I know a lot about color. You’d be surprised how often it comes up in conversation. If I meet new people they usually don’t realize I’m colorblind because I’m completely color conversant. I know grass is green. I know stoplights are red. I use expressions like feeling blue. When I tell strangers I’m colorblind they inevitably say something stupid like, “Do you know dogs are colorblind?” Yes, I know that. And much, much more. Color is my own personal Trivial Pursuit.
For example, centuries ago most people wore neutrals. Fabrics were homespun from wool and plant fibers and occasionally tinted with vegetable and mineral dyes. Someone discovered a rich shade of blue could be made from the ground-up shells of a rare fish. Because it was so scarce it was expensive. Only the very wealthy aristocracy could afford it, hence the name; royal blue.
I know color heals. A few years ago, I developed a chronic stiff neck, probably from poring over purchasing orders at my desk. I tried hot baths, massage, muscle ointments; nothing helped. The pain was excruciating. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t sleep. By the time I saw a doctor, I was practically begging for pain pills. Instead, he prescribed several sessions of infrared light therapy.
“We don’t know exactly why it works,” he said, “something about the shorter wavelengths.”
