Crayolas are Mauvelous

Last month I was sitting in a school cafeteria waiting for my all-region orchestra audition results (turns out I was seventh out of thirty flutes, scoring third chair in the symphonic orchestra. I'm happy). I was discussing the vivid colors painted on the wall with a tuba player, and I said "I'm not a big fan of the mauve."

"The what?" he said.

"That purplish-pink color," I explained.

"You have a name for that? Wow, I'm not that fancy with colors."

Hmm. I had thought that "mauve" was common knowledge, but evidently it's not. I suppose that many people wouldn't have known that the mauve stripe was, well, mauve. Not "that faded and unattractive pink between the yellow and the teal." Mauve. So I wondered, why do I know that? I certainly didn't make an effort to learn specific and precise color names.

And then I remembered. I had a Crayola crayon called Mauvelous when I was seven. It was a dusty pink color and it wasn't a particular favorite of mine, but it did come in handy every so often.

I loved my Crayolas. When I was a small child, restaurants would give you four-packs of Crayolas to use on the kids' menu. Not today's disappointingly waxy and weak cheap crayons manufactured overseas, but classic, American Crayolas that colored smoothly and vividly. Red, green, yellow, blue. A practical and economical assortment.

I remember having the eight-crayon boxes of Crayolas, which provided a basic palette for everyday coloring. I thought they were cool because the box was really slim. Which might explain why I prefer a slim phone and mp3 player. It's all because of my Crayolas.

While the eight-pack was cool, it didn't quite meet the needs of more serious budding artists like myself. We were known to prefer the 24-pack with three rows of eight. The box was more hefty, but that was ok because it had extra colors like Grey and Yellow-Orange.

One year--I must have been about five--we visited my Grandma Diantha in Rockford, Illinois. Mom and I went to Wal-Mart and we happened to pass the arts-and-crafts aisle, with a Crayola endcap display. They had 48-count boxes of crayons with the rows tiered for ease in choosing and a sharpener on the back of the box. Mom said, "Look! It's the biggest box of crayons we've ever seen!" And I thought to myself, actually I've seen bigger ones, but when she bought it for me I was still really happy. I was equipped now for artistic success--I had Sea-Foam Green, Purple Mountains' Majesty, Razzmatazz, and a crayon sharpener. And I kept all my crayons neatly organized and sharpened, ready for action. I remember sprawling out on my grandma's well-worn hardwood floor with my new crayons, coloring to my heart's content.

I had Crayola markers, too, my favorite type being the super-fine-line in classic colors. I carried those with me often. For some reason I remember taking them to the library in Xenia, Ohio, although I don't know why I would have done such a thing. Even then, I could have lived happily in a library for months on end.

Even though the markers were cool, the crayons were the best. Eventually I got the box of 64 and later the 96, which even had flourescent colors. I liked Magic Mint, Razzle Dazzle Rose, and Unmellow Yellow; but I still preferred the classic brights like Dandelion, Cerulean, and Wild Strawberry.

I haven't owned a new supersize box of crayons since before 1998, when 24 new colors were added to Crayola's palette for a total of 120 crayons. I remember the controversy in 1999 about the color Indian Red, which was named after a pigment found near India. Some teachers felt that students might wrongly perceive it to represent the skin color of Native Americans, and so the name was changed to Chestnut. And I was very disappointed, because...

Crayola crayons colored my world. I knew that in India--where the sun was hot and elephants carrying dark-skinned, turban-clad gentlemen walked through the city streets-- the soil really was the rich, spicy brown color called Indian Red. Midnight Blue was the color of the sky on a cold snowy night in Vermont. Dandelion and Wild Strawberry were spattered across the sun-kissed fields of the American Midwest, and Neon Carrot was the color of Bugs Bunny's favorite treats in Looney Tunes Land. Aquamarine was the color of the ocean, deep down where the seaweed grew and the puffer-fish blew, and Cerulean was the color on top of the sea, the color I would have seen from the deck of a whaling ship as my hair was tousled by the wind and gulls snapped up pieces of whale blubber. Olive Green was the color of fairies' tunics--but only the boy fairies because the girls were clad in shimmering dresses of pink flower petals. Asparagus was the color of things that sprung up in the forest, deep in the sun-mottled shade, and Periwinkle was the color of dainty flowers growing in faraway fields. Yellow was for sunshine and summer days. Red was bold and exciting, heroic, like a fire engine. And Purple Mountain's Majesty was the color of the faraway mountain range, the one beyond the amber waves of grain in "America the Beautiful."

Crayolas gave me a mental palette. I knew what Indian dirt was like. When I read about periwinkle flowers in Carl Sandburg's whimsical Rootabaga Stories, I could envision them. Because I had a crayon that color. I could see the ocean from the ship of Rachel Field's Hitty: Her First Hundred Years. And of course the purple mountain's majesty...Crayolas gave wings to my imagination and a medium to my creativity.

Crayolas were a big part of my childhood. Now the company has changed the names of the colors, and retired a few of my favorites. They redesigned the box, to make it more 'kid-friendly,' but the box isn't classy and six-year-old sophisticated anymore. They've come out with all sorts of fancy new products, which are great (I suppose) but not the way I remember. I would so love to have my old-fashioned box of ninety-six crayons again, and someday I really want to visit the Crayola factory. Better yet, I'll take my kids and let them experience the wonder I would have felt at their age, and I'll buy them their first big box, of forty-eight. I'd almost rather see the Crayola factory than the US Mint. Someday...

I've heard that some people dream in black and white. I don't know about you--but I dream in Crayola.