Fifty Shades of Red are Beautiful Colours

Fifty Shades of Red Are Beautiful Colours

  by

  Ruth Remington

  Copyright 2013 by Ruth Remington .

  ISBN 978-0-9875249-0-4

  Cover design and artwork is Copyright 2013 to Jeanne Frost

  Contents

  Fifty Shades of Red Are Beautiful Colours

  Thirteen Days!

  The Butterfly Who Got a Hug

  On Being a Grownup

  Be Back When The Cows Come Home

  My Birthday Surprise

  Sailing

  Fitting In

  Sunset at Zuma

  Turn Around

  Fifty Shades of Red Are Beautiful Colours

  “You can't paint the whole house red!”

  My complaining voice sounded terrible even to me. I must work on that one. This day was going to be a long one, I could tell. Mum was determined to paint this house by herself if necessary. She went on ranting and waving her hands as she drove the two of us to the paint store in town.

  “Over my dead body, I said to your Dad, I will not live in another grey house. We are retired now and this house is going to be cheerful if it kills me.”

  “Mum, please don't talk like that. I'll help you. You can count on Jack and me.”

  Jack is going to love me for this. I can just imagine his reaction now. Talking some sense into mum was going to be a big job. We arrived at the paint store all too soon for me.

  “Look at this sample. I want all the rooms this colour red. It will cheer the house up inside and feel so warm and cozy. Don't you think so Maggie?”

  It looked dreadful – a garish blood red. We had paint samples spread all over the top of the counter by now. Reds in every degree of intensity and shade. The paint store clerk, aiming to please of course cheerfully agreed, but I could see amazement, shock, and horror creep around the corners of his eyes as they got big and his mouth dropped open.

  “Look at these mum.” I held three of the red samples up against the soft neutral greys of the counter pushing the others out of sight and gave her a smile of encouragement. “These are much softer oriental reds. Any one of them would go with your Asian furniture and the black leather chairs don't you think? They are rich colours. Which one do you like the least? Just pick one.”

  She deliberated for a few moments then pushed one colour aside.

  “Good, we can eliminate that one. Ok now, which one of the two red colours left do you like the least?”

  The clerk winked at me, he knew this trick, a good way of getting the customer to make a decision. This was working well. She pushed one more aside, and the colour I liked the most was left. Whew, a small victory.

  “Oh, maybe so Maggie, all right that one is the best.”

  We were just barely on this side of sanity in this process of picking a colour. The clerk and I put the other reds back on the rack to seal her decision.

  “This is actually fun Maggie. Now we have to pick out a colour for the doors my dear.”

  “Doors! Won't they be white mum?”

  “No, they must be a different colour to contrast with the red. This house will be pretty and cheerful. Not the dull grey I have had to put up with all my life on military bases around the world.”

  “I know mum I was there with you remember. You always put fresh red and white checked curtains in the kitchen. The blue and white flowered ones you made for your bedroom and pink and white striped ones for my room were perfect. You fixed up those plain old grey military houses and made them seem like home. “Speaking of blues, look at these blue samples, they go well with the red.” I flipped quickly past the greens, hoping green would not catch her eye. I hated yellow greens especially.

  “Oh Maggie, look at these yellows and oranges.”

  “No, you want to put cool colours with warm ones - remember? Let's pick out a blue you like. I know you love the colour blue.”

  I took several of the light blue samples of paint and spread them all out on the counter.

  “Maggie, all right. I do like this blue here, what do you think?”

  “Lovely mum! That looks very pretty with this red.”

  Saved by a pale aquamarine blue. The salesman loaded us up with paint, brushes, and rollers. We went home now with cans of oriental red and aquamarine blue and my work cut out for me. Oops, I forgot, Jack and me. I hate to think about what colour the outside of the house would be. I wasn't going to bring that subject up. Suddenly inspiration struck my lovely mother.

  “Maggie, the outside of the house must be a nice spring green. A green to compliment the garden I've planned. And a bright yellow door to match all the yellow flowers. I do insist on that. I'll get a paint contractor to do the work. I don't expect you and Jack to tackle that job too.”

