Brown is colorful

June 3, 2015.  Journal Entry.  Sitting on the plane in Oakland, CA ready to fly to Boise, ID…

I’m the one holding the paper cup of steaming green tea between my thighs as I stir in some honey.  (I know you’re afraid I’ll spill.)  I carefully squeeze every last ounce of honey from the little plastic pouch because I don’t like to waste anything.  With a full backpack, ukulele slung over one shoulder, and a lanyard pouch around my neck, you’d probably take me for a tourist but I’ve never wanted to be.

Tourists are boisterous and ignorant, even if they’re well-traveled.  I prefer to err as close to the side of “local” as can be afforded by my blonde hair and blue eyes.  But the tourists have something right when it comes to lanyards—they’re so convenient for quick access to a boarding pass and I.D.

ID. That’s where I’m headed today: the vast brown state of Idaho. I’ve never been , but in my mind, the state is large and brown like the potatoes it’s known for.  Even if it’s boring like a blow of bland mashed potatoes, I’m excited to go there because I’ve never been.  It’s an adventure!  I love adventures.

But I’m most excited about the colorful friend I’ll see there… the college housemate and MK sister who taught me to appreciate California’s fields of tall, dry summer grasses because they’re “like tousled baby’s hair.”  The friend who taught me that purple and red made a beautiful couple, especially in the form of a well-loved red t-shirt bearing cuddly puppies and a flowing purple skirt.  When she wasn’t wearing sweat pants cropped at the knee to do house chores or re-purpose cards from the 90’s with red, purple, and gold paints, she was dressed like a nymph fairy and sitting on the top step of the back porch, soaking in the morning sun and writing poetry or prose in a modge podge journal.

In the study lounge with a gothic stone-faced fireplace that had stopped working years ago, she’d geek out on 20th century American psychology theories or dance to Teitur whilst packing for an upcoming trip.  Sometimes her prancing would carry her into the common area where she’d share jokes with the guys from India, Thailand, and Mexico.  Her hearty laughter would reverberate throughout the house like rays of sunshine.  She was always ready to wrap a housemate or guest in a warm, enveloping embrace or share woes and wonders from the depths of her soul.

Delice is one of those special friends I feel connected to no matter how far we are from one another or how many years it’s been since we last saw one another.  It’s been 9 years.  Since then, she’s met a wonderful man and had 3 beautiful baby boys.  I can’t wait to meet them!  I don’t know if it was before meeting Delice of after that I developed an affection for the French language and culture, but as an MK from France (and Germany) with a French name that means “delight”, she definitely had an effect on that.

Now I get to see my whimsical and delightful free-spirited friend as a wife and mother and sufferer and survivor of maternal depression.  How will the dark clouds in her soul mingle with the sunshine in her heart?  I believe I will see light juxtaposed with darkness, sprinkled with heaven’s nourishing rain and painting rainbows.  You can’t take the color out of Delice…. It’s died permanently in her punky hair.

Below me now, outside the window, are mountain ridges broken by occasional lakes and planes.  I’m probably somewhere over Nevada….

crossingoceans

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