Taste

9.  Taste
My sense of touch aids in my love of knitting, as the feel of good yarn running through my fingers is a joy.  My sense of hearing helps me enjoy the beach, the rain, my children's laughter, good music.  My sense of sight (painfully, blindingly near as it is) allows me to see clear Fall skies, my children being happy, good movies and TV and books.  My sense of smell is easily my most powerful memory trigger.  So what's up with my sense of taste?

Taste doesn't jar remembrances.  Taste doesn't aid in knitting.  Taste is unneeded when enjoying people, places and things.

What taste does is let me appreciate wonderful flavors: pecans, caramel, sour cream, green onions, lobster, Dr Pepper, milk, toffee, potatoes, catfish, corn on the cob, scrambled eggs and toast, honey peanut butter, crab legs, corned beef, hot and sour soup, blue cheese, rare steak, biscuits, scalloped oysters, cabbage, broccoli, black-eyed peas, dry rub ribs, tomatoes. . .

You get the picture.

Oh, and answering one of those "Which Would You Choose?" questions, if I had to pick a single sense to lose, it would be taste.

Someone

8.  Selfie

Number Seven

7.  Skyline
Unless all buildings in a city are exactly the same height, every city has a skyline.  Still, there are only two places that come to mind when I hear that word: Manhattan and Chicago.

 But there is another usage:

I also think of Skyline Chili.  Chili and spaghetti is a lifelong favorite of mine.  Even a SuperFavorite, if one cares to go that far.  And a virtual mountain of shredded cheese is never a bad thing.

On the Bias

6.  Diagonals
My mother made all my clothes until I got a job and was able to buy some of my own.  The phrase "Cutting on the bias" has rung in my ears for years, though it took me quite a while to finally grasp what it meant.

I have never been a doodler, but when I do doodle, it's almost always diagonal lines up against diagonal lines with maybe an arc or two, also on a diagonal.

The friend who's photography "project" inspired this series of prompts was brilliant in responding to "diagonals" --- she photographed a statue of a bishop.

Which can take the mind to another bishop:

The piece that, in chess, moves thusly:

I genuflect to the Diagonal Genius.

Near, Hard By

5.  Close Up

Photographs, intimacy, yeah, yeah, yeah.  First to mind, the toothpaste.  When it premiered, it was a gel.  And it was red.  Quite unheard of.

Close-up: I am a big fan of portraiture, particularly black and white, as it seems to show character that color sometimes misses.  There are several books of faces around here --- famous faces and not.  And one of my hobbies is collecting life masks, which requires an artist to get just about as close up to the subject as possible.  This is one I have, though this isn't it ---mine is bronze.

Katharine Hepburn

And a black-and-white of same:

Love

4.  Love

Well, this one is a bit of a task.  "Love" is far too big, and much too small.  Do I list all of the people and animals and places and things that I truly love?  (Not anything that I might say, in that off-handed way, "Oh, I love that!")

The beach, the sound and the smell of the waves, touch the deepest stocks of love in me.  They calm me and replenish me and just thinking about them soothes me.  I love that I have something to turn to when everything in my life is crumbling.

The more I read about Abraham Lincoln, the more I love him.  He's always been very prominent in my life --- I was born on his birthday, my Daddy always called me "Kimberly Lincoln."  I've read and read and gazed and wondered and measured and adored.  And the reservoir of my feelings deepens.

I love and miss my Mama and Daddy every day.

But I never knew the richest love until I became a mother.

"I can't wear yellow."

Thank you, Mr. T Robot for your quote and such a nice introduction to today's prompt.

3.  Yellow

Growing up, the paint on my bedroom walls varied among four colors: lavender, pink, yellow and light blue.  (So did my Easter dresses, come to think of it.)  I never particularly cared for the yellow years;  my love affair with purple goes way, way back.

My mother once said that whenever she thought of Briton, she pictured him at the back door of the house I grew up in.  He was waiting for his dad to bring something in from the car, and he was wearing a yellow button-shoulder one piece shorts thing with a train embroidered on the chest.  She said that was always the image that came to her mind.  I was in the kitchen with her, and I remember the moment vividly.  I can see him stretching up a little to open the door for Dale.  He looked good in yellow.

I've never had a lot of yellow in my wardrobe, nor a lot of yellow things.  I don't dislike it, in fact, I find it a sort of calming color.  Yellow falls around you like a soft day.  Too bad we don't see it more often.