The Color Blue

 

Baby blue.  Sky blue.  Mediterranean Teal Blue Metallic. Turquoise.  Caribbean.  Azure.  Navy.  Cobalt. Royal. Breakwater Blue Metallic.

Blue was the color of my true love’s eyes.  Still is.

Blue is good, mostly.  I admire the color blue almost as much as I do the green that decorates the Earth.  I wear it.  I drive cars painted with it.  I gravitate to it so much, I often make a concerted effort to choose something else; like red or black.  Never yellow, though.  I despise yellow, unless it’s on a flower or a butterfly.

Blue isn’t always good.  There is blue humor, which I suppose is good for some people.  I hear jokes about blue balls, although I’ve never known what that really means.  I’ve suffered through many a blue mood, but I didn’t get the baby blues, thank goodness. Black and blue bruises aren’t very attractive, are they?  But I like the idea of once in a blue moon.

Today’s sky is the blue of my happy thoughts.  I think in blue when I’m happy for some reason.  Blueberries on my cereal make my day.  When I spotted a bluebird in a magnolia tree for the first time in my life, it made me feel like skipping all the way home that day.  Probably looked rather strange on a silver-haired senior.

When I wear blue, I get compliments.  I’m told my best color is turquoise or teal.  I think I agree, because I always like my reflection in a window or mirror when I wear those colors.  I feel very feminine in baby blue; very authoritative in navy blue; very elegant in midnight blue.

Blue on walls can be tricky for me.  It can’t be too light or too dark, too saturated or too weak.  Some say it’s cold; I say it’s cool.

Six of the seven automobiles I have owned in my life have been blue.  The other one was a surprise from my husband.  We are divorced now. 

Bluegills are my favorite pan fish. Blue notes in my music are my favorites. Sad, but oh so poignant. The color of the Caribbean Sea off the cost of Negril, Jamaica was a blue I’d never seen before, nor have I seen it since.

Some hydrangeas that grow in my neighborhood are blue.  Mine are pink, but I like them, too.

Blue is for baby boys and TV anchors who wear shirts.  It is for a waltz named for a river in Europe.  It is for the veins on the backs of my hands, growing ever more prominent with age.  That means I’m alive! 

My bridesmaids wore blue velvet.

Photo by L, taken this morning