JOY ALONG THE WAY: TIME TO THINK GREEN

I'm thinking green. Not only because tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day but because through every outside door and window I see nature putting on her basic greens again. There are great skirts of bluegrass green, velvet pockets of yellow-green moss where the sun doesn't shine much, little raised appliques of larkspur medallions and bold patches of green, white-veined, hollyhock clumps.

Aside from the basic reason that chlorophyll is the dye nature uses for her spring coming out, one sometimes wonders why chlorophyll was so arranged to be green. Not white, not silver, not checkered. In a whimsical moment I once asked someone why chlorophyll was so arranged as to be green. After a look of bewilderment, my friend just shrugged and said, "Because it is fittin'."

I find that a good answer to so many things. Why is the sky blue? It is fittin'. Why does water seek its own level? It fits. Why was mankind created to roam the earth? It fits. Such answers save a person of curiosity from having to mull through dusty, learned, annotated, amplified, footnoted, bibliographed and eye-tiring tomes.

Everything fits, even though it is something if only to be thrown away, and it was pronounced good by the Original Fitter.

I know that somewhere in my assorted rooms there is a green and white checked tablecloth. It seems fitting that I should find it and spread it lovingly over my kitchen table, being careful to put the thin, worn spot on the drop-off against the wall, out of sight. Steve may come in and, stopping for a cookie, might say, "Where's the green check tablecloth?" if it isn't there. And Alice might drop by and say, "Did the old green check wear out at last?"

Should I reply, semi-vaguely, "The green checked tablecloth? Well, I really don't know," they'd look at me curiously with a sorrowful hint of could-it-really-be-that-she's-forgotten?

So, finding the green check became of paramount importance, and right there it was, five tablecloths down in the linen closet.

Now for the green cookies. How does one get herself bound up in such traditions. I could just buy some cookies and spread them with green-tinted, powdered sugar icing. I have so many old quarter-full, half-full, six tablespoons-full boxes of old powdered sugar. Does everyone else? Or are they organized enough to keep it all consolidated and, in some manner, soft?

But, bought cookies won't do for tradition, so out comes the green cookie recipe (from my head, of course, by this time) and the shamrock cookie cutter and soon a green glass plate full of cookies adorn the table along with an arrangement of what daffodils are in bloom. If someone should come by and not even notice my efforts, I've got a pop quiz ready for them. "Where was St. Patrick born?" "Ireland?" "No." What does his flag look like?" "It has a snake on it?" "No." "A shamrock?" "No." "Where is St. Patrick's cathedral?" "Boston." "No." 'Twould seem fittin' for me to look at them a little wonderingly. But then, not everyone has a fourth cupful of Irish blood flowing through them.

REJOICE!

~Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime columnist for the Southeast Missourian.