It may have been a form of rebellion against the white walls. It may have been hatred for the pastel flowers covering my bedspread which was replaced with an equally annoying sunshine yellow version.
I was determined to have a purple bedroom when I grew up.
Nanny and Grandad had already painted my bedroom once, white of course. I turned around and recovered them with as many posters, puzzles, and brightly colored masks I could get my hands on. I even had posters on the ceiling, and never once used a ladder. A ladder would have alerted Grandad to me being “up to something” and he’d complained loudly about all the holes in my walls when he painted the room. If he didn’t see the posters until they were already up there then he’d let it go.
I’d made my clothing preferences clear from the time in 2nd grade when I said I didn’t want to wear the yellow pants to school and Nanny shrugged and said “fine, pick your own clothes”. I proceeded to choose dark, jewel tone colors. Dark purple, black, and navy blue took over my closet. Nanny shook her head over my choices (she looked amazing in her pastels) but let me have my way.
I moved out, married, and bought a house. Still no purple bedroom. The ceiling though was painted a gorgeous shade of sapphire blue when we bought the house, a quirk of the previous owners. Later, when my husband moved downstairs to the guest bedroom after we agreed to divorce, something inside connected. I went to the store and bought a can of paint, two actually. When I was done the trim of the room matched the ceiling, the walls were a deep, rich purple, and the dark hardwood floor glowed. With the addition of black sheets for my bed, a jewel toned comforter, and imitation iron candle holders … I felt like I slept in a jewelry box.
I’ve moved since then. Life has moved on, as it does. I no longer have my jewelry box bedroom. But my husband has promised that I’ll have it again when we have a house of our own. Meanwhile I continue to adorn myself with purples, blues, and blacks. Hunter green and rich browns have crept into my wardrobe over time. Still no pink though, that’s one rule that won’t change.
My knitting stash holds the same rich colors as my closet. When my husband asks me just how many pairs of purple socks can a girl need he gets a funny look. All of them, of course, she needs all of them. I ignore him when he points out that I don’t wear socks for 9 months out of the year. As I look through patterns I’m instantly drawn to the bold colors, the purples and blues. When I look at patterns I envision it in my choice colors if it’s not shown in them.
Until I can have my jewelry box bedroom back I’ll just adorn myself in my colors, one stitch at a time.