blood
the nozzle on a bottle of resolve
mugsy's collar
marcy’s old car
some apples
Budweiser labels
mugsy’s dish
tomatoes
the pen in my pen cup… the one with the chewed clip on the cap
the new weird bendy ball we put in the dogs’ stocking
the lamps in our living room
part of the blown glass ball that hangs in my kitchen window
the off indicator light on the PS3
holiday cards
the beaded frame marcy gave me for my shower
wine
stop signs
the highlighter I finally found (after believing they didn’t exist)
pomegranates

these things are red

Whether it was during Sesame Street, The Electric Company, Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood or another show, I can't remember. What I can remember is that orange crayon video. It starts with two little girls (I think), sitting outside (I think), at a picnic table (I think). I say I think because, let's face it, our memories, when we haven't seen something in a while, often change it to better match our experience. And I know, for a fact, that at some point I sat in my back yard, at the old red-painted picnic table, and looked at an orange crayon the same way. And I was sitting there with my friend.

There's a bank in Oyster Bay; despite growing up there I couldn’t tell you the street name. It's near the Pentacostal Church; down the road from Roosevelt Elementary School. My mom and I would stop... deposits, withdrawals. They gave out lollipops. I only remember getting green and purple. Let’s face it, we can’t call them “lime” and “grape”… the green is too sweet (even if it does resemble lime) and the purple is just purple. Why didn’t they give lemon? Those translucent yellow lollipops always best-represented their name in my opinion. Even better than the red ones everyone loves best.

In seventh grade I went through one phase I remember really well. I was obsessed with the color green. Not any green: the, "green like a green Crayola crayon" green. That was how I described it. I wanted a green sweater. Every Saturday my mom and I would go to the Broadway Mall and search for this sweater but we could never find it. I think I finally did find one and I wore it whenever I could. These days, I can’t remember the last time I wore green… looks terrible on me, but damn, did I love that sweater.

Imagine my shock the other day as I was driving around listening to some Sirius Coffeehouse and hearing a rather familiar song, although not the version I’m used to. I found myself singing along, knowing all of the words and pretty much the tempo, although it’s slightly different from the other one, the one with which I’m familiar. And suddenly, I had another song pop into my head, Christine Kane’s “If I Were Me,” where she sings, “She drowns her sorrows in Thai Food and cartoons/and Joni Mitchell’s Blue.” Could it be? But I always thought it was Sarah MacLachlan!

A blue dye obtained from various plants, esp. of the genus Indigofera.

Reading that I immediately think of Gathering Blue: the main character searching for such a plant. And learning the spectrum from Mr. Adams… later realizing that this, along with many others, is an example of “things I learned in school that I’ll never use again.” Face it, when was the last time you used “indigo” to describe something? Considering this definition: a color ranging from a deep violet blue to a dark, grayish blue, I doubt anyone even knows what color it actually is (I always thought turquoise.)

When I was a child my mother used to plant flowers. I don’t know if it was simply that she planted them at some point and they grew back every year or if she took the time to plant them yearly. All I remember is that the purple ones were always my favorite. It didn’t matter what breed of flower, as long as it was purple. This love of all shades purple stayed with me for years. Royal, violet, lavender… these hues were my favorite. Much of my college and post college wardrobe was black with some shade of purple.

I.
Ruby-throated sparrow, sing the song don’t - be long: thrill me to the marrow

II.
Oh, my eyes for the sins I may not shed burn like coals inside my head: smoldering black and flaming red

I could use a little spin on a red brick floor

So I’m gonna sit in a green field and fly a big red kite. I’m gonna send my mind up the string and I’m gonna get it right.

III.
She dreams in color she dreams in red

So it’s red skies at night, red skies at night

Lightin’ fireworks throwin’ bottles upstairs in the red room

I.
I never thought I would awaken with the sun and order orange juice for one

Please allow me to introduce myself, I’m the orange peel. You don’t remember, but I was once part of your orange.

II.

We’re lying by the orange sky two million miles across the land. Scattered to the highest high; expect we’ll either laugh or cry.

Follow me, don’t follow me I’ve got my spine I’ve got my orange crush

III.
Do you remember acting out your youth?

Romeo respeldent on an orange case. How about a pair of pink sidewinders and a bright orange pair of pants?

If we all lived in a yellow submarine then a big yellow taxi wouldn’t take my girl away. And yellow and green wouldn’t be a stumbling block with a 20-digit combination to unlock to get into the yellow VW she’s behind the wheel of on 2nd Avenue. The one without a radio so she’s singin’ showtunes instead of along to “And it was all yelloooooooooow” which always seems to be on the radio. But maybe, just maybe, we can still follow the yellow brick road to a place where we will all be mellow yellow in our yellow polka-dot bikinis.

