When my sister and I were little, we’d play a game where we’d come up with crayon color names. Mom would be in the sale section of Macy’s Home and we’d traipse off to the bedding department and weave our way through the displays, combing our fingers across satin duvets and 800 thread-count pillow cases. A sheeny, silvery-purple set of Calvin Klein sheets became Lavendar Mist, just as Mom paid for her purchase and waved us over. It was enough to make me want to run home and melt down my purple and silver Crayolas in the same dish to see what would happen.
Last Saturday I played a version of this game by myself when I bit into what seemed to be a bad pistachio; when I discarded the questionable substance into my napkin, I was taken aback by the intense green bits that had burst from its ordinary, papery beige skin. It was a totally delightful moment (though admittedly not my classiest. I hope it goes without saying that the above picture is a recreation of said event).
Regardless, the moment warranted the christening of an imaginary crayon: Crushed Pistachio. Crushed Pistachio is marvelous. It reminds me that nature produces unadulterated beauty. Crushed Pistachio belongs on a scarf… a smattering of crushed pistachios on a whisper-thin sheet of gray silk. Or as a gauzy tie-dyed tank top, with bursts of pistachio and lavendar under a crisp, white blazer. Crushed Pistachio is my new favorite crayon, and it makes me want to take my very best Barbie coloring book off the bookshelf, turn to my favorite uncolored page of Barbie in an ball gown, and ever so carefully fill the lines in with my very best work. And after that, I would of course, pass the crayon over to my sister.