You cannot get more gray than this gray-in-gray photo taken a few minutes ago out of my west facing window. I could have taken a photo facing north, south or east, but there is not a lot of difference. There is no sun, no blue skies, just gray everywhere. Coupled with the scaffolding surrounding my appartment house, we have the perfect gray picture of everything gray.
On the East side of the house we are also covered in gray: gray concrete, gray metal rods of scaffolding and even my white window frames are reflecting the gray shadows of life.
How boring this is, perhaps I should rather read a book than write about gray. Some people might be reading 50 Shades of Grey to put them in the mood, but not me. i avoided this book when it was published. I was put off by the housewives that had all decided reading a best seller would be the thing to do. It seemed to me that all my female facebook contacts were reading this trash They were showing off about it, telling everyone they had bought it, downloaded it, and whatever. One even admitted that she was reading it in the train on the way to work, but naturally hidden in a book cover with another book name. I never read the book. Not that I do not read pseudo ponographic chick lit cheap books, but it is not my sort of thing. Mr. Grey’s sexual fantasies with his new secretary are really not my thing.
I also worked in an office for many years, but I had to earn my money by organising the export of goods all over the world and not helping the boss to complete his fantasies of female possession. My boss was was OK, but had his own harem out of working hours. I was a married woman with four kids to look after, and really do not know how Mr. Grey’s secretary, Anastasia Steele (another grey name) found the time. I mean she had to fit in the cooking of her food and make beds, do the washing and ironing. I noticed the authoress of the book made an effort to follow up her success with Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed. She seemed to have run out of new stuff to write about. She must have been living in a very gray world.
My Aunt and Grandmother were also gray people. My mum loved to knit and would produce cardigans for them. They were both ladies of a progressive age, gran approaching 80 years and Aunt Emmy, my dad’s oldest sister, somewhere between 50 and 60. Mum loved to knit but there was a disadvantage. The chosen colour of the two elderly ladies was always gray: gray first and gray second. Mum was more the bright colours sort, although I must admit her taste was also not always mine, and so she was condemned to knitting gray cardigans which she said made her depressed. “They always want gray and never a nice bright colour” she said to me. Somehow I do not think the elderly ladies were into pink or lemon.
And what am I doing on this gray day. I am on the keyboard of my Apple computer, which is also gray, dressed in gray yoga pants and a dark gray t-shirt It is one of those days where you just cannot escape from a gray world.
And before you compose your remarks telling me that Gray is not Gray, but Grey, I also had a problem. The english colonists over the Pond tend to spell it “gray” and we Brits are more into “grey” it seems: a simple solution, but mixing me up considerably. Make your own choice of spelling, but today is a grey/gray day.