the color of sick

The color of sick would not be green. It wouldn’t even be somewhere between yellow and green, something toxic looking or unnatural, though it might be tinged gray. On the color-wheel, I imagine it would slip into a wedge of yellow ochre, a muddied yellow, like the rotted hearts of sunflowers. I’ve been in bed sick for the past three days, and I’m certain it’s the love of scouting that drove me here. Not the girls, themselves, just my constant running around, four nights straight in meetings, constant texts and emails, editing newspaper articles, writing meeting summaries, rushing off to the store, submitting new registration forms, working up the nerve to turn away new girls because we’re near capacity, calling wait listed girls, coordinating with parents, researching “bling your booth” contest ideas for our upcoming booth sale, zipping off to Home Depot to buy supplies for a “DIY Carnival Wheel of Fortune,” sending uniform information to new girls. All this, and I’m trying to fit in the new fall TV lineup of television pilots. Wait, did I just watch Homeland the other night? When does Newsroom return? I need to set my closed-captions to ON, so I can read everything they say. “Too much time on your hands, lady.” I say to myself. Then I tell that self to “go scratch.” I’m at mid-America war with the PTA mother in me, and for the most part, I stray from giving myself labels. Bottom line, I want to create and help others create.

In being sick, I’ve restricted myself and my germs to the bedroom, where I’ve reorganized my Prismacolor 120 Set color pencil set, now nicely contained in a leather traveling case. Why stop there? Since enrolling Abigail in a still-life art class and buying her CrayPas, I cataloged all my supplies, taking stock and order of all I have, and dug into my art supplies and revisited my dried up tubes of Artist’s grade Winsor & Newton watercolors (not to be confused with Cotman brand). I read online not to toss them, to instead cut the metal tubes open and use the dried pigment. They look like Linus turds, only Wizard of Oz flavored. Hello, shopping. Hello, shiny new tubes of pigment. Welcome friends.

Some people THRILL at the idea of a new handbag or new clothes or shoes. Me? No. No. Yes, okay, yes, but no. Art Supplies. Oh, art supplies. I’m all stocked up on kitchen crazy from blow torches to spiral zucchini peelers, and makeup supplies, well, I’m good and psycho there, too. But art supplies. Well, now friends, while I might have touched on my personal die cutting machine and photography equipment back in the scrappy days of this blog, I’ve yet to delve into the world of hot press vs cold press water color paper. And with good reason. Most people don’t give a Kolinsky. This is no more an art blog than it is a parenting, food, relationship, writing, photography, movie, style, friendship, advice blog. It’s just a scrap of a day. A sick day, the color of sick. And, I’m life on my hands’ing it back to good health, with something to show for it, one refrigerator magnet art project at a time.

I had to return the Winsor & Newton Professional Mauve. The color is just off! It’s grainy and has too much settlement. It doesn’t play well with others. I tried my old dried up Cotman Winsor & Newton Mauve, but I’m trying to move away from the Cotman colors. For my birthday, I’m thinking of treating myself to a watercolor class! Oh, how this excites me, you have no idea! Whilst living in Manhattan, I used to take one at the 92nd Street Y, and I won’t lie, I didn’t love it. It was portraits. I’d much prefer to take a watercolor class from a snob, who’s very particular. I’ve been eying botanical watercolor classes.



  1. I lust over art supplies. Papers, paints, pencils, pipe cleaners, crayons, ink pads, brushes, chalk rainbows, glitter, glue guns, gesso, crochet hooks, canvas, coloring books, yarn, markers, Modge Podge (in every finish), stickers, stencils, smudge sticks, stacks of card stock, sheets of Shrinky Dinks, and every sundry slip and scrap that sparkles with the promise of spectacular somethings. This type of post? Leaves me grinning and thinking and creating mind-masterpieces from my bed. Thank you, Stephanie Klein.

  2. When I was little, our barf bucket was a pukey pink color. I can’t ever see that color without feeling a little queasy and I never feel queasy without wanting the pink bucket.

    With all of the treasures in my parents’ house, I think my brother, sister and I will vie over the truly important things like the pink barf bucket, the ancient wall-papered sugar can, and the bird house. Strange, the things that matter.

    Not to go off topic here, but what the HELL is up with car colors this season? Turd brown, metallic baby poop, pukey putty, bladder infection yellow, fulvous orange…seriously! I saw a BEIGE ferrari yesterday. Should be against the law. Imagine how much more beautiful our world would be if cars came in jewel tones, or in birthstone colors. Mine would be opalesque…that would be lovely. No body fluid colors for me. Okay – that’s my first world problem rant. Scuse me.

  3. Oh my goodness. This post should have come with a trigger warning. Now I want to go to the art store, blow my savings and PAINT.

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