I’ve always had an uneasy relationship with color in my house. Maybe I was traumatized by the purple carpet and pink, yellow, and green rickrack wallpaper of my childhood bedroom where flies congregated under my coverlet. Or the hideous sponged salmon pink bedroom in our first home where I once called the police at 3 am when a burglar outside the window sneezed. Or the putrid green bedroom in our second home that contributed to the argument between my husband and me that ended with my storming out and driving to my parents’ house where I accidentally set off their burglar alarm at 3 am.

I can’t do color. It keeps me from getting a good night’s sleep. It is impossible to get right.