Years ago when I was young in Rockport, one of my dreams for my life was “my house of many colors,” which I imagined to be a large Queen Anne house in a village in the country. I would paint the rooms different colors and offer the house for retreats, where guests could choose a room according to the color of their mood.
At the time, in those post-college years in the late 70s, I had so little money that the House of Many Colors could only be a dream for the far-off future. I made a warm and colorful home in my one-room cottage and later in a slightly larger apartment but kept the vision of the house. It was hard to see what steps would make it possible for me to buy the house, but still I believed in the dream.
Ten years later, through an unexpected series of events that I could not have anticipated in my Rockport days, I became the owner of my large apartment in an Edwardian-era building in Jamaica Plain, Boston. Over the years I had the rooms painted the colors of flowers, pink and green and yellow and lavender pink. My House of Many Colors was a condo in the city!