Why, when we were little, did we believe we had to have favorites? A favorite flower, a favorite dress, a favorite friend, a favorite color.
I suppose it was our way of defining who we are. If I can describe the things I like, perhaps I am seeing my own self.
Much was made of my blue eyes, when I was small, and my mother often dressed me in blue. Old pictures, now sepia-brown, show me as a serious-looking child with a huge floppy bow on the top of my blonde head. I can’t tell, but I think it was blue. Read More»