June 13, 2011--Midcoast: Shades of Gray

Rona asked, "How many grays are there?"

We were at Poole Brothers in Damariscotta looking for paint for our deck. It had taken a beating during the winter and we wanted to get it sealed and protected.

"Benjamin Moore makes at least a hundred," the young man at the paint counter said with a bemused shrug.

"It looks like there are many more than that," Rona said, "How does one ever make up one's mind with so many choices?"

"It does take some people hours to make a decision," he said, "And even when they do they often come back for a different shade. I had one women the other day who said she didn't like the color she selected after spending the whole morning here. 'We tried it and it looked fine in the afternoon light,' she said, 'but then in the morning, with the sun just rising, I didn't like the way it looked.' So she came in to pick another one. I wouldn't be surprised if she won't like that one either."

"I believe it," I said.

He told the story without attitude. Not what one always encounters at some small-town places that depend on and at the same time resent the "summer people."

"I find that with so many choices," Rona said while flipping through the dozens of swatches of gray, "that it makes things worse, not better. I'd be happy if there was just three grays--light, medium, and dark gray." We looked at her skepically. "I'm serious." She held up two samples to show us. "Who can tell the difference between Sparrow Gray and Iron Gate Gray? To me they look exactly the same. So if I had to choose between them maybe I'd be like the woman you mentioned, I'd buy the Sparrow one, look at in in afternoon and morning light, and then come back to try Iron Gate."

"Take a look at this," I said. I had found the full listing of Benjamin Moore's grays. You can have your Coastal Fog Gray; your Cromwell Gray--I suppose that one's named after Oliver Cromwell who beheaded King Charles 1. That was quite a gray day for him. Or there is your Secret Gray--I sort of like the idea of that one; or Pilgrim Gray, which sounds kind of dour; or Kitty Gray. And then there's Gull Wing Gray--that one I can sort of visualize; but then there's also Sweatshirt Gray, which doesn't work for me. What about for you guys? Sweatshirts are grungy. Not a color I'd want to paint my house. If someone said they liked it and asked what color it was I don't think I'd feel that good saying 'Sweatshirt.'"

Rona and the salesman looked at each other and rolled their eyes as in a mutual attempt to ignore me.

"And there are a few more that I love--River Reflections is sort of poetic as are Stormy Monday, Dash of Pepper, and Sweet Innocence."

"Enough," Rona said fully exasperated, "You're making it impossible for me to make a choice. I like this Autumn Haze. What do you think?"

"I'm fine with that. But what about Himalayan Trek? I think it's worth considering. Or Dior Gray? Very couture." I was being playful. I'm color blind and pretty much all the grays looked the same to me.

"And can you believe it," the salesman, Bill, said, "Every four months Benjamin Moore sends us a whole bunch of new color choices, as if the current 3,400 aren't enough."

"3,400? You've got to be kidding," I said.

"I'm not. It's the truth."

"And in fact how many grays are there?"

"I can check in the computer. Let me see," he was poking away at the keyboard. "It says here 197."

"One-ninety-seven? That's incredible," I said. "What a waste of time to come up with all these indistinguishable shades and names."

"And who makes up the names?" Bill wondered. "I'll bet the ones who do get the big bucks. At least $50,000 a year."

"They probably hire unemployed English and history majors and pay them $10 an hour," Rona said. "Who else would know about the pilgrims and Cromwell?"

"I'll bet we could come up with some good ones," I said. "For example, how about Flannel Suit Gray?"

"Or," Rona suggested, "Tombstone Gray?"

"Or," the salesman offered, "Battleship Gray? There are a lot of retired navy folks in the area and I bet that would be a big seller for their dens."

"I could see Gray Goose Gray," I said," for guys with finished basements that have wet bars in them."

"How about Old Gray Mare Gray?" Rona proposed with a playful smile.

"Or," I proposed, "for history buffs, Confederate Gray?"

"What about Jailhouse Gray?" Bill by then was fully into it.

"You see, Bill, you're ready for one of those big-bucks name-the-paint-chip jobs."

"Or again for lit majors, Dorian Gray" Rona was still coming up with possibilities.

"Enough," I said, "there's a line behind us so we should make our decision and let these people get their paint."

And so we settled on Autumn Haze Gray and hopefully it will look good in both morning and afternoon light.

"And if it doesn't," I said with a wink, "we can always come back and get Coastal Fog Gray. Though that we already have quite a lot of that at our house."