  You can't win them all.

  ~~~

  Thirteen Days

  “Paris! Leaving in thirteen days?” I gasped and tried to stop the tears – no luck. My eyes just overflowed. Finally the words came out. “Mum and dad, what a perfect graduation gift. It seems like I have been in school forever. It is just what this new doctor would have ordered for herself!”

  We were quite a sight, all smiles and tears the three of us, standing in the middle of jubilant graduates and families on the wide green lawns outside the university auditorium.

  “Congratulations Jessie. You have earned a good holiday,” Dad said as he handed me my airline tickets.

  “Let's go find someone to share the news with” I said. So we linked arms and wandered throughout the crowd sharing the news of my surprise with friends. Mark was the only person missing that day.

  The camping store was the first stop on my shopping list. The salesman said, “Lady, this backpack will hold 30 kilos, are you sure you can carry that much?”

  “No worries. Backpacking and skiing are my favourite sports.”

  Counting down one day at a time I began tackling the job of cramming everything into my new backpack and duffle bag for the three month trip bumming around Europe.

  Then two days before I launched into my adventure - the phone rang.

  “Jess I need to see you.”

  “Mark why are you calling me? I thought we promised not to contact each other.”

  “This is important Jessie.”

  “Mark, since you were not interested in waiting for me while I finished my internship, you made your decision to move on with your life. That was your choice.”

  “Jessie I know, but that was two years ago.”

  “Mark, I'm so busy getting ready for this trip to Europe. I just need to focus on packing. What's happening that is so important - serious enough for you to call me and break our agreement?”

  “Calm down, just listen a minute Jess. Your Mum said you were leaving for Paris soon. You made it through medical school with flying colours and I'm very proud of you. I just wanted to tell you how happy I am. There's also something else which I can't tell you over the phone. Jessie I still need to see you before you go. Please?”

  “Mark, I will still have my terrible schedule at the hospital when I get back. Nothing has changed for me. It wouldn't help at all for us to see each other. We agreed it was too difficult for both of us. I don't know about this Mark. This is not helping me.”

  I put my hand over the phone so he can't hear the change in my voice as I struggle to keep from crying.

  “Jess are you still there? It won't take long I promise. I just have to tell you something in person. It's very important. Please just trust me.”

  “Yes I'm here Mark I was just trying to think... Time is so short. I don't know. Hearing your voice makes me miss you all over again and the happiness bubbles surrounding my
trip are beginning to pop. Can I call you back? I have to think about this. Do you understand?”

  “Yes I understand. Just call me at work. You have my number. Bye.” And he was gone, suddenly. Strange - he sounded happy and upbeat – not like it was when we parted.

  All of a sudden it was one more day to liftoff. My car was finally sold and I was packed. Tomorrow I go from freezing weather here in Melbourne to beautiful summertime in Paris, France. Here I come!

  “Jessie wake up – time to get started. It's launch day,” Dad said.

  “Dad it just hit me - I didn't call Mark back. He wanted to see me and I just wasn't up to it. I shouldn't have promised to call him. It's too late now. Postcards will have to do. Will you please call him for me later on today?”

  “Don't worry I will take care of it. You just concentrate on getting yourself into gear.”

  On the way to the airport Mum is crying but not wanting to let me see her. Her eye makeup gives her away. Dad is just happy for me and full of fatherly advice. Bubbles of happiness fill me up and spill over on Mum. She dabs the tears away and starts to look more like her cheerful self, full of smiles and conversation again.

  We arrive at the airport in good time, pull into the departure lane and Dad said, “Here we are Jessie. I'll help you out with your duffle bag. Have a great time and don't forget to send those postcards!”

  We shared hugs all around. Then as we madly wave good-by to each other the car slowly merged into the busy traffic, turned the corner and they were gone.

  Dragging my duffle bag to the nearest seat I settle down to wait in the crowded outbound flight lounge full of noisy passengers. I look around at the people I would be travelling with for the next day or so. It was then that I notice a familiar silhouette over by the far window carrying a backpack like mine. A man looking out the window at all the planes. He turns around. Oh my god – it isn't – yes it is Mark. He comes over to me.

  Emotions take over as he hugs me - back pack and all.

  “Don't cry Jess, I'm part of your surprise. You have a travel partner for the next three months.” A big smile spreads over his face as I melt into the familiar arms.

  He proposed on top of the Eiffel Tower...

  ~~~

  The Butterfly That Got a Hug

  A young boy pedalled his bike slowly along the sandy path to the beach. Riding through the aromatic pine trees lining the ocean front he could hear waves crashing on the beach as he came close to the butterfly trees. Now was the chance to see one of these beautiful butterflies up close. Capturing one was a possibility in his mind. A special memory was in the making.

  Suddenly a butterfly, as big as his hand, was floating right in front of his eyes. Bright orange with black and white, a butterfly which hardly seemed real. Mesmerised, his eyes followed the butterfly's path, moving soundlessly, like a falling leaf, along a sunbeam in the warm summer air.

  Now a rapid motion of its wings took it up into the tall Monterey Pine tree in front of him to join what looked like orange flowers scattered all over the tree. The branches were moving and swaying as though the whole tree were animated. No, he realised those were not orange flowers on the tree after all. Other trees all around were now covered with the same butterflies moving and breathing as their wings beat time to their own internal music. Waves of heat in the sunshine reflected the coloured air and magnified the scene. This, the annual migration of the Monarch Butterfly, was to be remembered by him for many reasons.

  As one of the butterflies landed on his arm, he gently let it sit there, not daring to touch the delicate wings. This sight drew other butterflies to land on his hands and shoulders, even in his dark curly hair. What did they want? What were they looking for? Could it be just to rest from their long flight?

  It was tempting to think about keeping one for himself. Just one. This one on his hand seemed content to be with him. Maybe, just maybe, he could take it home. The desire grew in him to keep the beautiful butterfly.

