Finally! The colors of
leaves are changing, and now all too quickly. As I walk around my neighborhood enjoying smells of autumn, combined with reds, oranges and even maroons of some of leaves, I think once more of all autumns that have come and gone.Surely for me, it is a special season. How does my memory hold on to this time of year? It is partly by color, and certainly by memory traces of weather conditions. I particularly think of gray days where it doesn't rain, as well as crisp clear days of brilliant blue sky, when I feel cold but so fresh and clear headed. Some of my autumn memories are tied into Halloween. There were those giant paper bags that I dumped onto living room rug as a six year old. It seemed like millions of candy bars came tumbling out. There were Hershey Bars, Three Musketeers, Kisses and Life-Savers that lasted six months, along with lollipops—even loose change—and of course apples. I had to come back and forth to my house three times as bag got so full. There were no plastic bags in those days.
Then there were high school football games in Norwalk. My father was Superintendent of Schools and liked to go to show support. I wanted to go to be popular and see boys. Finally I was old enough to be invited to a game by a senior in high school. I thought I would die with joy. He was handsome and smart and I was only a freshman. We had a great time. I was nervous but still felt entranced. He put his arm around me as we walked. He knew everybody. When he dropped me home later I realized suddenly that my pants had a rip in them that was fairly large and noticeable. Now I really wanted to die!
Today I came across a wonderful story sent to me by a guest writer, Emily Doherty. She takes us in to her vivid memory bank, by color, by aroma, by setting and many other ways of delight. For example, Emily captures essence of color beautifully by letting us take a peek into her vivid childhood memories. We really get a chance to see how she has been able to hold on to memories and bring them back to life as truly enchanted moments.
These moments are what I call in my first book, THE ENCHANTED SELF, A Positive Therapy, 'Positive Fingerprints of Mind', unique to each of us. I hope that you enjoy her insight and joy as she recounts her unique way of connecting with enchantment. I also hope that you experience, as I did by reading her story, that you have a real sense of having been there with her. Even though we all experience life a little differently, there is a joy in sharing and connecting that happens when we make our story real. Emily has done that for all of us! Enjoy.
Please enjoy this short exercise below and stay with me next week for part two of this article where you will get to read Emily's beautiful story about color and enchantment.
Ponderings: What does color mean to you? Can you play with positive memories about color, or perhaps feel of beautiful fabric? Or aromas that goes with special occasions? Give yourself a momentary treat and retreat to some pleasant sensations!
For me right now, I'm remembering beautiful recital dress made out of lavender organdy that I danced in when I was six. It had ruffles and to this day I yearn for it. How I wish my mom had saved that little dress. There are lavender roses every year that are exact shade. How happy I am when I see them.
I hope you treat yourself to a pleasant reverie and be blessed by some lovely way in which at least a part of it will come back or be reinvented in some way, as roses took on exact color for me!
Ah, Sweet Memories - Part Two 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!
Featuring story Prism by guest writer, Emily Doherty
"Right brain ... left brain ..." droned 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 spied bunches of scarlet poppies waving comfortably from a free corner of my backpack.
