I keep telling Cheryl that the lake is blue. She doesn’t seem to agree. I even have evidence. “Look at the map. It says right here that this is Blue Lake.” My faultless argument makes no headway against what her eyes are telling her. She knows green when she sees it. At least we can agree that the ripe huckleberries are blue. There aren’t many bushes with ripe fruit, but those that are ready are just loaded. I would tell her that her fingers and tongue are blue, but I can tell right now that she’ll just claim they’re green.