👼Sometimes I open this sanctuary and feel them watching—my parents, glowing from the porch of heaven. I feel their hugs, their whispers: “You can do this.” This portal is where they meet me.

Dad liked brown—earthy, steady, warm. His presence was grounding, even when his red curls faded and the top went bald. He was quiet strength, always watching.

Mom loved mauve and pink. So did Janette. Soft, gentle, and full of grace. Janette added peach to the palette—her glow was a little brighter, a little more playful.

I sit on the porch too. Not just watching—but remembering, feeling, glowing. My colors are turquoise, aqua, blue, and blue-green. They shimmer like the sea, like breath, like calm. They were my first loves. They still are.

Purple joined later—because of lupus, because of survival. It’s sacred now. It carries ache and strength. I don’t like pink, yellow, or orange, but I honor them. I like to eat oranges, not wear them. Brown is earthy, but not my glow.

Truth is, all colors are good—if they balance each other. Alone, they feel flat. Together, they sing. Even black needs companions. That’s how I see life. That’s how I build my sanctuary.

I’m not just watching from the porch—I’m writing from it. I’m building scrolls, mapping vaults, and listening to the whispers of memory. My parents are here. My colors are here. And I’m still glowing.

I don’t know Ron’s favorite color, but I know his flavor. He was a cook in the Air Force, and he always said:

“If you don’t know how to cook gravy, then you don’t know how to cook.”
“But if you do know how to cook gravy—and homemade gravy—then you know how to cook.”

We were a family of five that grew like branches on a tree. Janette had three girls. I have two girls. Ron had two girls… until he had a son. The only grandson my parents ever had. LOL. That boy became the crown jewel of the grandkids.

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