Teach Your Teenager How to Paint Their Room

It was the same room he'd been given when Ray and Stella Quinn had

brought him home. 

The walls had been a pale green then. 

Sometime during his sixteenth year he'd gotten a wild hair and painted them magenta. 

God knew why. 

He remembered that his mother--for Stella had become his

mother by then--had taken one look and warned him he'd have terminal indigestion.

He thought it was sexy. For about three months. 

Then he'd gone with a

stark white for a while, accented with moody black-framed,

black-and-white photographs.

Always looking for ambiance, Phillip thought now, amused at himself.

He'd circled back to that soft green right before he moved to Baltimore.

Inner Harbor

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When your teenager wants to update their bedroom, why not use it as an opportunity to teach them an important life skill? How to paint a room! We break down the basics so your teenager can make their own decisions, do the work and even clean up. You won’t have to lift a finger, unless you want to.

Family Handyman

boozing personality types

 He took her hand, held it as the wine was brought to the table, as the label was turned for his approval. He waited while a sample was poured into his glass, watching her in that steady, all-else-aside way she'd discovered he had. He lifted it, sipped, still looking at her.

 "It's perfect. You'll like it," he murmured to her while their glasses were being filled.

 "You're right," she told him after she sipped. "I like it very much."

 "Shall I tell you tonight's specials," their waiter began in a cheerful voice. 

While he recited, they sat, hands linked, eyes locked. 

Inner Harbor

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By Jon Sullivan - pdphoto.orghttp://pdphoto.org/PictureDetail.php?oldpg=2479, 
Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=25990

What type of drinker are YOU?

Are you a highly sociable shot clinker, or a clever pleasure-seeker who knows the value of taking your time over your favourite drink?

 DAILYMAIL

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“How ya doing, hotshot?”

“I’m good. How about you, Swede?”

In answer she tapped her third shot glass to his before they tossed back the contents together. She brought the lime wedge to her mouth. “Do you know what I love about tequila?”

“What do you love about tequila?”

“Everything.” 

After a wicked laugh, she drank the fourth with the same careless gusto as the first three. Together they slapped down the empties. 

Chasing Fire

open letter to the foster parents

Seth stuck his hands in his pockets and lifted his chin. He didn't want to be there, didn't want to talk to anybody. 
At Grace's he'd been able to just sit on her little stoop, be alone with his thoughts. 
Even when she'd come out for a little while and sat beside him with Aubrey on her knee, 
she'd let him be.
Because she understood he'd wanted to be quiet.


Sea Swept

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By Mferr020 at en.wikibooks, CC BY-SA 3.0, 
https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=9097807

What I hope is that by sharing the tips for foster parents that follow — what hurt and what helped — I can ease the delicate transition from “home” to “foster home."

Here's what I really wish I could have said to those foster parents:

SheKnows

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The smile, Phillip noted, came much more quickly and easily than it had a few months before. But there was a gap in it.
"Hey." Phillip butted a finger on the bill of the cap. "Lose something?"
"Huh?"
Phillip tapped a finger against his own straight, white teeth.
"Oh, yeah." With a typical Quinn shrug, Seth grinned, pushing his tongue into the gap. His face was fuller than it had been six months before, and his eyes less wary.



Inner Harbor

Mentions in Nora's Novels

He could smell Anna's red sauce simmering, like ambrosia on the air. "God

bless us, every one," he murmured.

"Manicotti," Seth informed him.

"Yeah? I've got a Chianti I've been saving just for this moment." He tossed his briefcase aside. "We'll hit the books after dinner."

He found his sister-in-law in the kitchen, filling pasta tubes with cheese.

Inner Harbor

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MANICOTTI RECIPE - ALLRECIPES

3 A.M.

"It's all right," he murmured.

"I—I thought you'd gone."

"I said I'd stay." He slitted his eyes open, scanned the dull red glow of the bedside alarm. 

"Three A.M. hotel time. Should have figured it."

Inner Harbor

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By Pegasus1138 - Own work, CC BY 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=771921

You Asked: Why Do I Always Wake Up at 3 A.M.?

It all results in the same thing: you just can’t get to sleep. But the underlying causes of insomnia are multiple, and it may be a mix of biological, medical and psychological issues, explains Michael Perlis, director of the Behavioral Sleep Medicine Program at the University of Pennsylvania.

YAHOO!

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At three A.M., when spirits often stir, Jude huddled in bed under a thick quilt with a pot of tea on the table and a book in her hand. The fire simmered in the grate, the mist slid across the windows. She wondered if she'd ever been happier.

