Who You Love

Each year end, I have dutifully cleaned out and stored away my paper files to prepare for a new year.  But now, at this age, I throw away more than I save – de-cluttering, freeing myself, letting go of baggage.  Over Christmas break, I found a note I wrote to my husband from January 1998 and our answers – papers I’m so glad I saved.  

What might you learn about your partner if you were to ask this?

“Hi –

With no explanation, I’d like to play a sort of game with you.  At first, I thought we could do it face to face so you could give your quick answers – you know, a word association type of thing.  As I came up with the questions, I decided it would be better for each of us to answer on paper, giving this some thought, separately.  Then we can talk about our answers together afterward…maybe over a nice dinner and definitely alone!  It’s a way of getting to know one another….again.” 

Our sons were 7 and 3 at that time, a time I likely felt getting re-acquainted was needed.  Perhaps now that they’re 22 and 18, it’s time for us again for 2014…

1. What’s your favorite sound?
2. What sound do you hate?
3. If you could be anything, what would you be?
4. If you could spend an evening with anyone (famous, historical, deceased), who would it be and why?
5. What is your favorite smell?
6. What smell do you loathe?
7. If you could give your children one thing, what would it be?
8. What do you like to do most?
9. What do you hate to do?
10. What is your pet peeve?
11. If you could solve one of the world’s problems, what would you tackle?
12. What is “God” to you?
13. What relaxes you?
14. What’s your all time favorite movie?
15. Book?
16. What is your guiding force or principle?
17. If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
18. What is a good marriage to you?
19. What is your largest worry?
20. What is your greatest fear?
21. What past experience brought you the most joy?
22. What was your dream when you were sixteen?
23. What is your dream now?
24. What is your favorite color?
25. Your least favorite?
26. What traits would your ideal partner possess?
27. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
28. What do you like most about yourself?
29. What do you think is the most admirable quality a person could possess?
30. What is the characteristic you despise most in others?
31. What is missing in your life?
32. What are you thankful for?

Here’s to loving the ones we love, to resolutions, to starting anew each January 1.

Photo:  Spring Point Light and Little Diamond Island by Frank Kalicky

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I have the privilege of being a volunteer at The Telling Room, a writing center for children ages 6-18.  The people involved with this organization are special – every single one.  I am inspired to be in their presence whether I’m teaching a 4^th grade visiting class, walking the streets of Portland with a summer camp group, or giving my corporate HR insights to the Board for the organization itself.

On Friday, 9:00 a.m., 10 degrees in Portland, I walked down Commercial Street to my committee meeting for Glitterati, The Telling Room’s annual auction/fund raising event coming up in March.  I had to leave the sidewalk for the street due to the staging three men had built on it.  Their mission – to put up more of the gorgeous half circle blue, green and white light artwork that sparkle on all the buildings along our brick façade waterfront.  Two men were on the sidewalk, looking upward and monitoring the ropes dangling down from the staging. 

I blew on my gloved hands as I passed; they were freezing cold.

All of a sudden, the third man, high up on the staging at the top of the building belted out in song:

It’s the most wonderful time of the year……

Laughing playfully down at his compadres on the sidewalk, he sang loud and proud.  I laughed out loud.  Early morning, freezing cold, men making our city look beautiful, being funny & playful.  

What a nice Friday morning…..

Photos:  Commercial Street, Portland, Maine

Standard Baking Company

All five senses came alive the moment I entered the tiny, warm bakery on a rainy day-before-Thanksgiving. I was truly like a kid in a candy store. For me, fresh rustic bread is more alluring than candy any day!

I come to Standard bakery at least once a week.  Loving all things French, I bought into the bread is the stuff of life mantra and began buying bakery bread many years ago.  When first married, I actually told Frank I thought I’d bake all our bread….he was laughing at me before I even finished the sentence!  I’ve been on many diets, but will never buy into the no-carb one.  Have you not read French Women Don’t Get Fat?

Standard Baking Company makes divine bread.  Both of my sons have become bread connoisseurs and would no more eat Wonder Bread than tripe.  From when Ben was 8 or 9, if I asked if he wanted toast with his breakfast, he would say, “Is it good toast?” meaning the real thing baked yesterday or this morning, not months ago with preservatives, packaged in plastic, and cut in sickly thin slices. 

