2-19-18 WHITE

Late last night, after the fire had been silenced in our fireplace, and the kitchen counter had been wiped down, I took the nightly path of dimming house lights: through the family room, kitchen and hallways, locking the garage door, and ending at the front door. When we were building this house I bought that heavy wooden door in Michigan from an antiques dealer, who told me it once graced the home of a Methodist minister well over 100 years ago. As I reached for the switch to dim the main porch light, I noticed through the beveled glass that Winter had decided to visit. I opened the door and inhaled the sharp, clean smell of snow falling, listening through the silence of the late night as the flakes softly found their individual places out there in this cozy spot of earth.

It's about time! Just yesterday morning, before the winter storm rolled in from the south, I noticed in the flower bed at the top of our driveway a cluster of daffodils had pushed their way up through the brown earth. There were no golden flower heads yet, but sure enough, there was irrefutable evidence of daffodils in mid February Utah. Absurd! It has been a very confusing winter for this poor dot on the map; unseasonably warm, with almost no snow in the valley. I've enjoyed going without coats and wearing sandals since Christmas.  It was really nice at first, not to have to shovel snow or worry about slipping. But it became distressing as the days turned to weeks and we began to think about the potential for drought this year. Plus, to be honest, brown isn't all that pretty. And the poor trees! They are super confused; blossoms are starting to bud, and sleepy flora is awakening in the middle of their night. Yesterday you'd have to go way up high, through the canyons and into the mountains, to get a good dose of white.

Then, finally, last night, this was the sweet view at the front door:

Our yard is transformed, even in the dark of night, by the beauty of white. And in the morning, it glistens in the sunlight.

I used to think that white was the absence of color, probably because my first human understanding  of color was waxy layers of crayon on a white page. But I've come to learn that white is actually the presence of all colors.

white:  achromatic (having no color). It fully reflects and scatters the visible wavelengths of light. the color of fresh snow, chalk and milk, and is the opposite of black 

and here's how black is defined:

black: the very darkest color owing to the absence of or complete absorption of light; the opposite of white.

Even on a gray day like today,the white that enfolds the trees and walkways in our town evokes serenity. I can see the distinct fullness of the scrub oaks in the hollow, and the layers on our evergreens. Dave and I drove through the tunnel of Sycamore trees lining Main street, feeling like we were shimmying through a snow tunnel. 

My brain thinks it's colorless, this landscape covered in snow, but it is actually a reflection of a whole array of color. Those colors must fit on some divine spectrum, sort of like the sounds that only a dog can hear. They enter our senses without us realizing it.

It seems fitting that we are blessed, baptized and married in white; that the Pope's skull cap and mitre are white; that we use a white flag to surrender, and that the Savior left white robes folded neatly at the sepulcher. 

Black, on the other hand, absorbs all colors. He keeps them to himself. 

After England's Prince Albert died, his widow, Queen Victoria, wore black in mourning for 40 years. And yet, she left explicit instructions that after her death  she wanted white to play a prominent role in her funeral. Not only did she wear her white wedding veil over her face, she also requested white horses and a white pall over her coffin. 

In most Asian countries white is the color of mourning. It represents purity and rebirth.

When our mom died, all of us in her family wore red in her honor. She was fond of saying "Red is Best!"

Then, when I was researching just now about colors of mourning throughout the world, I found this:

We also served Wingers Buffalo chicken wings and Chick-fil-A chicken fingers at Mom's funeral luncheon, because those were some of her favorites.

So, family, I guess we are supposed to all be sick or dead by now.

Bury me in white.