't know why I say oh-man, I just do.  Sometimes when I didn't understand a strange blog I was looking at my inner southern woman would come out and I'd express my disbelief at the world and my job by sighing "Oh, Lordy".  Apparently exhaustion is not expressed the same in the UK as it is in the US.  But then again, maybe that is just our individual ways of expressing it.  Nonetheless we had a few sighs and Oh-honeys and Oh-Lordys over in our corner tonight.
We were both glad to be out of there when our shift ended.  Luckily I made the early bus even though I had to run for it a little bit at the end.  But I was triumphant that I made it.  And really excited that the poor office plant that everyone was neglecting had started to flourish now that I was watering it.  Then on my walk home it was actually sort of pleasant.  It had finally stopped raining and the breeze was nice.  I got a nice picture of the Parkinson building and some church spires on my way home.

Parkinson building at sunset. July in Leeds.

So it wasn't an altogether unpleasant day even though it was tiring for some reason.  So now that I'm home sighing "Oh Lordy" at my piles of laundry. I think I should go to bed.