Tag Archives: SAD

Color My World

Today I stumbled across a Facebook post with a picture of a very purple kitchen. The person who posted it said, “Can’t wait for the comments.”  Mine was, “I love it!”

I noticed the photo had been shared from another source, a listicle of the worst kitchen fails. It’s one thing if you install a cabinet that blocks an adjacent drawer from opening and don’t fix it; that is sort of a fail. But a good many of the kitchens that made the list were given  down for color choice.

Screen Shot 2018-04-07 at 12.17.16 PMWhen did we become so judgmental of personal tastes, and yes, maybe even needs? Maybe the proud owner of this kitchen is somehow enriched by the color purple. Maybe it gives a whimsical energy to what can be a lot of kitchen drudgery.

Maybe this Hello Kitty kitchen is a tribute to somebody the designer once loved—even her own inner child. Maybe hers, or any of the other’s who dared to paint their kitchensScreen Shot 2018-04-07 at 12.14.27 PM outside the pallet of beige and brown, were repressed in their love of bright colors. Maybe this is their way to break free, be surrounded with the colors of their dreams and finally stop giving a flying fuck in hell what anybody thinks of it, thank you.

Maybe it’s none of our business what people do with their personal spaces, even those seen publicly—like window trim, front doors, the cars we drive, the clothes we wear. This is a sarcastic maybe. You get that, right?

I’ve always been free with the application of color in my life. I like bright, brilliant colors because I live in a northern region of the United States with many more dark than sunny days—and I have S.A.D. My wardrobe is full of purple, fuchsia, lime green, hot turquoise and more of the tropical rainbow.

My first branding colors for the MAD Goddess were Orchid and Orange, a contrasting pallete that wasn’t much seen then. Now I see it everywhere. I have since muted my orange, and I’m not sure why. That’s for another time, I guess.

After enduring a small, dimly lit kitchen for the first several years of my marriage, when we remodeled and I designed the 24 x 12 foot real cook’s kitchen of my dreams, I choose a nice, sedate, medium oak for the cabinets. Then I installed dark, green-cork pattern commercial vinyl squares on the floor and painted the walls bright apple green. I got a lot of judgment. I didn’t care.

Unable to sprout wings and fly to some tropical destination with the first signs of fall, I once painted my bedroom in the colors of an ocean sunset and hung deep coral colored sheers on the windows so the light coming through them made the room glow. I was told it looked like a brothel. I didn’t care.

I share my space with another human being. I kind of like him. Okay, I like him a lot, but—please— his favorite color is brown. If not for him, I just might paint my cabinets inScreen Shot 2018-04-07 at 12.14.54 PM these colors that remind me of a candy necklace and happy childhood memories. He might have another heart attack if I did. I didn’t cause the first one and I sure don’t want to cause any subsequent infarctions. However, there’s nothing stopping me from having a collection of dishes in shades of these delicious colors—Hello Fiesta.

Studies on the effect of color on mood abound. All of us react differently. So it’s okay if you would never paint your kitchen purple, or candy necklace colors, or eye-popping green. But it’s not okay for you to pass your highfalutin judgment on those who do.

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And btw, If I ever get that snow bird park model I’m dreaming of in south Florida, I’m painting the cabinets this color with glass tile backsplash in multi-shades of sea-glass. Ditch the dark wood accents and decorate with an ocean theme. And a mermaid. There has to be a mermaid.

Note: All of these photos came from the same Worst Kitchens Ever source. I am not linking it because I don’t want to give them traffic. If you want to see it, use your google.

 

 


The Light That Shines Within You

I’m always a little sad when summer draws to a close. I’m just not that much into winter. It’s cold, the roads are often treacherous, it’s dark more hours than light, (light being a relative term when gray days are the best I get). Mostly, it’s cold—bone chilling, mind numbing, freezes the breath in your lungs cold.

Do you know what passes for fun around here in the winter? Waiting for the exact right temperature below zero to blow soap bubbles and watch them freeze. If it’s not cold enough they just do their normal thing. If it’s too cold, they freeze and shatter almost instantaneously. It’s sort of like trying to stand an egg on end at the exact moment of the spring equinox. Good luck achieving either.

Don’t bother to tell me about wonderfully invigorating activities like skiing, snowshoeing, mushing, snowmobiling, ice fishing . . . it’s still cold. Doing those things in the cold is not fun. Anybody who tells you it’s fun is evil and lying, because you know misery loves company.

I have Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). I don’t think there has ever been a more apt acronym. SAD is what I have and sad is what I am for the duration of Wisconsin winter. Vitamin D and full spectrum light exposure helps, a little. I’m still sad in winter.

My toes are sad they cannot expose their perfect pedicure in a rocking pair of sandals, or even peek out of a pair of peek-toe pumps.

My skin crawls at the feel of fabric covering every inch again. I spend weeks of transition pulling on jeans only to peel them off again. Perplexed and perturbed, I stand there in my grannie panties (who needs a thong up your ass when your skimpy wardrobe is relegated to storage) seriously debating the reality of living in my jammies for the next six months—or eight.

My ears are sad that they will not hear the lovely songbirds, the whisper-shimmy of leaves, the rumble of a thunderstorm and the pattering rain it brings, the hum of tires on bare pavement and the chorus of tree toads serenading the night outside my open window.

My nose is sad, missing the smell of cut grass, grill fires, and the scent of flowers and herbs growing in my gardens.

My tastebuds are sad, longing for a reunion with the flavor of fresh picked berries, corn on the cob, vine ripened tomatoes, peas and beans, or basil, thyme, sage and chives snipped from the herb bed just outside my door. Any of these shipped to the supermarket, out of season and from places afar taste like a big mouthful of nothing. Seriously, even cardboard has more flavor.

Don’t judge. You all know you’ve had a paper based product in your mouth at least once in your life, whether you ate a note you didn’t want to get caught passing or had the munchies so bad you neglected to peel all the cardboard away from the Twinkie before shoving it whole into your mouth. Whatever, I’m just telling you that even that pulp has more flavor than the winter produce we get in Wisconsin.

Sometimes, I’m lucky enough to escape to a warmer place for a few months, but I am not yet a full fledged snowbird.

I put this little visual together a few years ago. I watch it on the gray days. It helps me feel less sad—and less SAD, if you know what I mean.

I hope it lifts you into the light that shines within you.

Music Credit: Longtime Sun—Amrit Kirtan
Available on Sacred Circle from Spirit Voyage Record

 

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I’m blogging along with Effy Wild and her tribe for the whole month of September. Find out more here. This post is in response to a prompt for a give-away. I’m a writer—I give words. Here are some more of them, a different perspective of counting my blessing in the face of my SAD winters.
Making Peace With the Harbinger of Winter

 


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