Of Mauves, Mustards, and Magentas

It's interesting to me how my thoughts often wander to my childhood as I walk the pond. I'm not sure why this is. Perhaps it's rooted in the fact that I'm sentimental, and the quiet of my surroundings allows my mind to drift toward the events, beliefs, and people who have in some way influenced who I am today.

Jamie and I are intrigued by our seemingly opposing natures which, in general, prompt me to look back and Jamie to look forward. We're like Jack Sprat and his wife -- the platter of time is licked clean and we appreciate the perspective the other provides.

Which brings me to the color mauve. Lest this transition confuse you, I'll add that we're going back, once again, to my childhood.

Do you remember the color analysis trend that gained popularity in the 80s? My mom's friends very much appreciated the movement, and color swatches were draped and exchanged with unparalleled fervor. It fascinated me. Lorrie would come to our house, arms laden with gorgeous samples, and drape anyone and everyone in her wake. We'd ooh- and ahh- and say, "Oh, she's such a winter!" or "She's definitely a spring. Just look at the way that aqua complements her skin tones!" Ann would hold the periwinkle swatch under her chin and we'd weep and sigh over the beauty of it all.

I took great pride in being labeled "A Winter" and wore the distinction like a banner. No, I just can't wear mustard, I'm A Winter; it just wouldn't be becoming. I'm sorry, I must pass on that rust, no matter how fetching. Dear, you musn't wear the puce, it positively drains your face! But please pass me some hearty fuchsias or teals. (It was many years before I allowed myself to wear brown. I realized that I just plain liked the color and wanted to wear it. Also, I'm a little bit scared to wear red.)

This steady stream of color talk around my impressionable preteen mind prompted me to develop an appreciation for specific color names. Names like amber, salmon, chartreuse and mauve. Your basic ROYGBIV just didn't cut it any more.

This is what I noticed as I walked today. I noticed the mauve hues of the heavily blooming grasses, the mustard rods of the newly developing cattails, the gentle, fuzzy slate of the lupine seedpods, the deep magenta of the baby rose . . . and even the charmingly distressed brick red of the devoted gardener's ever-present wheelbarrow. I'm so thankful for color, aren't you?