Ah sweet memories Part Two

Ah sweet memories Part Two Thank you for being with me. Last week I shared some stories of the autumn colors of my childhood that were truly enchanted moments. I hope you enjoy this week as part of both parties to Emily his beautiful story of color and charm with us. Enjoy! The history of Prism guest writer, Emily Doherty ... the right brain left brain ... "the speaker drones. I doodle in my notebook stand and decorated margins and muttered "No brain!" Under my breath. Undoubtedly, a pencil or two might still be hiding in a forgotten coer of this paperback fugitive mother. Nudge me my friend for assistance, but all I could find an old lipstick heel too neutral for my purposes. Not even a faint red pencil or pen is lost. I smiled conspiratorially in his speech yesterday was remembered as "not-in-a-flower-child" looks from other tourists spied when the clusters of scarlet poppies, shaking free from the comfort of a coer of my backpack. "Right-left brain ... brain ... "One word, one for pictures, and I never woke up and kidnapped by both easily. brain, which was mine, I MusEd? However, another round hole too much for my perpetually square peg. Pictures. Color. Why? I can not remember a time when I was not seduced by color. E 'stato il petunias, perhaps, my father, taken as part of aging that went up the hill next to our house soon to briefly surf in the palette fuschias and magenta, purple and blue lavender? It was the case of piles of velvet upholstery samples showed invitingly on the floor of the playground of clothes my grandmother private appeal to cavort with the kings and queens, or bright balls of wool stored in the chip potato polished brass can expect your fingers to make in the spaces provided for Afghans rainbow? Maybe it was the color of the words themselves, the language of the tour tantalizing tales and Crayola wrapper: heliotrope, Larkspur, vermilion, Celadon, but sienna, and endless imagination that drew me to love. I'm ready for the color of Mesmer as the musician is melody. Song colors my ears, my soul image colors. You can not pick a favorite, like Vanilla Ice cream or chocolate, life remains incomplete without the 64 in a box. From the earliest childhood memories, my favorite goods were few books with color plates, "a rare find in the novels of the period my mother, and pastels. I have accumulated color everywhere: stamps, ribbons, fabric switches, buttons, petals of flowers, butterflies, marbles, and in many different collections. While shopping, my mother, I crawled under the tables invisible in the hat department, with the risk of stains on my purchase of white gloves and the hope that one or two elegant flower, a pen or a shiny sequins in a way hidden in color, in addition to carpeting. Finding the paisleys in oriental rugs and, as I rubbed my eyes run and my jouey through a thousand and one night of sleep. Clothes, and many ill-fitting old, hidden in the depths of my private, it appears as briefly as butterflies in the spring, cleaning, and then retu to their hooks and hangers care because their loss of color in any way diminish my being . As my connection to the security remains in the shadows, waiting for any moment to leave his plastic bag chrysalis vibration when the light changes seasonally. Coral wool coat of my mother, my father tasteful brown ties, my first daughter, dressed in velvet, a unique evening in Paris-blue, with a length of the window bright Marimekko curtain of my son - each has a place in my memory Technicolor. Raised in the appeal still in black and white film, a part of my secret breathe a quick sigh of relief when the film is in color! Like my mother, I am looking for Tiffany windows in the cities and dark places, their bright colors around me in stunned silence as they did Sunday moing in a long time ago. No, in order to rationalize a splurge on the real, I organized a rescue of poor care of colored glasses and bottles in easte gate to greet the moing light. Wrapping paper drawers Burgeon leaf too good to be sacrificed even the packages, the silk scarf that covers the generations are completely folded in piles in search of a more as the gooseneck of the mine. Yes, me, screeching to a stop in front of the streets in summer is a friend who will be pleased with the blend of marigold yellow and magenta cosmos as a woman I. Only committed to maintaining the 64 colors in a single dog-eared yellow box instead of buying flowers for the dinner cucumbers, sunflower would Provencal, instead of sheep in one night without sleep. There is a jelly glass (which is like a blue light in the afteoon!) Too optimistic about the Rosebud crimson dust last November, not a moment too full of wonder at the miracle of purpling sunset, when, finally, you can search the folds of golden clouds, and, finally, hard to grasp the sky-blue pink. "Color", has continued this moing, "frolicked like a child on the edge of the sand" in the work of the artist chose. Color is the kaleidoscope of my life, fire opal my imagination, and the palette of my memories and dreams. It is the prism of my soul, illuminating the depth and darkness. The Author Dr. Holstein is the author of The Enchanted cars and a psychologist since 1981. She is the author of two books: The Enchanted Self, a positive element for the Therapy and recipes Enchantment, The secret ingredient is YOU! Dr. Holstein speaks on radio and appears on television in New York and New Jersey. She gives lectures, seminars, retreats, and audio interviews LadybugLive.com and is in private practice in Long Branch, New Jersey with her husband, Dr. Russell Holstein.