The Color Chartreuse

I was having one of those moments when I was feeling in touch with my inner Martha Stewart, as I waltzed around Ross: Cross Dress for Less at our lovely River Street Plaza. There I found the most fabulous chartreuse  velvet curtains, the perfect color for my front room, at an astonishing price. I languorously chose new curtain rods, my inner math geek happily translating feet to inches and how to divide four curtains between three windows.

I love that word, chartreuse. It conjures up a particular time in high school and battling with the glazes as I tried to raku a series of ceramic beads that I was making a substantial profit on, selling to Mom’s then jewelry group, The Brass Ring. Renown at the local craft fairs for their amazing creations of fiber and handmade, exotic embellishments, the ladies were gobbling up my chartreuse beads - let’s just say I was an entrepreneur at an early age, and a part of that money is my retirement account today.

Coming home, I spent a fun afternoon removing the old, tired blinds, installing the curtain rod hardware, spackling and painting over the resulting holes, and finally, finally, hanging my magnificent chartreuse curtains. All I needed was violin music and maybe a rose gripped between my teeth to complete the moment. In my mind’s eye I could see the cover of Better Homes & Gardens- This months feature: Enchanting Homes of Santa Cruz...

After picking my kid up from school the next day, I swept into the house and in grand voice announced, “ So, my darling, what do you think of my chartreuse curtains?”

With barely a glance, she calmly stated, “Mom, they’re the color of puke.”

“No, sweetie, they’re chartreuse,” I corrected her, my ire beginning to boil. “Look how they match everything in the room.” She merely raised an eyebrow. Forget her, I thought, I love my chartreuse curtains, they’re perfect.

The next day, walking down the stairs, all I could think was, “Puke. The color puke.”

Needless to say, they were returned that morning, and this time I let my kid choose the curtains. Why not? She lives here too. And guess what she chose:

Pink - a beautiful, dusky rose, unmistakable, pink.

Sorry, Martha.