Death and Yellow = Odd, True

John Updike died today. If my dad were still here I'd be on the phone with him holding a two person funeral in Updike's honor but since I can't do that I decided to post a pretty picture I took of a tree instead. There's something about that vibrant shade of yellow that makes me feel better and I'm reminded that, coincidentally, the first social event I slithered to right after my dad died was an art opening and that night I bought a painting titled Road Trip from my frielative Mark Norris and wrote this about that painting:

"The strangest things can act as a balm in moments. Like that yellow in Mark's painting. After the memorial, when I was convinced that I'd never be able to make small talk again, I woke up a bit when I walked into the gallery and saw that shade of yellow. I think it might have even shouted at me. For a long while, I just stared. I pointed it out to several people, almost ignoring the rest of the piece. What was it about that color that soothed me so? I think it reminded me of insomnia or headache-bright sunshine or windshield glare on a road trip---things that were acutely undead."

And then you know the most amazing thing? I just picked up Updike's The Same Door and randomly flipped to a page and you know what page I landed on? The story titled Who Made Yellow Roses Yellow?

Score one point for the Dead People Send Messages To Grief Stricken Readers Team.

Love,
Mrs. Oh I Hope It's So