Written by members of the Tuesday Morning Writing Circle on August 30, the first session of the new season, 15 minutes devoted to this theme . . . .
Black
I have almost always worn something black. I don't do it for attention or to make a statement. I started out in elementary school, wearing black at concerts, where I played piano or violin, or where I sang. Black is the color of concert dress, so I wore it. No big deal. In junior high I was playing a lot of music, so I wore a lot of black. I often had to play in school, so I wore black all day long. By high school I was always wearing something black. I was severely depressed and had a full-blown eating disorder. Black suited my lifestyle, my mood, and my body. Even if nothing else, I would wear a black bandana around my neck. My high school boyfriend caught on to my scheme and would beg me to take off the bandana. I wouldn't. (Well, except when we were naked. But my pupils were still black, so ha on him.) In college I was a theatre and dance major. It went without saying that I would always have black on. When people asked me why, I quoted Masha in Chekhov's The Seagull, who said, "I am in mourning for my life." I was kidding, but kind of not, too. Flash forward to now: I wear all black. All the time. It's easy, it's simple, I never have to match anything. It's no big deal. Truly. Trust me when I tell you. Black suits me and I suit it. Simple.
- Gabrielle Vehar
Blue/Green
The blue and green dress my mother wore was my favorite. The fit was perfect for her after she lost a lot of weight after open-heart surgery. Her energy increased and happiness ensued, after the surgery. I loved joking and playing with her, soft games, nothing too physical. I always wondered how she chose the perfect shade of lipstick to go with the blue and green dress. I favor blue and green myself.
- Grace Celeste
Ballet Pink
If you are a female dancer pink automatically becomes your color. When you are a little beginner, typically the class attire is ballet pink — a light pink, sort of a seashell pink — leotards, tights, and soft ballet slippers. As you progress through the ranks pink remains your friend. Standard class attire is black leotard, pink tights, and if you are proficient enough: pointe shoes. Still seashell pink, but now satiny and shiny. Back in the '70s dancers revolted and started wearing — gasp! — colored leotards. Mine was a sort of watermelon pink. My ballet professor in college called us Easter Eggs. I hope he was referring to our colors and not our shapes. If you were lucky enough to make it to the stage, pink was everywhere. The fairy pink of the Sugar Plum's tutu in Nutcracker. The deep royal pink of Aurora in Sleeping Beauty. The innocent, barely-there-pink of Giselle before she is betrayed by her lover. And yes, there is the pink of your sweaty, exhausted face, at the end of class.
- Kim Falstick
Teal
I live in a teal-colored house — not my choice. Rather, Mrs. Sagan dreamed up the color and had Sherwin Williams create it. But I was attracted to the house on the corner because of its unique color. Teal. Not blue, not green, but a perfect mix of the two. Teal takes me back, back to college days. I'd been making many of my own clothes since I was 12, but the dark teal velvety corduroy jumper was my absolute favorite. With a sophisticated white blouse the teal jumper accented my own colors. My brown hair was deep and dark, my cheeks were rosy. I looked good! And I felt so good every time I wore it. It was so special. But sadly I don't know what happened to it. I'd like to open my closet door and see it hanging there in all its teal glory. 50 years later I still love teal — now it goes well with white hair.
- Linda Keeler
Blue
My early years were filled with the color blue. It was the Virgin Mary's color, after all, and our classrooms and our church were filled with statues and pictures of her. Often she was depicted by the sea, and then there was more blue. Light blue, dark blue. The nuns told us, erroneously of course, that she was blond with blue eyes. Consequently, I was always chosen to portray her in any school pageant or play. Interestingly, Peter LeMay was always tapped to play Joseph, because he had black hair and dark brown eyes. Apparently the nuns had some different image of the masculine that was, or course, never explained. I was always disappointed that they didn't pick E. J. Burke, my first love that lasted from kindergarten until 8th grade, but that's another story entirely. His eyes were green, like grapes. So I would be draped in blue, blue gown, blue headgear, blue rosary beads. Always feeling like an impostor. I knew in my heart that I had thoughts that the Virgin Mary never had, but I didn't dare protest. Funny, I only recently started wearing blue again and I find I like it. Maybe I am more comfortable in myself, or maybe I think of Mary as more human? Anyway, I hope she liked the color.
- Margaret Dennis
Rainbow
From the time I was a very young girl I liked to climb a tree when I saw a storm coming. Bracing myself against the wind as it grew to gale force was a special treat — I had to hug to a branch very tightly and feel it swaying as it also coped with the situation. Maybe, even more exciting than that, was the great good fortune of seeing a rainbow arch its way over my head after the storm passed. I loved the way the colors melted into each other in a seamless streak of light. From darkest purple all the way through to the fairness of yellow-white. I tried to count how many colors I could pick out of the blend. And, as it faded away, I sent a prayer out to the Rainbow Queen, thanking her for this exquisite encounter with colors.
