Brown Food, et al

Brown has a bad rep.

I seldom wear brown, except for its variant, khaki (whatever happened to beige?). 

Brown is the color of doggie doo.  It represents old food that is bruised, grass dried up and dying in the July heat, dead leaves beyond the reds and golds of October.  We look at weathered, leathery brown skin with some distaste at the wrinkles.  Coffee (ah, my beloved coffee!) leaves a nasty brown stain on your shirt and your teeth.  You can tell where a smoker sits by the brown film on the curtains and the wall.  And let us not forget the UPS guy who brings tons of brown cardboard boxes to my house, waking my husband from his already restless third-shifter daytime sleep. No, brown is not pleasant.


My wardrobe, as I might have mentioned, consists mainly of black and khaki with shirts of various jewel tones--garnet, amethyst, aquamarine.  This way, my sleep-deprived and slightly blurred eyes can grab a jacket, pair of pants and almost any shirt.  I leave the house looking decent if not fashionable. Khaki is my one indulgence in the brown family.  Yes, yes, I'm sure you have seen my recent acquisition of the brown skirt and jacket.  They are an anomaly, like the the lime green blazer. 

I used to wear brown.  Then we had our house decorated in earth tones.  It lasted a year or two.  I began to think I lived in the mountains instead of the suburbs. I haven't worn earth tones in my home or on my body since-- unless it looks darn good, like the brown skirt or the pleated blouse.

Anyhow, if you see the glass half full as I usually try to do, you see the better side of brown.  You look at the deep brown eyes of your loved one, or the so-dark brown eyes of a beloved dog.  You see the brown hair falling over the forehead of a child or the soft earth of your garden plot.  Brown is the color of the bark of your favorite oak, and the shimmer of maple syrup. It is the color of tiger eyes.  You see a beautiful woman's gently tanned legs. You see the warm woods of your classic end tables.

Brown gives us hot coffee and iced tea, chocolate cake and Oreo cookies. There are baked beans, new potatoes in their jackets and caramel topping on your sundae.  Toast a marshmallow, eat a s'more or a perfectly done hamburger or pot roast.  Spices like cinnamon and nutmeg, caramelized onions, even your morning toast with peanut butter (you didn't really think I would leave out peanut butter, did you?), all delicious nuances of the lowly maligned brown.

So, like many other things I have changed my perspective about in recent months, I have learned to accept the beauty of brown.  I am trying to--actually become obsessed by, as some would say--see the glorious world in all its colors from the blackest shadows to the white light of heaven's gates.  I am trying not to see the muddy mix of primaries that is brown, but to see how each individual drop of color turns it into khaki or peanut butter or 85% cacao.

Maybe my understanding of brown will help me to change my world a bit.