Global Purple

The scariest thing I have done at my house (well, other than having a hole cut in the brick wall to enlarge a window; but I didn’t execute that, therefore I was not responsible) was digging a ten-foot diameter hole in the back yard to build a patio that I didn’t know if I was capable of completing. I guess I also pulled the carpet off the stairs and painted them orange. That was risky. But last weekend when Grace, as she was getting ready to pull away from the curb in front of my house, threw out, “You know, Gretchen, the only part of your house and garden you haven’t made you is the front door,” I knew it was time to take another risk. It’s not that I never thought of painting the black door--I have been wanting to practically since I moved in. I don’t know why it has felt so intimidating. It’s not even the first time I have painted a front door, though I just this minute realized that. It's just that the front door is so out front. It makes a bold statement about me to the world as it passes by, like new glasses (which I also got this month) or a new hair style. It's an Extrovert thing to do, and thereby against my nature.

Oh, I had a plethora of Very Good Excuses. Can’t decide on a color. There is a very narrow, well, doorway of time, when all the natural elements converge perfectly: not too hot or too cold to leave the door open all day; not humid, not pollen season, not windy, not buggy. I also had to be in a creative mood and be feeling brave and be able to be home all day. And the moon needs to be in the seventh house and Jupiter aligned with Mars. And...

Patti Digh (Creative is a Verb) tells of seeing an instruction painted on the shuttle bus lane on the airport tarmac, YIELD TO AIRCRAFT.  "Yes indeedy," she says, "that seems like fine advice. A 26-passenger shuttle bus versus a 545,000 pound Boeing 777 aircraft." Pretty clear who has the upper hand there. Still, we seem to need signs--really loud signs--before we can see the obvious.

 "And let this be a sign unto you, you shall Yield to Aircraft, for it is a good idea that is bigger than your fear." Grace is right. There may have been a time when black seemed like an acceptable color for my front door. And leaving it as is is clearly the path of least resistance, which I have a penchant for when it comes to many things. It was the same time I needed to put up a fence, paint the door in the fence relatively unobtrusive periwinkle purple, and close it behind me as I hid from view in the back yard. As I turn from Grace's car and look through the riot of annual color in front of the house; the non-traditional, in-your-face, making-a-statement banana tree at the corner; and the roses where there used to be boring evergreen shrubbery, it is as obvious as the full moon on a cloudless night that the door is not me. And in that instant when it is no longer a decision, but a no-brainer to which I need to yield, I see the color--the Purple Heart on each side of the steps.

The weather forecast for the weekend is 70-something degrees, no rain or wind in sight. The nights have been cool, the bug count is way down. My fear is trumped by excitement and can-do courage. And I am yearning to be creative. The planets are aligned. At Ace Hardware after work on Friday, with my leaf from the Purple Heart in hand, I go straight for Global Purple. Because I am me, I get half dozen more color chips; but I know Global Purple is the one.

Saturday after breakfast, I get my car inspected, buy another flat of pansies at Logan's (no time to circle the parking lot at the Farmers' Market to save three bucks) and three perennials--hey, they are on sale if I buy three--and purchase my quart of Exterior High Gloss Global Purple Front Door Paint. I am set to stay home the rest of the day. I jet hose the door and wipe it down, tape the windows, remove the house numbers, and decide not to dismantle the lock and handle because I know how hard they are to put back on (I am brave, but not stupid). I prime--I don't want my brilliant Global Purple deadened by an undercoating of black. While the primer dries I plant my new purple coneflower, asters, and trailing phlox (maybe the latter will thrive in the side garden where little else has done well). I discover the single mystery flower that comes up every year under the pyracantha; it always surprises me. The toad lily is even
more amazing than it was last week. And the Persian Shield, an iridescent version of the Purple Heart, is dazzling. I pick the last of the basil for my Saturday night pizza, and will top it off with the last six grape tomatoes that have been on the kitchen window sill. Fall in the South is such an interesting time of emergence and submersion.

And now it is time to return to the door. I am past the point of no return. I put on the first coat of color. It is really bright. I feel a little sick. No turning back, I tell myself. You are committed. Or is that Should Be Committed? Done. I walk away and turn to face it. The first coat, with the white showing through, is not the color of Purple Heart or the paint chip. I breathe through the second-guessing fear as I plant the pansies. All will be well, I chant in my head. I put on a second coat late in the afternoon. Much better. I think the door is laughing with the release we all feel when we come out from behind our fear. Oh, maybe that is me laughing. Today I will lay on a final coat.

Now the little periwinkle purple birdhouse stand on the porch looks dull next to the dazzling door. I immediately know it must be painted Tropicana Rose Orange, like the perfect bud on the bush next to it. And half a can of paint from my stairs is right there on top of my water heater. I paint it then and there. Some actions take four years to gather courage for, some take four minutes. No agonizing, no procrastinating. Just go for it. Yes, sometimes you are going to fuck up. Get over yourself.

My sweetheart brother-in-law, Peter, who celebrated his 60th birthday yesterday, lost his job on Wednesday. Well, he didn't exactly lose it (what a ridiculous term), it was taken from him. No, he was released. (Releasement is my newly-minted word to replace retirement.) He has been a senior, high security clearance, IT program manager, contracted by the Federal Government, for lo these many years. He and my sister have been thinking and dreaming, if not exactly planning, to move back to the Pacific Northwest for nearly a decade. And have as many excuses not to take the leap "yet" as I do for my door. They have been slowly getting their house ready to put on the market--or just to enjoy more for themselves--but I have heard no declaration of "X is the time." It's scary. I know. Girl, do I know. But even the fact that both their children are now living in Seattle, has not gotten them there. I tell Peter that, however well-hidden in a content-disguising box, however elaborately wrapped, this is a birthday gift of the highest order. The YIELD TO AIRCRAFT sign is now screaming from the tarmac. The stars are aligned. It is time to paint your life Global Purple.

What are you waiting for? Live like you are dying. You are. It is time to paint your life Global Purple.