We all learned in school about the spectrum of colors... red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet, which of course introduces us to our acronym friend, Roy G. Biv. Granted, most of us just think of red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple, completely ignoring the hippie-sounding "indigo" and renaming the gothy "violet" with something less easy to use in poetry. C'est la vie. Said redoing of the spectrum leaves us with the unpleasant and slightly gastrointestinal sounding Roy G. Bp, which, in light of the oil spill, was probably some good foresight on the part of the color-teaching higher-ups.
In any case, the reason for the above rambling diatribe is because one of the first memories I have of Annie has to do with colors. It must have been Christmas (or some other present-y holiday) and Amy and J.J. had been given sleeping bags. (If I remember correctly, I think that Jenny and I may have been given sleeping bags the same year, showing some awesome teamwork on the behalf of the D'hues and the Holeshas.)
I was probably about 5 at the time and in the throes of newly-acquired Holly Hobbie sleeping bag ownership. Amy and J.J. simultaneously tore open their oddly large and sleeping-bag-shaped presents and squealed with joy. I distinctly remember Annie looking at Amy's present and enthusiastically saying, "OH!! Pretty pink!!" Now "pretty pink" is kind of a girly, accepted phrase. My cynical, 5-year-old wordsmith self mentally braced for what awesome phrasing Auntie Annie would come up with for J.J.'s robin's egg blue sleeping bag, because Auntie Annie ALWAYS phrased things in the most awesome of ways.
"... And pretty blue!"
"WHAT??! Pretty BLUE? That's not a phrase!" I thought.
That's the great thing about Annie. OF COURSE "pretty blue" is a phrase. Hell... "pretty burnt toast" or "pretty infected pigeon wing" are phrases in Auntie Annieland, because, of course, in Auntie Annieland, above all else, ALL THINGS ARE POSSIBLE.
Annie's joy is limitless. Annie's compassion is limitless. Annie's love of others is limitless.
Unlike our friend, Roy G. Biv, who has served me little more than helping me to desire and acquire new shades of nail polish, Annie's spectrum of love encompasses way more than a 7 letter acronym. Her various shades of love have served me during my highs and lows. I have never doubted that I was loved, and my love for her is equally as limitless.
That's the best thing about Auntie Annieland. Words are joyful, love is endless, and her spectrum, herself, is bigger than a list of colors could EVER encompass.