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31 Days of Free Writes #Purple

Purple is that color that reminds me of my mother.  Well, one of two colors.  Purple and yellow.
Yellow because she always looked her best in a rich shade of sunshine.  It matched her auburn tinged chestnut hair.  Back when she was my age and I first remember the way her hair was full, long, and oh so thick twisting its way down her back and curving around her face when she had big roller curled it on Sunday mornings.  She was so pretty...


my mom 

Purple always reminds me of my mom because the second house we lived in had purple all over its palette. In the walls and in her gardens.
My mom knew a lot of abuse, pain, confusion, and really torment for most of her life.  She still wrestles with after effects and her own battle with mental illness, but something positive my mom always did for us was bring beauty into our lives.  She loved flowers.  She is at home in a garden, a lawn and garden store, a nursery. She can make anything grow.  She can buy all of the almost dead on their last leg plants and revive them back.  I remember looking through all of the home and garden magazines she had and thinking maybe one day I'd have gardens like that too.  Filled with snap dragons, phlox, black eyed susans, dinner plate dahlias, zinnias, and oh so many roses
...a kaleidoscope of summer...It was her sanctuary, her peaceful spot

My mom believed in cutting the flowers and arranging them to take to people.  And she really did have a wide variety of flowers to fill up all the vases she had purchased at thrift stores.
She really was a picture of southern hospitality with that western North Carolina accent, sun dress, coral colored lip stick, and two hands holding some fresh cut flowers, and some hand shaped and rolled pie crust cradling chocolate meringue.

Purple filled her house.
She had at least four rooms filled with wisteria.  I remember how our nineties dining room had a wisteria tree she had twisted and created.  The lavender blooms spilled out of the corner of our small house.  It was different for sure.  So was and is my mom.  She made her own wall paper borders out of wisteria and flower embellished fabric and encircled the house with them.
Even when we moved to the bigger house my mom still found a way to include her favorite purple flowers in the new dining room.  The four walls were covered in lilac blooms.
She always started wisteria vines on her fences or on trellises wherever we lived.
Fast forward to now,  my girls and I hunt wisteria blossoms.
Every mid spring we look for these royal whispers of spring.  There are a few patches of land that we can find them growing wild, free.  There is one heavily purple soaked area we have found that is kissed by hundreds of wisteria blossoms.  There is also a park we go to just so we can see the walkway covered in wisteria.
It's a lavender fountain of purple that drips down and leaves thousand of blossoms to walk on.
My mom and I used to go there together just to look at the purple petals.
Purple always reminds me of my mom because there is a lot of pain yet there is still an undeniable amount of life and beauty. 

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Morning

Morning seems sacred to me.  Having nocturnal children kind of robs me of the mornings I like to enjoy in silence and quiet thought.
For years I would get up at least two hours before anyone so I could just be by myself and be quiet.
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Morning breaks the night.
I love that Cat Steven's hymn Morning has Broken.  I've always thought the words were so beautiful.
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