Purple, by Gillian

Purple is passé, or so it seemed to me as I
trolled through my brain for thoughts of it for today’s topic. It’s the color
once worn by the rulers of the Byzantine and later the Roman Empire, both long
gone. Purple was once the color associated with royalty, but most royal
families are now long gone. Queen Elizabeth struggles on, God love her. Not a
fashion statement at her best, her carefully matched purse which she
unfailingly carries appears to be of the same style she favored in the 1950’s.
But even one as traditional as she, does not wear purple excessively.
When black was no longer
absolutely mandatory wear for funerals and periods of mourning, purple crept in
in its stead, here and there. But those days have also gone. There are no
longer rules, even unwritten ones, telling us what we must wear to a funeral;
anything goes.
Way back in my youth
there was this ridiculous song Purple People Eater, I imagine most people in
this room remember it well. It was #1 on the pop charts in 1958. Why,
for God’s sake?
A song about this
one-eyed, one-horned, flying, purple people eater? Were it to make a comeback
today, which I cannot envision, it would doubtless be taken as innuendo and
much made of eating purple people. But back in the innocent ’50’s most of us
sang along without a thought. One more piece of purple now extinguished, and I
certainly cannot say that I regret it’s passing.
Another purple horror is
purple prose. It’s a term used for flowery, over-descriptive writing,
especially that filled with euphemisms with reference to sex. This abounds in
romance novels, especially those set in the past when no-one ever spoke aloud
of intimate body parts and acts.
I found a wonderful online article about it, in which Deb Stover warns all writers to use it sparingly.* She talks of breasts being referred to as ‘mounds’ and erection as ‘arousal’,
of a penis as ‘his sex’, or ‘his love tool’. Wait for it, it gets worse. She cites
such examples as, ‘the raging beast of his desire’, and, ‘the raging monster of
his lust’!  Good Lord! No wonder
Victorian mothers told their daughters just to lie on their back and think of
England!
All in all, I’m not
coming up with much to mourn in the passing of purple. And let’s not confuse
purple with violet. Violet is OUR color. Violet is a ‘real’ or spectral color
with it’s own wavelength on the visible spectrum of light. Purple, in the
strictest sense of optics, does not exist. It can only be produced, apparently,
as a composite color by combining red and blue.
One purple tradition
which I would love to see disappear for lack of need is that of the Purple
Heart presented to those in the military who are wounded or killed during their
time of service. This includes all those from the time the U.S. entered WW1 to
the present, and numbers over two million. Next year will be exactly a century
that the Purple Heart has been in existence. I sincerely pray it may be
abolished, or at least used rarely, in the following century; not because I
wish not to honor our war dead and injured, but simply because I want it all to
go away. I want the wars to end. I want us all to live in peace. But you have
all heard my peacenik rantings before so I’ll end right here and take a break.
Then I think I’ll
practice up a bit on my purple prose.
© 7 Mar 2016 
About
the Author
 
 I
was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to
the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the
Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30-years at IBM. I married, raised
four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting
myself as a lesbian. I have been with
my wonderful partner Betsy for thirty-years. We have been married since 2013.

The Big Bang, by Gillian

Was
there only, ever, just one? The Big Bang, I read, created a new reality. So it
must follow that for something to be considered another Big Bang, or at least
analogous with it, it must change reality. Completely.
My
mind roves backwards over the history of our planet. Little blobs of floating
rock became continents which joined together and split asunder, and floated
from pole to equator. Talk about creating change! It was completely covered in
ice. It spewed out lava from deep fissures in it’s surface for millions of
years. It was bombarded by missiles from space, including the one which
created, literally, the big bang which is held responsible for the demise of
the dinosaurs. Surely no-one could deny that those events created new
realities?
It
seems to me that history is peppered with Big Bangs. Take just the short space
of human history. Invasions. Whether your little village on the Asian Steppes
was slashed and burned by Genghis Khan or your little village in the Andes was
hand-delivered deadly diseases by Cortez and his cronies, I bet it changed your
reality. Revolutions, from French to American to Communist to Industrial,
change realities. That child working twelve hours a day down the coal mine
surely had a very different reality from his parents who had slaved away their
childhoods in the fields. Every country invaded by another, from the Roman
Empire to British India to the U.S. occupation of Iraq, suffers an inevitable
change in reality. The World Wars altered huge swathes of the world, never to
be the same again. Yet so often, in fact, I suppose, always, there is some
previous contributing factor to these humanoid Big Bangs. So perhaps, they are
in fact the Big Bangs. 9/11 was a Big Bang all it’s own, but it became the
excuse for the next one, the invasion of Iraq. The justification for WW1 was
the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand. If Princip had failed, perhaps there
would never have been that terrible war (though I suspect they would have found
some other excuse) so was the assassination the real Big Bang? Or does it go
further back? Probably it’s somewhere in that miasma of territorial, ethnic,
and religious struggles which seem to have plagued the Balkans for ever.
It’s
all too complex. I think I’ll stick, in blissful egocentricity, to my own
history, which seems to me equally liberally peppered with alternate realities.
I have already written about them; moving at a young age to to remote
countryside, leaving there to go to college. Emigrating to The United States,
most certainly a new reality. Marriage. Divorce. Coming out. Meeting my
beautiful Betsy.
Now
that was a real change of my reality. I had only come out, to myself and the
world, a few years before. Although chronologically in my forties, in lesbian
years I was a wacky teenager all set to sow that brand new bushel of oats. I
had NO intention of settling down with one woman for the rest of my life. In a
nanosecond Betsy burned through that reality, and, Big Bang, I settled down to
happiness ever after. Not that I’m too sure Betsy would care for being referred
to as my Big Bang. It does have a certain sexual slant to it. In fact, on
further reflection, it sounds like soothing you’d find on the bathroom wall.
I
guess you could think of death as the final Big Bang. If it doesn’t change
reality, your own, at least, I don’t know what does. But change it to what, is
of course the big question. In my new reality, will I be reincarnated as a
squealing newborn in Borneo, or one of those Amazon butterflies which change
realities around the globe with a flutter of their gossamer wings? Or will I be
….. nothing. Gone. No reality. Or a reality so changed it is way beyond my
imagination?
What
is reality, after all? For us humanoids it is what we must do to live; we must
have oxygen, food and water, and shelter. Down at the nitty gritty, that is
reality. Being invaded by the Mongol hordes or sold in slavery does not change
that. So perhaps there is only one Big Bang after all.
I
don’t even understand my own Big Bang theory. My head, which was beginning to
throb in the second paragraph, feels about to have a Big Bang of its own.
I
wish I’d never started this.
I
think I’ll just have a nice cup of tea.
© 20 Oct 2014
About the Author 

I
was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to
the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the
Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised
four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting
myself as a lesbian. I have now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 25
years.