Fifty Shades of Green

By Patricia White

     My mission for today was to shop for yarn for the beautiful crocheted afghan I promised to make for my youngest daughter. I know it’s hot as hail to be wrestling with a mass of yarn in my lap, but I promised.  Choosing yarn colors is rough when you are color blind. I must depend on someone else’s eyes to determine true color. In my present cataract condition, purple looks like brown, pink looks like yellow and what I think is seafoam may really be sea weed.

     Hobby Lobby has the largest selection of yarn at reasonable prices. I’ve been to some fancy shops where a skein of yarn had about enough to whip up a potholder, at $12 a skein. Do the math. Thirty-six of those tiny skeins would cost $432. I’m sticking with Hobby Lobby. So, once there, I encountered color names like, asparagus, butter bean, kale, roasted celery and cabbage. Sounds like a soup menu. Whose idea was it to re-name basic colors these she-she-names? At my wits end, I quit reading color names and tried to rely on what’s left of the color-discerning part of my eyes. After stalking each aisle repeatedly, feeling, smelling and comparing, I selected a beautiful green color and thought it was spot-on. There were no employees in site to get help from on my color choice, so I went with my gut. I tried to get color affirmation from the hippie-looking lady at the check-out, but she was too preoccupied with the nail she’d just broken. No help there. When my yarn was checked out I hurried to the car, where Mr. Leblanc (aka my hubs) patiently waited for me, working on a Sudoku puzzle. I excitedly pulled the yarn from the bag and before I could say a word, he asked why I had gotten blue when I wanted green. Blue?  One quick glance in true sunlight told me it really was blue. No one knows how much thought and aggravation really go into one of these side projects of mine. Gosh Doggit, my purchase had to be returned. I hoped the lady in the moccasins and pigtails, who was no help at all, would be at lunch when I returned. Color-tricked once again. It was now close to noon and I needed a bowl of gumbo and   generous pour of Pinot Gris. My man is so patient. He said it was no problem and we could return the blue yarn after lunch.

     As previously planned, we joined friends for a mid-day repast of some fine Cajun fare and bull session to catch up on everyone’s mental state, gallbladders, $1200 crowns, knees, veins and hammer toes. One of my BFFs mentioned she was dreading an upcoming procedure. That nasty rear end, “let’s take a peak way up in there,” and starts with the letter “C.” I did not want to go there as I dipped my wonderful French bread into my gumbo. I had one of those roto rooters once. The Doctor told me that he would give me meds before the procedure to induce amnesia about the whole incident once it was over. Well, Sister, half way through I got my memory back. Yes, I did, and I screamed. I later heard that my scream cleared the waiting room.  I was very sorry to have frightened anyone, but the doctor should have kept his promise. I did not tell my BFF about waking up during my look-see. I suggested an emergency subject change and we finished lunch and chatted about some old geezer-band playing locally and the possibility of catching one of their gigs coming up that weekend. After our meal, we enjoyed authentic Cajun bread pudding with rum sauce for desert and the chatter wound down.

     We hugged and kissed goodbye and promised to see each other again before they loaded us all up on that senior bus we keep reading about on Facebook. That’s where we get most of our hard news. I knew before the year was over, we’d either be on the bus or under it the way things were going for Seniors and Medicare and those of a certain political persuasion. Just saying.

     Back at the Hobby Lobby, I began, once again, to peruse the shelves for the shade that was stuck in my craw – sea foam green, like the color of the foamy waves that break in shallow water in Destin, Florida. I re-dug through every yarn brand, the clearance bin and even got on the red phone and asked if they might have any yarn hiding in the backroom. No luck from the lame duck on the other end of the phone.  My eyes were blurry and watering from the dye after looking up close at fifty shades of green. Totally frustrated, I carried two different skeins of yarn to the returns counter, where Pocahontas was now working. Again, I asked her opinion. She proceeded to educates me about blue and green pigmentation and dye processes. Who the eff cares? I was buzzing from the Pinot and not in the mood for Textiles 101. All I wanted to know was which yarn looked most like Sea Foam Green to her. She said, neither. So, I opted for the one that looked blue. I ran back to aisle 26 and grabbed eight more skeins.

I made my exchange and bolted. Last time I picked the green one and it was a true blue in the sunlight. Therefore, blue would surely look green with the yellow of the sun mixed in. Blue and yellow still make green, right? My Pinot brain is making perfect sense. Since it was now overcast in the parking lot, I was guessing it would look just right. When I got back to the car, I pulled out a skein and handed it to Mr. Leblanc. He said good job on finding Sea Foam Green. I asked if he was sure. He handed the yarn back to me and pointed to the label. Sea Foam Green.  Well, I’ll just be switched. How did I miss that? I got this color thing. We were backing up to leave as I caught sight of Pocahontas running out of the store towards us. She had my cell phone in her hand. I rolled the window down and reached out for it thanking her with all my southern Pinot charm. That’s when I noticed her eyes were two different colors. One was light brown and the other sea foam green. Or was it Blue........