And fell asleep with the light burning and her reading glasses slipping down her nose.

Jewels of The Sun

Things All Insanely Stylish People Have in Their Homes

After her nerves settled a bit, she studied the apartment.

A conversation pit in deep forest-green dominated the living area. In its center was a square coffee table.

Riding over it was a large sailboat in what she recognized as Murano glass. A pair of green iron

candlesticks held fat white candles.

At the far side of the room there was a small bar with a pair of black leather stools. Behind it was a vintage poster for Nuits-St.-Georges Burgundy, depicting an eighteenth-century French calvary officer sitting on a cask with a glass, a pipe, and a very satisfied smile.

The walls were white and splashed here and there with art. A framed print of a stylish poster for

Tattinger champagne, with a elegant woman, surely that was Grace Kelly, in a sleek black evening gown behind a slim flute of bubbling wine, hung over a round glass table with curved steel legs. There was a Joan Miro print, an elegant reproduction of Alphonse Mucha'sAutomne .

Lamps were both sparely modern and elegantly Deco. The carpet was thick and pale gray, the

uncurtained window wide and wet with rain.

She thought the room displayed masculine, eclectic, and witty taste. She was admiring a brown leather footstool in the shape of a barnyard pig when he returned with two glasses.

"I like your pig."

"He caught my eye."

Inner Harbor

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By https://www.flickr.com/photos/pbarry/ (https://www.flickr.com/photos/pbarry/4427854878) [CC BY-SA 2.0 
(http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

People with style seem to naturally ooze the It factor that makes their lives look like the stuff of Instagram dreams. You know the type: They’re impeccably dressed, the best hosts and hostesses, and masters at creating chic yet effortless homes. Curating a naturally sophisticated, style-centric space calls for a few must haves.

MY DOMAINE

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When she left him, Mikhail let his gaze sweep the room. It pleased him. This was not the formal, professionally decorated home some might have expected of her. 

She really lived here, among the soft colors and quiet comfort. 

Style was added by a scattering of Art Nouveau, in the bronzed lamp shaped like a long, slim woman, and the sinuous etched flowers on the glass doors of a curio cabinet 

displaying a collection of antique beaded bags.

He noted his sculpture stood alone in a glossy old shadow box, and was flattered.

Luring a Lady

Raise Successful Kids

"I still say the essay's a raw deal," Seth complained as he walked into the house. "That kind of stuff's crap. And I don't see why—"

"You'll do it." Cam pulled the bag out of Seth's arms. "And I don't want to hear any bitching about it. You can get started right after you clean up the mess your dog just made on the rug."

"My dog? He's not mine."

"He is now, and you better make sure he's housebroken all the way or he stays outside."

He stalked off toward the kitchen, with Phillip, who was trying desperately not to laugh, following.

Seth stood where he was, staring down at Foolish. "Dumb dog," he murmured, and when he crouched down, the puppy launched himself into Seth's arms, where he was welcomed with a fierce hug. "You're my dog now."

Sea Swept

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By Сања Малохоџиќ - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=45675159

If there's one thing many parents want more than to lead happy, successful lives, it's to make sure their kids lead happy, successful lives.

Now a former dean of Stanford University freshmen, Julie Lythocott-Haims, says many parents' hearts may be in the right place--but they're screwing things up big-time nonetheless. 

HUFFINGTON POST

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Ethan stepped back from the controls. "We've got to go into the boatyard. You want to take her in?"

Though Seth's eyes were shielded by the dark sunglasses, Ethan imagined that their expression matched

the boy's dropped jaw. It only amused him when Seth jerked a shoulder as if such things were an

everyday occurrence.

"Sure. No problem." With sweaty palms, Seth took the helm.

Ethan stood by, hands casually tucked in his back pockets, eyes alert. There was plenty of water traffic. A pretty weekend afternoon drew the recreational sailors to the Bay. But they didn't have far to go, and the kid had to learn sometime. You couldn't live in St. Chris and not know how to pilot a workboat.

Rising Tides

When Life imitates Art

The light from the lamp slanted over her face, caught something, something in her eyes that jiggled at the corners of his memory.

"Did you have a picture on the wall? Flowers, white flowers in a blue vase?"

Her fingers tightened on the brush. "Yes, in my bedroom in New York. One of my watercolors. Not a very good one."

"And you had colored bottles on a table. Lots of them, different sizes and stuff."

"Perfume bottles." Her throat was closing again, so she was forced to clear it. "I used to collect them."

"You let me sleep in your bed with you." His eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the vague blips of memory. Soft smells, soft voice, colors and shapes. "You told me some story, about a frog."

