Updated: Feb 11, 2022
I admire my father’s gray-blue eyes as he looks at my mother.
They have a mood more than a color.
His eyes are the ocean as a storm rolls in; sad, lonely, dramatic and full of stories.
Blue is the color of her favorite sweater. It’s the one reportedly stolen by a nurse. I find it at the bottom of her closet in a pile of dirty clothes.
“Did you look in the closet?”, I asked.
She responds as if reminiscing, “Why would I look for something when I don’t know where it is?”
Navy blue is the color of the fuzzy blanket that I bought her for the nursing home bed because she is always cold. She has shrunken down to a small bag of misshapen bones and white hair.
I don’t wear a lot of blue. It’s not a color that looks good on me, or so she has told me.
Blue suppresses your appetite. There aren't many foods that are blue, so our brains tell us to stop eating. Now you’re trying to think of blue food.
I have Murano blue kitchen glasses that give me pause whenever I drink out of them. I wonder if I stop because I remember they are blue, or my brain is reacting to the color.
I rented a car once that was a douchey bright blue, like the color of a Slurpee. At the time, it felt embarrassingly obvious.
Now I am conscious of the increasing complexity of my coffee order, but I order it anyway.
Blue is the child of two parent colors: cyan and magenta.
Every Zoom call with Mom, she tells us how much she likes the blue fruit pattern on the wallpaper behind our heads. She doesn’t remember that she picked it out.
Whenever someone tells me their favorite color is blue, I think of her.
Pantone announced that Classic Blue is the “Color of the Year” for 2020.
Perhaps this will be her year.