My 3 Cents

PURPLE  ORANGE  RED

ar120440556717459

PURPLE

Prince dies and the world turns purple; historical landmarks (Niagara Falls/ Eiffel Tower), magazine covers and webpages (The New Yorker/ Google), and celebrity wardrobes (thank you, all, especially Charlie Rose and your purple tie).

Celebrity deaths, particularly music idols, leave behind so much more than most because of the memories their music triggers.

I like Prince. I liked David Bowie. I wasn’t a fan that collected albums or hung posters or shelled out mega-money for a concert ticket. Other than knowing a few of their platinum hits, I didn’t really know their music and I certainly didn’t know “them”, but I feel the loss. I also understand the power of music.

I remember the song that was playing when a special boy in junior high asked me to dance (Hey, Paula) and I remember the song that was playing at the Boston airport after a rendezvous with a lover as we boarded planes for separate destinations (Weekend in New England).  For whatever reason I always tear up when I hear Irving Berlin’s “What’ll I Do?” Somewhere, at some time, something happened when that song was playing that touched my heart.

Who knows who we’ll honor next? I’m not a big believer in the myth of dying in threes (and I hope I’m right), but I do wonder if he or she will have a color?

 

ORANGE

The divorce wasn’t final but we’d lived apart for almost a year – him on the east coast and me on the west. I had taken a position as a governess to four boys. My zip code was 90210 and the house on Beverly Drive had been previously owned by Charlie Chaplin and Carole Lombard (but not at the same time).

The Beverly Hills Bike Shop was located just south of Wilshire and I wandered in and asked if perhaps they had any used bikes for sale. (The flats of Beverly Hills are ideal for riding and I was on a budget.)

The owner wheeled out an orange Nishiki. “Cher just traded this in.” The price was right and I returned the next week to pick up my new ride. This was a while ago. Gregg Allman was in the store and when he saw the orange bike he looked at me and said, “That’s Cher’s bike!”

I wasn’t trying to be cool but all I could think to ask was “Is there something wrong with it? Why’s she selling?”

“No, we just decided to buy four matching bikes for the family.”

I rode the bike for a few years. Eventually it was stolen from my garage which pissed me off. For years anytime I’d see an orange bike, I’d do a double take, hoping to no avail to reclaim my ride. At least the thief could never own the bragging rights to a bicycle previously ridden by Cher – and me.

 

RED

Somethings I never saw coming:

One, electing a black president. (Happy this happened, sorry he had to deal with so much bull shit.) And two, the legalization of gay marriage. Twenty-seven years ago, my partner and I exchanged vows on the snowy rim of Grand Canyon on Thanksgiving Day. It was as “official” as we needed (or were allowed) for years. Then three years ago, the law changed. We hadn’t changed and weren’t really sure if paperwork was necessary until we factored in legal and financial benefits. Friends and family were told. Some were excited, some wary, but no expression of acceptance was more genuine than from Pat, our dog sitter.

Setting our luggage down in the bedroom after returning from a weekend getaway we noticed a heart-shaped red pillow on the bed.

Pat explained, “Years ago when I got married my mother made that pillow for me. The marriage didn’t turn out that well, but I know her sentiment was true. I want you two to have it now.”

Wonderful, gray-haired cheery Pat, who loved our dogs, respected our relationship, and honored us with a heart-shaped red pillow that still has a place on our bed. It’s a reminder that love, all love, can be acknowledged and respected.