Ah, Sweet Memories - Part Two

Written by Dr. Barbara Becker Holstein

Thank you for staying with me. Last week I shared some colorful autumn stories of my childhood that were truly enchanted moments. This week I hope you will enjoy part two as Emily shares her beautiful story about color and enchantment with us. Enjoy!

Featuringrepparttar story Prism by guest writer, Emily Doherty

"Right brain ... left brain ..." dronedrepparttar 126263 speaker. I doodled idly in my already embellished notebook margins and mumbled "No brain!" under my breath. Surely a crayon or two might still lurk in a forgotten corner of this escapee mother's pocketbook. I nudged my friend for assistance, but all she could find was an old lipstick stub, too neutral for my purposes. Not even a smudgy red pen or a faded highlighter. I grinned conspiratorially in her direction as we recalled yesterday's 'there-goes-another-flower-child" glances of other tourists when they spiedrepparttar 126264 bunches of scarlet poppies waving comfortably from a free corner of my backpack.

"Right brain...left brain..." One for words, one for images, and I, ever easily aroused and enraptured by both. Which brain was mine, I mused? Yet another hole too round for my perennially square peg. Images. Color. Why choose?

I cannot remember a time when I was not seduced by color. Was itrepparttar 126265 petunias, perhaps,repparttar 126266 firm grip of my father's aging hand as we climbedrepparttar 126267 short hill beside our house to browse briefly inrepparttar 126268 palette of fuschias and magentas, violets and lavenders blue? Was itrepparttar 126269 haphazard piles of velvet upholstery samples tossed invitingly onrepparttar 126270 play yard floor of my grandmother's linen closet, beckoning me to cavort with kings and queens? Orrepparttar 126271 bright balls of wool stored inrepparttar 126272 shiny brass potato chip can awaiting her dedicated fingers to transform them into rainbow squares for afghans? Perhaps it wasrepparttar 126273 color words themselves,repparttar 126274 tantalizing tongue twirls of fairy tales and Crayola wrappers: heliotrope, delphinium, vermilion, celadon, burnt sienna, Endless as imagination, they lured me to delight.

I am drawn torepparttar 126275 mesmer of color asrepparttar 126276 musician is to melody. Song colors my ears; image colors my soul. I cannot choose a favorite, like chocolate or vanilla ice cream; life remains incomplete without all 64 in one box. Fromrepparttar 126277 earliest remembrances of childhood, my favorite few possessions were books with "colored plates", a rare find among my mother's vintage novels, and crayons. I amassed color everywhere: postage stamps, ribbons, fabric switches, buttons, flower petals, butterflies, marbles, in endless and varied collections. While my mother shopped, I crawled invisibly underrepparttar 126278 tables inrepparttar 126279 millinery department, risking spots on my shopping-white gloves and hoping that an elegant bloom or two, a feather or a bright sequin, had somehow hidden inrepparttar 126280 pale, plush carpeting. I tracedrepparttar 126281 paisleys in oriental rugs, and retraced them as I rubbed my eyes and journeyed through my very own Arabian Nights to sleep.

Designing A Life - We Each Get The Chance

Written by Dr. Barbara Becker Holstein

The Enchanted Self is all about living and then telling and retellingrepparttar stories of our lives to getrepparttar 126262 most positive juice from them. This often means taking pain and misfortune and turning it into meaning and even eventually a metamorphosis of pleasure. One example of designing a fulfilling life comes to mind. This isrepparttar 126263 story of a part of our French cousin's life. A retired doctor living outside of Paris, Jean Manuel, has often told usrepparttar 126264 story of his years living hidden in a farmhouse in a French Province. When he was five, his parents were warned that they had to leave Paris. He vividly remembers how terribly upset his parents were. Somehow they found a farmer and his wife who agreed to take in as many ofrepparttar 126265 family members as could get there. His family and some cousins lived several years on this farm. Others chose not to leave Paris and were never heard of again.

Jean Manuel told us about how his family went back afterrepparttar 126266 war to look for their missing relatives, only to find possessions and an uneaten birthday cake celebratingrepparttar 126267 nephew's first birthday still onrepparttar 126268 table, at one of their cousin's homes. The family, however, was gone forever. He remembers his parent's despair, yet also how life resumed for all of them. He also shared with us how his father was once picked up byrepparttar 126269 French Police and loaded onto a train. Fortunatelyrepparttar 126270 train was moving slowly enough that his father could jump and escape, living for a while inrepparttar 126271 woods until he could return to his little family. One might at first wonder -- how could someone come to terms with so much loss and seeing his family go through so much pain? I don't know Jean Manuel terribly well but I have clearly seen a friendly, joyful person every time we've been together. I have a hunch of several ways he has processed this story of his life andrepparttar 126272 life of his family. I believe that one ofrepparttar 126273 major ways that he has processed his own life and turned it into a meaningful, joyful experience is by giving back. The farmer and his wife who took them in didn't have any children of their own. Jean Manuel and everyone else that had been hidden byrepparttar 126274 family never forgot them.

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