- Marty Blue Waters
Navy Blue
This was my favorite color for most of my life — a particular shade of navy, in stripes that alternated with white on a sleeveless sundress I had when I was six. We lived in a house in Liverpool, New York, with a big screened-in porch. In the summer this is where we ate dinner. My mother would set up card tables — the big one for her and my father; the little red one for my sister, brother, and me. The porch was shaded and cool in the summer with rush matting on the floor. No one else I knew had a porch like this, or ate their meals outside the dining room. Late in the day on these summer afternoons my mother would call us in from the yard and tell us it was time to wash up and change for dinner. I'd go up to the room I shared with my sister and pull out the blue and white striped dress from the closet. After I'd washed the dirt off my knees and hands, I'd put on the dress and immediately feel cool and elegant. Soon after, my father would arrive home from work and we'd find our seats at the table. I'd smooth down the navy blue and white striped skirt, sit up straight in my chair, and love every minute of being on the porch, on a warm summer evening, with my parents, sister, and brother.
- Nancy Osborn
Purple
As a teenager, I had a purple boa. Not feather, not a snake, but a sheep-skin boa that I wore, which made me feel exactly like Janis Joplin. It was a shade or two darker than lilac, but not a deep purple. It was lovely. And became somewhat matted. But I loved it as a child loves her teddy bear. It's lost, but not forgotten.
- Paula Culver
Yellow
Running out in the field behind our house to break ears of corn off the tall stalks. Pulling back the rough husks and pale green-yellow silk to reveal perfect rows of sunshine yellow corn. Cooking it until it was bright yellow and shiny, and then slathering it with pale yellow creamy butter, while turning it round with the other hand, making sure all sides were covered. Doing the same with salt. And then eating it like you were typing, butter running down your chin.
- Paula Culver
Black and White
Feeling like everything in our house was black and white and everything outside was in color. Like the Wizard of Oz. Let me out.
- Paula Culver
Opal
The colors in an opal ring I wore — white, pink, beige, sparkle — matched the hand-sewn sequins on the mini dress my mother made me. The bodice sparkled and the rest was a satiny pale, pale pink. I wore white tights and pearl-colored shoes. My lipstick was pink, my perfume Tabu. My boyfriend picked me up in his mother's white car with pale blue leather seats. We drove to a new dance club across town. There was a disco ball which seemed to match my ring and my dress. We danced and danced, fast and slow. Then after dancing for hours we sat in his car and kissed for a long time. He was a gentleman, but I always wanted more. He drove me home at the proper hour and walked me to the front door, where my parents were waiting. We said goodnight with a chaste kiss, my lipstick all gone. He left with my heart. I took off my dress and sparkling ring, etc. I dreamed of his kisses.
- Sara Robbins
Red/Blue/Purple
I got married in an old red shirt of my father's, and blue jeans, by a Justice of the Peace. At our reception the next day I wore a long purple dress — loose rayon — to accommodate my 3-month baby belly. I still have that dress in my closet — dusty and faded. I wonder if it still fits.
- Sara Robbins
Red
Red — On Eastern Long Island, if we were very observant, patient, and lucky, we'd find indian paint pots in plowed fields being readied for the new potato crop. The pots were round bits of red sandstone with an indentation worn in the middle where dampened fingers of Shinnecock Indians had rubbed the stone to pick up color. We spit on our fingers, rubbed, and traced sienna markings on our arms.
Red — The color of zinnias in a street-side garden. We zoomed past on our bikes as we raced to the school playground to play baseball.
Red — The color of the roses Mme. Jeanne grew in her courtyard. It was a small, hidden spot behind her hairdressing studio, sheltered between our protruding bakery wall and the wall of the tiny neighborhood grocery on the other side. It was a bit of her home country, where only French was spoken.
Red — Always the color of my little sister's sunsuits. Red with small blue doll-like figures one year; red with tiny yellow and blue flowers another. Each wore out in the seat by the end of the summer.
- Sue Norvell
Pink and Orange
Not my memory, but my mother's excuse for why I got the smallest bedroom in our house. We moved into the house in 1943. I was 9 months old, which is why it's not my memory. My bedroom, until I moved out in 1961, was painted pink. Over the years I hung pictures on the wall, and as a teenager, after seeing a picture in Seventeen magazine, I hung an orange fishnet over two walls of my room. On that orange fishnet I put photos, magazine articles, postcards, and anything else I felt like hanging up. It was under this orange fishnet that I would lie on my bed and listen to Johnny Mathis singing "Wonderful Wonderful" over and over and over again. My mother's excuse for me being in the smallest bedroom was that the painter painted the wrong room pink, and thus it became mine. It wasn't until I was much older, and the house was sold, that it occurred to me that at 9 months old I wouldn't have cared if my room was wallpapered with cowboys. But then again, maybe at two years old my brother would have objected to pink.
- Sue Perlgut
