My obsession with white

Albie is always asking me why I'm so obsessed with white.

I love different colors on the walls, but I want all our trim around the house and our kitchen cabinets to be white. To me, it's just common sense.

White makes a small room look bigger. White reflects light from the windows, and it makes the wall colors glow.

Albie thinks I'm crazy. So I started digging into my memory a bit. Perhaps there's an explanation.

When I was a little girl in Sweden, I had a traumatic experience involving paint colors.

My grandmother's friend Arne was a hobby carpenter. He built everything from bird houses to foot stools, things with gorgeously carved-out details.

Arne once made a furniture set for his niece, consisting of a table and two small benches. They were was white, and when I was 5 years old, it was the most beautiful set of furniture I had ever seen.

That summer, I received the same set. It was pure pine, and I immediately told my mom and grandma that "I want to paint it white."

"Sure," they said.

On the last day of school (kindergarten), I walked home and found my mom and grandmother out in the garden with my furniture. They were covering it with a clear, oil-based varnish.

"What are you doing?" I screamed, as I was running towards them from my shortcut through the yard.

"We are painting it," my grandmother replied.

"But I want it white!" I said.

"Your mom thought this would look nicer," grandma replied.

"But I want it WHITE!" I said again, now sobbing. "Can we paint over it?"

"No," my mom said. "You can't put paint on top of varnish."

Every time I played with the table and benches, I cringed at the thought of my ruined furniture. I still have the pieces in my storage room. Maybe one day I will paint them white.