“Messy” is the new “Blue”

I’ve always wondered where the idea of blue being used to describe a sad emotion came from. Blue can be an incredibly vibrant color when at its best. I remember when I was a kid my “uncle” had this bright blue shirt that he would always wear on Sundays. It was something we could count on whenever we saw him on a Sunday, that bright blue shirt and a smile on his unshaven face. I never asked him about that blue shirt but I always thought about it, and what it might have meant to him. As I got older I realized there actually must have been a number of different shirts all in the same color because just one would have worn out or faded with time. He was always happy in that shirt, so I equated that color with happiness. Back then when anyone would tell me they were feeling blue, I would smile and say, “Great!” never minding their confused expressions.

There are so many different shades of blue, too, something else that didn’t truly resonate as a child. The sky was blue, and I knew it wasn’t the same blue as my uncle’s shirt, but my brain didn’t really process. My uniform for private school was a yellow shirt with navy blue pants. They were so dark they were hard to distinguish from black. I couldn’t reconcile the bright blue of the shirt with the light blue of the sky with the dark blue of the navy pants. That every single one of those things could be blue and yet be so distinguishable from each other was mind boggling. Blue seemed to me to be in just about everything around me, and I looked for it everywhere.

I saw it in the blue of the Play-Doh, and in the blue of the refrigerator light. It was evident in the blue of the Schuylkill River (which now has a much more greenish tint), as well as in the blue stripe on my bookbag. Even Fred Flintstone wore a blue tie every once in awhile. As I got older I was able to differentiate the blues I liked from the ones I didn’t. I’ve never been able to express a liking for navy, as it still confuses me way too much even now. But I’m a huge fan of denim, and sky blue still takes my breath away. There’s something playful about the way it sparkles in a blue diamond ring. And my wife has these beautiful blue eyes that defy description; I feel like I’m swimming when I gaze into them.

When we had first bought this house, it was horrendous. The lady that lived here before us had this fake fireplace and bookshelves that weren’t quite built in but were supposed to be, and so many of the walls were painted a Pepto Bismol pink that made me nauseous just walking into those rooms. My wife and I decided we had to repaint right away, so we headed off to Home Depot to find just the right color. After going over scads of swatches my wife was convinced we needed to go with a lovely shade of tan while I was completely hooked on a color the swatch identified as Payne’s Blue Grey.

Oh, what I wouldn’t have given to be able to paint every single room in the house that particular color. It was the color of hope, and joy, and good times, and excitement. It was so subtle and yet it spoke to me like a swami to a snake, and I was mesmerized. My wife not so much. But she let me keep the swatch and I looked at it from time to time as I walked through rooms painted that lovely shade of tan and wistfully comparing that with how I thought they would look in Payne’s Blue Grey. Eventually my wife even threw out my swatch, but she couldn’t get the color out of my head.

There is just something magical about the color blue, in all its different shades and tones. I even wrote a poem about it. Funnily enough, though, it’s not my favorite color.

Sam