Mexico is notorious for its brightly colored houses - lime green, orange, vivid blue, lemon yellow, orchid, and every hue imaginable. Anything goes. No colors or patterns are thought to clash, as evidenced by the parade of fashion-don'ts walking through any small town of Oaxaca. Plaid over floral in conflicting color tones does not offend their eyes in the least.
After my "hideous house" experience, I gradually adjusted to many cultural differences in Latin America, leaving my American-bred preferences behind for the most part. With God's help, I overcame my former squeamishness and actually grew to appreciate the glaring combination of color that used to annoy me.
With this said, I must confess a recent relapse into my American sensibilities. What triggered this was nothing more than a simple intrusion of a new color in my kitchen. The five-gallon water jugs delivered to our house were always an opaque blue that blended with my decor. One day without warning (or my approval), the water company began switching out all the bottles with new ones that are a gharish pinky-purple color. My neighbors all agree the change is marvelous, but I must differ. It clashes with my color scheme.
There you have it. Jamie Jo, the self-professed Pollyanna, exposed again for the fraud she really is. Some things still bother me. I've become too set in my ways. (Maybe it's time to move on to a more rugged location where I'll learn again to forsake all for the sake of the gospel!)
A true Pollyanna would have framed this story around a theme of thanksgiving, remembering the old days of heavy glass water bottles that weren't delivered to the house. I would remember how they once clanked together in the back of our old Subaru, breaking and flooding the car with gallons of water and shards of glass. I would be thankful that the new purple plastic jugs have handles for easy pouring, that they have screw-top lids instead of the old kind that broke my fingernails trying to wrench them off, that they are light-weight and easy to heft.
With so much to be thankful for, I am ashamed that the color still bugs me. How shallow can I be? I just don't like it. Apparently my heart needs tweaking. Again. I am so bad! If there was ever any doubt, now you know.
Big crises I handle fine. Petty irritations get me every time.
3 comments:
Ok Jamie you know that someday you are going to have to compile all these stories into a book...it would be a great inspiration to new and seasoned missionaries. I loved reading about all of your special keepsakes. The piano bench your grandmother made is beautiful! By the way check out our blog to see the newest Swadley!
This had me laughing out loud. See, you got used to the new normal and then they changed it up on you. Don't be hard on yourself. It's ok not to be thankful for pinky purple water containers!
Thanks for the vote of confidence, Charlsie. You never know, I might just do that someday. I tried to subscribe to your blog, but couldn't. I'll check in from time to time anyway.
I appreciate the visit, Karen. Glad you could laugh with me. You know, I've got that old bottle covered with a pretty dish towel, and life is worth living again!
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