Once there were green fields kissed by the sun. And they told them: when crossing the street, “Don’t cross the street in the middle, in the middle, in the middle of the block,” be safe, “and wait until you see the light turn green,” yet the light they always showed to them was green, green, green. On their way to those nights hanging out at the village green beside the green apple sea. Nightly, beside the green, green grass I hoped you understood that green, yeah the spotlight shone upon you.

But the leaves that are green turn to brown.

I hear you’ve had your first lesson in learnin’ the blues
Let me guess, they’re telling you to be like the bluebird and sing?
Tweet tweet Tra-la tra-la tra-la
And to fall asleep in perfect blue buildings?

Hope is a crack of blue in an all grey sky
But every time you look at it it makes you feel blue
Thinking of engineer boots, leather jackets, and tight blue jeans


You’re gonna shake off the blue; get lost in some sunset
To another day and a brighter shade of blue


Love is just a lie made to make you blue

For this cycle of Roy G. Biv I’ve written found pieces using lyrics with that day’s color. There’s not a song in my huge iTunes cache with “Indigo” in the lyrics… only songs by the Indigo Girls. Anytime I hear them I’m always flooded with memories of Siena. Freshman year… Katie, Courtney, Kathryn, Diedre, KD and Schnebel. Singing, playing things on loop. I was never as huge a fan as they, but just being around them made you love the music – their obsession was contagious. Makes me the good kind of homesick for a time that feels really far away.

Today is the last day I should be writing found pieces using lyrics. But, Purple is another tricky one and I need to get to HQ, so there’s little time to research. Yesterday one of the first things we had to do was create a presentation about ourselves. It was called “Color Jacuzzi” and used the spectrum to present things about us: our working style and our personality. I got a kick out of the fact that it aligned perfectly with my 100 words for this month and decided to use it for the next cycle’s sub-theme which starts tomorrow.

What STOPS you?

Poor grammar and bad spelling. Worse than this are people who think those things don’t matter. Especially if you are writing something of importance. Also, the word “irregardless”. If you send me an email, and it’s work-related, I am judging you. I roll my eyes when you type “loosers” instead of “losers” and when you don’t know which to use: “then” or “than”, “too or to”, “it’s” or “its.” It’s wrong of me, and I should be more tolerant, but it makes me insane. And if you say, “I used spellcheck” once more I may smack you.

What ENERGIZES you?

A challenge… definitely. And someone telling me it can’t be done. And a CRISIS (I love a good crisis… nothing like drama to motivate you). As much as I like my to-do list with things to cross off and anticipated timelines, I do love when something gets thrown at me that I’m not expecting and it’s something related to a crisis. I have to moan about it (it’s part of my ENTJ) but then I’m going to attack it, with vigor, and it’s going to get done, and get done well. Nothing, is as energizing as challenge.

What INSPIRES CREATIVITY?

The adage, “Use it or lose it”, inspires creativity. Once upon a time I was an excellent writer. Maybe even outstanding. Then I let life and other things get in the way and stopped writing regularly. I’ve lost a great deal of my talent and it can often be a struggle to write creatively now. That’s one of the reasons why I’ve started doing 100 words again… because it forces me to sit down and write each day. While my professional writing is pretty damn phenomenal, I really need to build up my creative writing skills again.

What’s the SILLIEST THING YOU’VE DONE FOR MONEY?

My freshman year of high school I ignored my stranger danger when my piano teacher secured me a job playing background music at parties in Oyster Bay Cove, Brookville, Muttontown, and in the city. Ridiculous pay, $100 bill tips (from guests, never mind the host’s tip), and year-round work at similar parties where all I would do is play the piano in the background for wasted strangers. It was unusual work for a fourteen year old, but I happily raked in a ridiculous amount of money doing it. Sometimes I miss it.

What gets you our of a BLUE MOOD?

Besides good music, it would have to be the animals. We just added a third, a shelter dog named Knuckles who is already a part of the family after three weeks. Even Spike, our 8- year-old cat is handling it better each day. The animals are definitely enough to get ANYONE out of a bad mood. Mugsy is our oldest, a 5-year-old mix who will always be “the best dog I ever had”. She loves to play, but also loves to sleep. She’s well behaved and her personality is just too cute.

What is your QUIRKIEST HABIT?

I can’t follow rules and I have many, impossible to decide which is the quirkiEST, so I’ll just go into those that pop into my head.

1. I don’t like to mix food

2. When I’m thinking really hard I put my finger on my nose.

3. If I agree with something I will, every few seconds, nod my head in enthusiastic approval… even if it was said a minute or two ago.

4. I always use my directionals

5. I hate if people mess up my hair; the earlier in the day the worse.

What is THE FIRST THING YOU WOULD DO IF YOU WERE RULER FOR A DAY?

Delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate, delegate…

and take the damn day off!