Baguettes, large and small, Pain au Levain, croissants, brioche, focaccia, rustica – Standard has so much to choose from, their wooden shelves and thick brown baskets chock full.  The bread is not packaged, it stands free in the open air so purveyors can see so clearly what they’ll buy. 

The atmosphere inside the bakery is as enticing as the bread.  It’s the tiniest store in the cellar of Fore Street restaurant, its door off Commercial Street at the back of a busy parking lot.  The door opens onto their patio with tiny tables, a trellis overhead, and pots of flowers in summer.  The wooden floors inside are ancient and creak; the ceiling is low and beamed.  You can watch the bakers in the back rolling out dough.  It’s cozy and quaint. 

I’m all about aesthetics and my surroundings have the ability to transport me to my happy place.  I go to Standard bakery for the bread, but also for the pleasure of being in their space. 

On the day before Thanksgiving, their stock was twice as much as usual and wet customers wormed their way in a line around the tiny space, laughing with each other as they prepared for family and the next day’s feast.  The atmosphere was as warm as their pastry -- jovial, communal.  The lighting was dim.  I felt transported to another time….maybe to the French countryside. 

We came for soft yeast and anadama dinner rolls, but left with a pear frangipane tart and six croissants as well.  When turkey becomes unappealing, I’ll melt black forest ham and swiss with a maple champagne mustard on them for our lunches.

“You know,” I said to Frank as we exited, hoods on in the pouring rain, “even if we don’t need bread, we should always come here the day before Thanksgiving just for the pleasure that just was!!!”  Big smiles on both of us…

https://www.facebook.com/standardbakingco?rf=108131349229016

Top photo taken from Facebook page of Standard Baking Company

Oh, What a Beautiful Morning!

October 20.  9:22 a.m.  52 degrees in Maine….and I have already brought out the cushions for the deck set from their storage spot in the garage and am sipping coffee overlooking our glorious back yard, so grateful I’ve come outside.

The morning sun forces me to squeeze my eyes shut when the sun umbrella floats upward in the wind and the morning sun hits my face – it is so bright.  

Blinding. 

It must have rained earlier this morning; everything is wet and glistening in the sun.  The breeze rustles the colored leaves that remain on trees, hanging on for maybe only a matter of a few days more….but I’ve captured right here, right now.  I didn’t let this fantastic scene slip away unnoticed. 

“Leaves don’t drop, they just let go….”  the line from Carrie Newcomber’s song plays in my mind….no forcing, no pushing, no doing anything.  Just letting go. 

Maine in fall is breath taking.  Yesterday, we walked Evergreen Cemetery on Stevens Avenue, one of my favorite places…in the world.  Truly.  The ancient, giant trees in there are awe-inspiring.  The dirt roads curve and meander through the quiet; the chapel is locked tightly; the colors and smell of fall inspiring.

 

My backyard this morning smells fresh.  The early morning light sparkles.  I feel the heat of the sun’s rays on my bare legs and cheeks.  The autumn colors are vivid green grass, deep earthy brown in the garden where my husband pulls weeds for season’s end, leaves of gold, auburn, geranium red, yellow.  Birds flit and chase one another to and from my husband’s feeders.

Art, Julia Cameron says, is born out of paying attention.  Being present and a part of nature causes me to sigh, feel genuinely grateful, and calm.

A million things to do – iron, begin making my sauce for dinner, run, make the bed… blah blah is all I hear.  

Nothing to do is ok….and oftentimes, even better.  

Photo:  a home en route to Fort Williams Park, Cape Elizabeth

Gone to Carolina in my Mind

When I set out to write Away at a Camp in Maine, my goal was to write a book that made me (and thereby my reader) feel like a James Taylor song.

I wanted to capture the feeling – the quiet, the calm, the beauty, the nature, the essence, the real-ness, the sweet.  

When I hear the first string of his guitar in any James Taylor song, I feel the rhythm of my heart slow down just a beat.  I smile.  I am instantly transported to another time, a time in the 1970’s when I was a teenager full of so much hope and promise – when all the world was good, when anything was possible. 

It’s my “Carolina.”  It transports me to my happy place.    

As a writer, words are my elixir.  They pirouette around my mind, dropping like falling leaves, gently floating around in my head, twisting, bending.  When they’re best, they’re quiet, calm, beautiful, natural…… 

"Can't you see the sunshine

Can't you just feel the moonshine"

Words are what create the pictures for me.  

