I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.
~Shug, in Alice Walker’s The Color Purple
Eight miles.
I plan for 15 miles today, but after just a few strides, I know that this isn’t gonna happen just as I know immediately when I try on a pair of Brooks, Mizuno, or Asics running shoes if they are IT or not. My quads ache. My hips ache. My knees almost ache. And I ran eight yesterday and three tempo runs in a row before that, and of course, my costumed run, so I decide not to feel badly about the eight I barely eek out today, despite the fact that I haven’t run this slowly in months, my gel in its silver and purple wrapper unused in my purple jacket. I decide to keep a sense of humor about it because, after all, I am ALL about right-brained running, AND I have magnificent plans for the day, which include visiting the last downtown farmers’ market of the season. I LOVE the farmers’ market and feel wistful, resentful at times, as the Wheel of Seasons continues to turn, relentless, brutal at times.
~~~
The air at the farmers’ market is festive, vendors wonderfully witchy and ghostly in their Halloween costumes, and I feel equally gala in my own orange tights, jewelry, and scarf, my black velvet and lace dress, and black wool cape. The wind is jubilant, too, wanting to join in the farewell celebration party by throwing confetto of papery leaves in gusts to our line of sight, vying for our attention with the produce of yellow carrots, multi-colored potatoes and round apples, peach and raspberry honey and beeswax candles, strands of home-spun yarn, and bright, happy pumpkins.
From booth to booth, as I chat with the farmers, I choose bitter greens, onions, garlic, and indigo potatoes. I select from delightful Mushroom Farmer Bob’s array of mushrooms based on name and color, the beautiful chanterelle and corals, and the purple lobster (actually a chanterelle with a second fungi parasitically attached, two for the price of one), fragrantly reminiscent of the sea. I marvel aloud at the abundance of color present in these mushrooms as well as in the chicken-of-the-wood and fried chicken mushrooms, how the color palette is truly represented.
“Ah, we are finite,” Mushroom Farmer Bob tells me, pushing his silver rimmed glasses up his nose with a gloved hand, “but Nature and Her colors are infinite. Yes, indeed, they are infinite.”
Crossing the street to my car, I notice as I look in my canvas bag of treasures that most my selections are purple. Clearly, I am feeling regal, so I decide that I must make a stir-fry in glorious purple which I will eat from a purple plate. Knowing that any regal stir-fry would be incomplete without the purple rice from my favorite Thai restaurant, I stop by and pick some up after purchasing purply Corvidae red wine at the local organic supermarket Huckleberry’s. I am completely diggin’ the fact that I am gonna make myself a meal of purple.
Eight miles.
I plan for 15 miles today, but after just a few strides, I know that this isn’t gonna happen just as I know immediately when I try on a pair of Brooks, Mizuno, or Asics running shoes if they are IT or not. My quads ache. My hips ache. My knees almost ache. And I ran eight yesterday and three tempo runs in a row before that, and of course, my costumed run, so I decide not to feel badly about the eight I barely eek out today, despite the fact that I haven’t run this slowly in months, my gel in its silver and purple wrapper unused in my purple jacket. I decide to keep a sense of humor about it because, after all, I am ALL about right-brained running, AND I have magnificent plans for the day, which include visiting the last downtown farmers’ market of the season. I LOVE the farmers’ market and feel wistful, resentful at times, as the Wheel of Seasons continues to turn, relentless, brutal at times.
~~~
The air at the farmers’ market is festive, vendors wonderfully witchy and ghostly in their Halloween costumes, and I feel equally gala in my own orange tights, jewelry, and scarf, my black velvet and lace dress, and black wool cape. The wind is jubilant, too, wanting to join in the farewell celebration party by throwing confetto of papery leaves in gusts to our line of sight, vying for our attention with the produce of yellow carrots, multi-colored potatoes and round apples, peach and raspberry honey and beeswax candles, strands of home-spun yarn, and bright, happy pumpkins.
From booth to booth, as I chat with the farmers, I choose bitter greens, onions, garlic, and indigo potatoes. I select from delightful Mushroom Farmer Bob’s array of mushrooms based on name and color, the beautiful chanterelle and corals, and the purple lobster (actually a chanterelle with a second fungi parasitically attached, two for the price of one), fragrantly reminiscent of the sea. I marvel aloud at the abundance of color present in these mushrooms as well as in the chicken-of-the-wood and fried chicken mushrooms, how the color palette is truly represented.
“Ah, we are finite,” Mushroom Farmer Bob tells me, pushing his silver rimmed glasses up his nose with a gloved hand, “but Nature and Her colors are infinite. Yes, indeed, they are infinite.”
Crossing the street to my car, I notice as I look in my canvas bag of treasures that most my selections are purple. Clearly, I am feeling regal, so I decide that I must make a stir-fry in glorious purple which I will eat from a purple plate. Knowing that any regal stir-fry would be incomplete without the purple rice from my favorite Thai restaurant, I stop by and pick some up after purchasing purply Corvidae red wine at the local organic supermarket Huckleberry’s. I am completely diggin’ the fact that I am gonna make myself a meal of purple.
Things that Are Purple
The Lilac Gardens in Manito Park in June.
Globe thistles in late summer.
The purple loosestrife, “alien here but what does that mean—it is recklessly gorgeous” (Mary Oliver, Blue Pastures) in summer at my hummingbird marsh pond.
Lavender blooms entertaining lilting bumblebees.
The blown glass vase in my office that I love.
My 2007 Hyundai Elantra, my office-on-wheels, in eggplant purple.
The long strand of my purple mother-of-pearl necklace.
My dinner tonight and my plate.
My favorite color.
GL, 10/31/2009. Prevail.
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