That summer I had the biggest crush on one of the security guards. It was huge. Probably because Linc wasn’t there for me to flirt and carry on with so I needed somewhere else to focus my attention. Four weeks of flirtation beginning with a conversation when I arrived about my red Jetta and how he’d always wanted one. The entire time I was unpacking stuff… my stereo, clothes, pictures, he was hanging out, leaning on my car, all tanned, fit, 6 feet of him, leaning on my red jetta… saying things arbitrary and innocent that got me flustered anyway.

Luckily, I knew how to change a tire. It was taking longer than necessary because of the teenage drama I had to mediate (my job). Went back out and was finally ready to finish. I’d seen him pass once, bummed I’d missed the opportunity for one of our random interactions that left me ridiculously high. He showed up with an orange traffic cone. “I wouldn’t want you to get hit.” He placed the cone a few inches behind where I was working, smiled, and left. Later, I walked the orange cone to security; it was clear that was his goal.

After walking one of my city girls who got turned around in the country to class, I took my coffee around back…stealing quiet minutes alone under a gorgeous blue sky. The sky changed… the storm began… the doors were locked. The figure in yellow scooped me up, around the corner where we shared his yellow slicker, each of us with one arm through a sleeve, standing under an overhang laughing at my reaction. The storm passed quickly as it came, I wiggled out of the slicker, walked home across the grass, cheeks-flushed-biting-lip-smiling… wishing the rain hadn’t stopped. Nothing had happened.

Mimi would scare us with stories of what went on at the mansion at night… the ghosts-haunting-it-strange-sounds-creepy-cold-spots. We didn’t see him in his uniform and green jacket. “She’s right… there’s some weird stuff that goes on at night,” directly at me, “What are you doing tomorrow night around 2?”

The girls squealed, “You’re our ambassador to Mrs. Jennings, Nancy!”

In the hall I grabbed his green jacket, “No way,”

“Come on, the girls need to hear about it from someone they trust.” He smiled, walked away.

The next morning a note on my door: See you tonight, bring a sweatshirt.

The sky never got black in Bennington; very late it turned a shade of midnight blue that hypnotized those still awake. After our ghost tour he asked if I could stay out longer, maybe go for a drive. We walked to his truck under that blanket of blue then drove to his favorite spots around Bennington. Places I’d never seen. Places where the night view of the college was something out of a painting; where pools of water could easily be home to fairies and night nymphs. It ended with a private audience to the sunrise, a slow walk home.

When we pulled in a little before dark it was obvious… H asked me to drop her off at the Barn (she forgot she promised her attendance at a performance). I found the note on my door asking me to stop by to pick something up (I knew nothing was waiting). But he was waiting; knew I was coming. He’d traded shifts with the day guy, had the night off, “What a coincidence,” he smiled. After viewing sunset, we sat under an indigo sky. We walked for miles that night, dropping breadcrumb-pieces of our lives on trails that crossed campus.

After three and a half weeks an invite was extended spontaneously, “Come back after a week, stay until you go back to school… it’s only 45 minutes to Albany” I had wanted this more than anything. Coffee on his porch, a house on more land than imaginable... peace. But my self-consciousness spread like a purple bruise.

I wasn’t ready for this. I was scared and insecure. And stupid. And afraid of sex.

I made an excuse, gave him my number at my parents’, “I’ll come up in September for a weekend.” He felt my bruise.

I never saw him again.

On the “memo” line of the cheque I wrote “It was yellow.” That was my silent vindication. The light was CLEARLY yellow but he insisted it was red AND gave me a ticket. I was having a horrible day already; on my way to the dentist.

There are too many red lights in my life lately keeping me from where I need and want to be. Obstacles to my to-do list. People say, “It will be there tomorrow,” but don’t understand how much stress that adds. Because tomorrow there will be new things. I just once want to catch up.

Besides cold water, I find cold orange juice quenches my thirst. It has to be super cold. And it can’t be orange juice that’s sat out for too long and then been made cold again – that just turns my stomach. Every boy I’ve ever known has had the same smell after a night of drinking. Like warm orange juice that might not be bad yet, but is getting there. I don’t know if it’s breath, or sweat, but they all smell the same way when hungover. In college, the whole cafeteria would be tattooed with that smell late Saturday morning.

Booth decided to throw an afternoon tea on Commons Lawn behind the house. There were big hats, flowered dresses, a game of croquet and lemon bars. I enjoyed the lemon bar, my first one. I could do without the rest. Sadly, my love affair with lemon, brought upon by chilled glasses of lemonade and that first lemon bar, would soon be spoiled. Back at college, drinking one night… a Zima with a lemon hard candy leading to a night of vomiting in a freshly cleaned bathroom. The mix of scents was enough to turn me off lemon for many years.