Words calm me and allow me to make sense, or at least accept, what I see around me -- people, others’ conversations, the world.  They uplift me as I walk alone and choose just the right word for what I’m seeing, smelling, hearing.

Some people likely see pictures, in Technicolor.  Or they revel in music.  But me, I can close my eyes and it’s the words in my mind that create the pictures that can bring me to my “Carolina,” that can transport me to anywhere in the universe.  

I have a rich world between my ears and whenever I wish, I just pull inward and transport.   

“Carolina In My Mind,” James Taylor:  Greatest Hits.  Warner Bros Records, Inc. © 1976 

Parenting

Parenting younger children was easier to me than parenting young adults and then partnering with adult children.  

My husband’s and my principals and values in raising toddlers were in sync with each other.  We both saw the importance of structure and routine, being that type naturally ourselves.  We walked the walk of a healthy lifestyle with daily outdoor play/exercise, healthy meals and snacks (albeit with sweets daily!), a bedtime routine, and the same time to bed each night.  

He and I, and thereby our children, rose early and retired early after a full day.  We live in moderation – we don’t spend too much, eat too much, talk too much, play too much, or work too much.   We were cautious and (overly?) attentive parents.  We set the tone for our household based on who we were and expected a mutual respect, civility, kindness, and calm. 

We are free thinkers and allowed our children always to talk and debate their ideas.  Our children have labeled us “authoritative” parents, something they learned in high school psychology class which means we:

• listen to our children
• encourage independence
• place limits, consequences and expectations on our children’s behavior
• express warmth and nurturance
• allow children to express opinions

As introverts, we all understood the need for time alone so there was always that space as they grew up.  That space fostered their discovery of their creative selves.  Creativity is as human as breathing in my opinion.  It’s just that some open the space to see and feel it, and others keep themselves too caught up in busyness to let it shine through them. 

Neither child was a follower….just like their parents.  I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.

But then they became teenagers and the expectations, vocally shared by high schools and adult friends, increased.  We felt the strain of pushing our kids into the right sports and activities, to get into good colleges, into the right courses and the right levels.  There are lots of opinions from other parents circulating – he needs this sort of school or this sort of major to be successful and find a job; he needs a city; he needs a small college; he needs a large college; the state university for financial reasons; a private college for the potential of getting more money in aid; an ivy league school. 

I got the impression that we parents were wrong if we let the students pick the majors and colleges that jazzed them, if we let them chase dreams (the one time in their lives when maybe they can), and for letting them fall in love and follow girlfriends.  We’re wrong if we let them choose based on their art.  We’re wrong if we let them transfer home if they hate college.  We’re wrong to let them think and decide for themselves.

And somehow, that wrongness just doesn’t work for me.  The majority tells me this…so can the majority be wrong?  My gut tells me to stay the course.  Each of us comes to the parenting table with so many different experiences that create our mindset – how we were raised, what we felt worked, what we felt didn’t, what we want to replicate, and what we want to avoid at all costs.

We’ve raised our children according to our principals and beliefs.  Should we succumb to peer pressure now the way we’ve told them not to?  Are we no longer walking our own walk?

There’s no one right answer.  This is why I say it gets more difficult when the stakes are higher and the kids are older.  

Keeping children from playing in the street is pretty clear cut.  Forcing the lifeblood out of a young soul just beginning his foray into adulthood isn’t as clear.  Am I hurting him for not pushing him into a business degree which will allow him (possibly) to find a job, albeit one he’ll hate? 

I guess all we can do is continue to follow our own instincts, what we believe in, and how deeply we understand our children now that they’re adults.  

I wish I could offer advice…but the truth is, no one knows.

Falling Waters

In February, with his birthday money still saved from December, my husband began searching the internet for a weekend getaway spot for our anniversary in May.  (I am SO fortunate that that is what he chooses to do with his own gifts or football winnings.) 

Bar Harbor, one of our favorite places, seemed a good choice.  We talk about possibly retiring to Bar Harbor – him a park ranger at Acadia, me, the owner of an adorable café/bookshop where “the author is on the premises.”  Sherman’s could use a little facelift like adding window boxes bursting with colorful flowers and deep green ivy, best sellers and Maine-authored books in their extensive sidewalk window space, earth tone colors, upscale furniture, and a whimsical sign maybe. 

