|Honey-Dipped Wednesday, Aprilcot
12, 41 A.B.
Although I know that green is the color most often associated with spring,
today I only have eyes for yellow.
The fading yellow of the daffodils out my north windows.
The pointillistic yellow of the dandelions which stud my west lawn as this
year's crop quickly builds towards its biggest bloom of the year.
The brilliant, fluttering yellow of the finches which visit the thistle
feeder I have hanging in a maple tree just outside my east-facing kitchen
And of course the yellow of the sun, washing over everything like ink from
a celestial highlighter which has somehow found its way into the hands
of a manic 4-year-old....
It was the return of the Yellow Beaks which reawakened my lust for yellow
- those medium-size black birds with the beaks that turn vibrant
yellow with the return of fair weather and conditions favorable for mating
and the raising of young. Starlings, I believe they're called.
No matter. Whatever their name, whatever their purpose, their beaks
remain the same self-propelled startlement every time I see them....
My thirst for yellow awakened and scarcely slacked by all the yellow outside,
I search in desperation for more in my office, upending objects and emptying
drawers with a passion any chocolate junkie who has misplaced his Hershey's
stash can understand.
My eyes eagerly suck in both small and large pads of Post-It notes atop
my desk with a single glance.
They quickly move on to a legal pad resting on my scanner, a Sony floppy
disk in a rack of duller peers, and an actual highlighter nestled among
the pencils and pens I have in a jar.
They savor the yellow markings on the small, stylized sun plaque I have
above my monitor as well as the antique reproductions of other suns I have
hanging on my walls.
They drain the yellow circle atop the antique John Deere gas pump replica
I have sitting on the top shelf of one book case and then move on to seize
the yellow of the Woodstock PEZ dispenser and the miniature box of Tarot
cards I have resting on the top shelf of another.
Two miniature VWs provide my yellow-hungry orbs with two more hits.
Postcards with yellow suns above Copenhagen, Ontario, and Tenerife merely
stoke the flames of my desire for more - MORE.
In mounting desperation, my pupils search my rows of books and devour the
ones with yellow covers:
"Let's Go Europe - 1994"
"Video Movie Guide - 1994"
"The Weather Almanac - 1995"
"Panati's Extraordinary Endings of Practically Everything and Everybody"
"Off the Record"
"Mr. Laurel and Mr. Hardy"
"Good Days and Mad"
"The Real Thing"
"Boswell's London Journal"
"Legends, Lies, and Cherished Myths of American History"
"The Age of Missing Information"
"DOS for Dummies"
"Men and Nations"
"The World Through Literature"
"Passport to World Band Radio"
"Fire in the Lake"
"The Teen Guide to Dating"
"Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Sex"
Still I am not sated. Still the hunger rages deep inside.
I turn to my CDs, cassettes, and LPs.
To a teasing corner of REM's "The Great Beyond."
To They Might Be Giants' "Flood."
And Counting Crows' "August and Everything After."
And the teasing flames on Suzanne Vegas' "99.9 F."
And Kronos Quartet's "Pieces of Africa."
And - oh yellowest of yellows! the Holy Grail of yellowphiles everywhere!!
- Miles Davis' "We Want Miles."
Crazed, I race into the kitchen to feast my eyes on a banana, a yellow
cookie jar, cheese, the rubber bulb of a turkey baster, the plastic base
of a butter tray, 7 sticks of hastily unwrapped margarine, and each and
every yellow M&M that my quivering fingers can pick out of a 1-pound
It is not until I make my way to my bathroom, spread yellow towels out
on my yellow throw rugs, and smear fresh egg yolks across the yellow
pages of my phone directory that my desire for yellow is finally satisfied
and my day made utterly, sobfully complete....