“Aneal loved the ocean, daffodils, the color blue, Frank Sinatra, the L.A. Dodgers, the USC Trojan football team, her family and God.”
I read the obituaries, what can I say? This one, though, in today’s paper really resonated with me, especially the list of things the decedent loved. It made me think that I’d liked to be remembered for loving a color so much that my friends and family felt compelled to include it in my obituary–should there ever be such a thing. Not that I won’t die, but that there’ll be an obituary. I’ve written about this topic before, you can read that here. It stumped me this morning, “blue” being such a big word, encompassing so many different blues–and so many shades of meaning, but then I decided that their love of blue was qualified by their first love–the ocean, and suddenly that included all of the blues, the hundreds of blues, the blue of a sun-filled sky, and the deep marine blue of the Mariana Trench, the sea-foam blue of a frothy afternoon walk along the beach, and the blue of midnight in the garden, the blue of wisteria and delphinium, blueberry and plum, the blue moon and l’heure bleue, the blue of a vein running on the back of an elder’s hand, the blue of a Dutch tile, lapis lazuli, turquoise, and Tiffany. Even in the best of circumstances, there will always be a tinge of melancholy attached to blue especially in song; “Am I Blue”, “Blue Velvet”, and “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue?” Doesn’t that qualify your love of blue then after all? A less happy life, perhaps, but more honest than another. You know, true blue.