The winters Downeast are long…..Bar Harbor or Seal Harbor are rather far away…..not sure if those dreams will ever be realized, but going for weekends and “dreaming” is half the fun.  Ahead of our weekend, I bought Frank “Mr. Rockefeller’s Roads” from Downeast Books to teach us and make us appreciate the Acadia carriage roads even more. 

The upcoming ten-odd days heading into Memorial Day weekend rained.  My planters on the deck risked being washed out and I hated to think I threw $150 to purchase those flowers down the drain, so to speak.  Frank is a routine kind of guy and checking each day the 14-day forecast heading into our weekend really weighed him down.  

“No worries,” I smiled.  “We’ll be fine.  We cannot control the weather.  Let’s let it go.”

And you know what, Plan B is sometimes a welcome and enlightening avenue.  If it was sunny, we’d have sat beside the pool at Harborside Resort all Saturday afternoon.  

Instead, with map in hand, we drove around the entire island (in the pouring rain).  We’ve never done that on our travels there and we saw so much!  “The Bubbles” makes me laugh every time I say it.  How can anyone not want to go to Bubble Pond?  Seal Harbor and Northeast Harbor are definitely our favorites.  The views – breathtaking, quintessential Maine. 

Instead of biking the carriage trails on Saturday, we got a couples massage in the spa, something Frank has never done….and he was actually nervous!  What fun.  We laughed, sipped ice water with cucumber (which made Frank make a face), and ran through puddles in our flip flops across the courtyard back to our hotel, with wood fireplace blazing…..at the kick off weekend of summer, not dead of winter, end of May.  That's Maine!

We snuggled close walking under a shared umbrella along the shore path in front of the Bar Harbor Hotel.  At 51, we wore sensible shoes and 3 layers of jackets – which happens to make all the difference.  The weather isn’t bad when you dress for it. 

We sat in our hot tub on the deck, looking at Bar Island…and sometimes the fog.  We had an afternoon cocktail from the picnic basket I packed ahead, ate delicious food at local restaurants, and relaxed.  It was a welcome break in our routine.  

Frank and I, for being together so very long, are completely in sync with our travel – we like the same type of restaurants and food; the same sorts of hotels; and trips that comprise nature and exercise first and foremost.  There’s quiet and conversation, rest and exercise, and lots of photos. 

An anniversary in the rain and forty-eight degrees….nearly in June….in beautiful Maine on the coast – you know what…..it doesn’t get better.  

A New Day Has Come

We fly my younger son from Maine to Georgia this morning to begin his freshman year of college.  With mixed emotions, one of my longtime favorite songs, one that deeply resonates with my life with sons, plays in my mind……

I was waiting for so long

For a miracle to come

Everyone told me to be strong

Home, home and don’t shed a tear

Through the darkness and good times

I knew I’d make it through

And the world thought I had it all

But I… was… waiting… for you

Hush now, I see a light in the sky

Oh, it’s almost blinding me

I can’t believe I’ve been touched by an angel with love

Let the rain come down and wash away my tears

Let it fill my soul and drown my fears

Let it shatter the walls for a new sun

A new day has …..come

Where it was dark, now there’s light

Where there was pain, now there’s joy

Where there was weakness, I’ve found my strength

All… in… the eyes of a boy

Hush now, I see a light in the sky

Oh, it’s almost blinding me

I can’t believe I’ve been touched by an angel with love

Let the rain come down 
and wash away my tears

Let it fill my soul and drown my fears

Let it shatter the walls for a new sun

A new day has …..come

Photos:  2007 "life is good" age 13

2012, the most common view I've had for a few years - sideview, focused, at his Mac drawing

Céline Dion singing New Day Has Come. (C) 2002 Sony Music Entertainment (Canada) Inc. 

The song was written by Aldo Nova and Stephan Moccio and produced by Walter Afanasieff and Nova.

Blue Moon

Facebook exploded with words and photos of our gorgeous blue moon earlier in August.  Full moons elicit magic and awe in all of us.  They inspire us and cause us to pause for a moment in busy lives to notice and consider nature

But what if you’re two?  Wow.  Even more magical. 