  Now how would he get it home safely? He would make a little hole in his lunch bag for air, put it inside, and ride home on his bike. That would work very well he thought. The butterfly seemed content to just sit there quietly in the plastic bag inside his shirt.

  Hot from the ride the boy got home and took the bag out of his shirt. He had ridden slowly being very careful about his precious treasure. It was time now to look at the little creature.

  The bright colours were gone. Dull, lifeless and limp, the butterfly had been held too closely and it was lifeless. Freedom to fly had been taken away. It could not survive without freedom.

  Tears of sadness rolled down his little face.

  Something you love dearly cannot be held too tightly and remain alive.

  ~~~

  On Being a Grownup

  Fifty years old today! What is different? Just another birthday. Wait, having a fiftieth birthday is halfway to being one hundred years old. Good grief. It is time to look at this picture again girl. Surely I will have to live to be one hundred to get where I want to go. Time to check the map I was given. Is it going to take me where I want to go?

  “Do as you are told. Always obey your elders. Be nice, be kind and always help others. That is your responsibility as the oldest. You must help your Mother. Be be good now, help the teacher clean the blackboards.” My job description as a child. I hear these words ringing in my ears from parents and teachers long gone out of my life. My God, I have taken my job description as a child into adult life!

  Children do as they are told. They do not get to decide what they like or what they believe in. I have done that for fifty years. Adults get to decide what they want to do and accomplish them - or not.

  Now I am questioning everything. I have a suspicion I have been here on this planet before. Not as me of course. The real me of myself is a big unknown. A huge shift and expansion in awareness is going on in my mind. All of a sudden the world is bigger and the universe is opening up. I can be who I want to be. I can create my life by what I think. What a concept! Perhaps, perhaps I can choose my own path on this map. The time has come to re-evaluate, re-examine and re-create a remarkable life.

  Who am I anyway? god knows, or does he? He is not answering me. Maybe he wants me to figure it out. I have to find the answers for myself I guess. The directions on the map I was given when I arrived here do not match up with my experience of reality so far.

  From my vantage point fifty years along on this road of life, the boulders in the road are bigger than I thought they would be. It's time for me to use imagination to find ways around them instead of trying to push and struggle to move them out of the way.

  “What do you want to be when you grow up?” my big brother asked me on my fiftieth birthday.

  “An artist,” I said. “I want to go to art school.”

  He smiled at me. “I'm not surprised. Come help me out by getting my new house organised and cook for me. My new job is taking up so much extra time I need the help. We can share the house and I will pay for your first year of school. Is it a deal?”

  “A deal it is!”

  Was my dream starting to become a reality?

  Shock, horror! The questioning echoes in my mind again years later.

  “Where are you going - living by yourself - quitting your job - going back to school - artist? You're kidding! You can't be serious. Mom can you check my homework first?” Said the continuum of various relatives.

  “Check your homework yourself. You are smart enough. You are grown up, over six feet tall and can fend for yourself very well. Everyone can come over for dinner on the weekends. I have a new job now - being myself and can make my own decisions.”

  ~~~

  Be Back When The Cows Come Home

  We farmers are funny folk but are generally pleasant to be around. It is only when I get to the city do I become a bit tense. But I was tense already before I left home.

  Big blue with the little woman before I left. She knows I have an old girl
friend in town. The letter came last week and there have been chilly conversations about Suzy all week.

  I arrive in the Big Smoke by train and jump on the tram to Melbourne. I pay my money and start to chat with the conductor a bit.

  “Move along mister these other folks have places to go. Not allowed to talk to the conductor here you know.” People were impatiently pushing on behind me, breathing down my neck.

  Unfriendly chap he is. I reckon his breakfast was burnt today. Mine was burnt but I know why.

  Suzy is in town for the week, and the wife knows it. Don't keep secrets in our family. Too late to back out now I told her. It was just going to be a friendly reunion. We hadn't dated since High School.

  The tram rattles from the train station on through tooting cars and rushing people everywhere. How do they stand the noise? Boggles the mind it does. My stop is coming up. The Grand Hotel is on the corner.

  Suzy is staying at her sister’s house in the suburbs but we decided to meet in town. More private. Her sister is Miss Sticky Beak and boring as a jail house wall to be around.

  Will I recognise Suzy at all? More probably she won't recognise me, beard and all. She promised to wear red and warned me she had changed a bit over these twenty years.

  “Grand Hotel Mister, see you in a few days.” How did he know how long I was staying? Oh yes I forgot. I told him about my trip with all my talking on the tram. I think he read between the lines. May have rattled on a bit too much.

  Peering in through the glass doors of the Grand I can see only one woman in red but she looks like one of my piglets grown up and wearing a blond wig. This couldn't be her. Suzy had been a brunette. There must be a mistake. Was I at the right hotel? Here is my chance, do I go in or escape? No, it's time to be a man and face the music.