My girlfriend’s daughter, Miss Emma, is two.  They were laying on my girlfriend’s bed watching one of Miss Emma’s shows when all of a sudden, she said:  “What_is_THAT?” as she looked out the window.  Blue moon.

My friend hadn’t realized she’d never seen the moon – always in bed, not out and about that late at night.  Miss Emma was mesmerized and my friend tried to explain what the moon was – not that easy to do to a two-year-old and then again, everything is magical (and big) to a two-year old so maybe it’s just like everything else new in her young life.

Miss Emma took the pillow and put it on my friend’s lap, put her arms behind her head like she’d seen her Dad do on the couch, and lay looking straight out the window, just watching the moon.  

She asked my friend to turn off the TV….so she could see the moon better.

Little Kids at the Beach

Running.

Jumping.

Skipping.

Twirling on tippy toes.

Ponytails.  Gilligan hats.  Ruffles on bathing suits.

Plastic watering cans.

Pails in primary colors – bright red, yellow, royal blue.

Rocks, seaweed.

Pail shaped sand castles.

Mud dripped sand castles.

Sandcastles with moats.

And watching enthusiastically to see if the tide will rise all the way along the canal that will fill the moat.

Shimmering blond hair blowing in the sea breeze.

Frisbies, bocci, 4-square, football toss, tennis balls and mitts.

Jumping waves, shivering shoulders, sandy wet towels balled up on the sand.

Bologna sandwiches on white bread with orange Kraft singles and the red Coleman jug filled with Kool-Aid to share have been replaced with individual juice boxes, yogurts, cheese stix individually wrapped in plastic sleeves.

They’ll feel the pull of the waves when they lie down to sleep tonight – back and forth in the tide as though they are still at the shore.  And then sleep will come deeply after a day of fresh air.

I’d be freckled with a peeling nose and bleached bangs.  Our little kids are more carefully sunscreened, although still free and alive at the beach…and loving it just like we…still do. 

Photos:  Scarborough Beach, Maine

Blueberries and Rain Ponchos

My niece is the nanny for Harlan and Elias – two adorable, sweet boys.  She’s been their nanny since they were babies…and she’s a good one.

To keep them busy…in the rain… she brought them to my husband’s garden to pick berries – blueberries and raspberries.  Sometimes nannies and moms have to create from what’s available, improvising and using imagination. 

Farmer Frank’s farm is a small patch in the city, and despite the summer rain, she found oversized “Disney” rain ponchos for the boys that she and her husband had used on their vacation, put up their hoods, and brought them over.

 

A couple memorable quotes while picking:

"Wow, look at that white cucumber!" Elias, checking out the summer squash.

And, "Farmer Frank makes the best raspberries I have ever had! He needs to tell Daddy how to grow a farm."

20 Seconds of Insane Courage

“Sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage

and I promise you something great will come of it.”

I didn’t see Matt Damon’s movie, I Bought a Zoo, but I saw the tagline above and latched onto it.  I think there is truth to it.

As I’ve aged, I have more fear than I did when I was young.  I have less self-confidence.  On the one hand, you’d think you’d have less fear and more self-confidence as more went right over time than wrong, but it doesn’t seem to work that way.  Perhaps we dwell on what went wrong over time or didn’t work out as we hoped or planned, so it begins to take us down a few notches, making us more fearful and less confident.

I love listening to people looking backward at the turning points in their lives and decisions made that changed the entire direction of where they were heading…. into the direction they seem so suited for.  Sometimes, it seems like one inspired thought or chance encounter, or 20 seconds of insane courage, is the pivotal point of change that guides someone in the “right” direction.  Twenty seconds of insane courage probably present to each of us many times over our lifetimes.  Do we typically step forward into the fear or stand rooted?

My husband, quite profoundly, believes music wasn’t Bono’s “path.”  He thinks the music just brought him to his real purpose – his activism.  U2’s music created the platform and the notoriety that allowed him to make deep and meaningful changes in our world.  What if he never lived in the twenty seconds of insane courage and never made the attempt to perform and play his music?  What if he went to work for the post office because it was a good, stable job at that time and a more realistic thing to do? 

In Steve Jobs’ biography, it describes the third partner who started Apple with him and Steve Wozniak.  Panicked, the third partner backed out early on and was given $2,300 for his participation.  If he had stayed, his ownership percentage would have been worth $2.6 billion in 2010!  He let his fear drive him and backed out on the risky venture.  The cost of decisions made isn’t always as clear as this. 

When I stand at the precipice, I am hopeful I will dig deep inside myself and live in that twenty seconds of insane courage.  Being conscious of it might give me the strength I need to live it, stand in that space, and jump off. 

Photo:  helicopter view of the Grand Canyon

Buddy the Elf

I have a colleague who, when she sees it’s me calling her, answers with a different phrase every time:  “Pat’s Pizza!” “Welcome to WalMart!” “Uncle Leo?”

Every time, I laugh.  It’s like our secret joke.

Unrelated, after 6 hours sitting in car dealerships one Saturday and getting a little punchy, as phones were ringing in the showroom around us, my son said, “Buddy the Elf!  What’s your favorite color???”  -- a line by Will Farrell in Elf when he was answering his Dad’s phone in his posh New York City office. 

I burst out laughing.  Remember, I was punchy after 6 hours there.  And then I knew what I had to do.

That Monday my colleague didn’t come into the office; her baby was sick.

Eagerly, I waited until Tuesday.  I had laughed ahead of my new joke all weekend by myself!  I emailed her, “Would you please ring me,” the way my boss emails me….but never for a joke.

She did and I laid it on her, “Buddy the Elf! What’s your favorite color??”

She too burst out laughing.  She’s the funny one, not me.  I caught her completely off guard and that’s when a joke is best, plus….her baby had been sick the prior day, the man she works with had slammed her the moment she had arrived that morning at 7:30 a.m. and she was not feeling very happy.  

And I changed her day!  

We laughed a full 10 minutes, moving on to other scenarios….like her buying me a velvet elf hat on Amazon and my suggesting the entire elf-girl-Herbie’s-girlfriend-in-Rudolph look with the triangle shaped velvet skirt to go with the hat and the soft shoes that curled up at the toes.  

Funny.  Silly.  Sometimes it’s the trivial that can turn an entire day around.

Clotheslines

I’m certain I’m reincarnated from 1910 England…or at least an earlier era.  There are certain odd things I feel a sense of profound connection to, an attraction that seems to go deeper than simply liking something.  And as I say, these things I’m attached to are odd.

Clothelines are an example.

The clotheslines I’m attracted to must be old-fashioned – the wooden “T” shape frame on both ends with rope strung across in a rectangle shape.  (The modern 1950’s circle affair made of aluminum has absolutely no draw for me.)

One of my favorite sights is white sheets blowing in the wind on the clothesline….and one of my favorite smells is those same sheets when taken inside from the line.  The sound of the sheets  whipping in the wind on the line makes me happy and comforted.  It’s the sight, the sound, the smell – that’s when you know you’ve deeply connected.  

And they can’t be patterned sheets on the line but white sheets – crisp, clean, fresh. 

I imagine the cotton bag holding the clothespins – wooden, of course, and preferably not the clip kind but the old fashioned slim line ones that look like a little man called clothespegs – round head with no features, 2 legs, simple Shaker-like design.  Designed and created according to what works best.  

The laundry basket must be old and wicker, never a Rubbermaid bucket which may be practical but can’t cut it for my vision. 

There is a certain feeling of productivity and industry in seeing laundry drying outdoors.  Someone has washed it for the family and taken the time to hang it on the line.  She will then take it down, fold it, iron it for her family to wear again. 

In college, there was a short story I read as an English major that has haunted me my entire life.  I don’t know why it lingers with me.  It was about a woman ironing.  She recounted her life and throughout the story said.... “as I stood ironing.”  It was the act of standing there, quietly ironing, that made her think, remember and reflect on her life.  

Household chores can put us in a meditative state – sweeping a floor, chopping vegetables, washing dishes by hand…and hanging clothes outside on a line in the sunshine, fresh air, and gentle summer breeze.  

There is something to be said for simple physical tasks, done in silence, as a sort of meditation to calm us…getting us away from cell phones, computers, and the noise of our lives.

Photos selected from pinterest.com/lschrenk/clotheslines-old-fashioned

I was introduced to 3 beautiful new websites....

#1 "miss the simple life" mybluecanoe.tumblr.com

#2 "linen on the line - perfect" from laylagrayce.com 

#3 "clothespegs" lestroischouettes.tumblr.com