The Frog Prince. Into her mind flashed the image of how a little boy had curled against her, the bedside lamp holding back the dark for both of them, his bright-blue eyes intense on her face as she'd calmed his fears with a tale of magic and happily ever after.

"You had—when you came to visit, you had bad dreams. You were just a little boy."

"I had a puppy. You bought me a puppy."

"Not a real one, just a stuffed toy." Her vision was blurring, her throat closing, her heart breaking.

"You… you didn't have any toys with you. When I brought it home you asked me whose it was, and I told you it was yours. That's what you called it. Yours."

Inner Harbor

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(Painting: The Elder Sister - William-Adolphe Bouguereau)

I read this story and it reminded me of one of my favorite Nora's Books - Inner Harbor. 

Love lasts. Forever.

Yeny llevaba 30 años sin saber nada de Francisco, el niño que acogió

HOLA

Translated into English

UPDATED - BUSINESS INSIDE

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"I didn't think you remembered me. Or any of the time you stayed with me in New York."

"I thought I'd made it up." It was too hard to sit in the boat and look so far up. He climbed out, then sat on the dock to dangle his legs. "Sometimes I'd dream about some of it. Like the stuffed dog and stuff."

"Yours," she murmured.

"Yeah, that's pretty lame. She didn't talk about you or anything, so I thought I'd just made it up."

"Sometimes…" She took the risk and sat beside him. "Sometimes it was almost like that for me, too. I still have the dog."

"You kept it?"

"It was all I had left of you. You mattered to me."

Inner Harbor

Lingerie in Literature

Mmm…" She examined the piece herself. Silk, seed pearls at the bodice. "Probably about one-fifty."
"One hundred and fifty? Dollars?" He shook his head in disgust. "One good tug and it's a rag."

Instantly she bristled. "Our merchandise is top-quality. It will certainly hold up to normal wear."

"Honey, a little number like this isn't designed for normal." He cocked a brow. "Looks about your  size."
"You keep dreaming, Piasecki." She tossed her coat over the love seat. "The point of good lingerie is style, texture. The sheen of silk, the foam of lace. Ours is designed to make a woman feel attractive and good about herself-pampered."
"I thought the idea was to make a man beg."
"That couldn't hurt," she tossed back.

Night Smoke

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Underwear is a visually powerful tool, but how does it fare in the written word?

STYLIST

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He saw with delight that she wore those sexy thigh-hugging stockings again, this time in sheer
smoky-black. He imagined she'd considered that the black bra and panties were proper coordinates.
He thanked God for her practical mind.
"Sybill, I love what goes on under your clothes."
 

Inner Harbor

wine and the art of seduction

He picked up the bottle of wine he‟d opened. “I got white because of the chicken, but I didn‟t know what kind you liked. This is supposed to be good.”
“Supposed?”
“I don‟t know a lot about wine. I looked it up.”
She took the glass he offered, sampled, watching him all the while. “Your research paid off.”

Vision in White

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For the gentlemen: a masterclass in how to deal expertly with women and wine.

Does it matter what wine is poured when the intention is to seduce? And if so, what bottles might it be good to open? I ask these questions because I was browsing in wine merchants Lea & Sandeman last Friday when a chap, who I’ll call Mr X, walked in and asked for help.

“I have an important date tonight,” I overheard him say.
“She likes white wine. What should I buy?” 
He twinkled. “My life is in your hands.”



TELEGRAPH

 
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What she knew about wine wouldn't fill a thimble, but she
sipped because it was expected. Then her brows lifted. "This isn't anything like what they serve down at the pub."
"I wouldn't think so." He considered what they called the house white down at Shiney's one shaky step up from horse piss.

Rising Tides

adolescents in their corners

Phillip settled down in his room with his laptop and his files.
It was the same room he'd been given when Ray and Stella Quinn had brought him home. The walls had been a pale green then. Sometime during his sixteenth year he'd gotten a wild hair and painted them magenta. God knew why. He remembered that his mother—for Stella had become his mother by then—had taken one look and warned him he'd have terminal indigestion.
He thought it was sexy. For about three months. Then he'd gone with a stark white for a while, accented
with moody black-framed, black-and-white photographs.
Always looking for ambience, Phillip thought now, amused at himself. 

Inner Harbor

___________________

 


 

Stefano Giogli photographs teens from Tiber Valley in their intimate haven


Who can forget the hours of adolescence in own bedroom? Generations change, but some ways don't.

How many secrets does the bedroom of those kids, that are no longer children but not yet adults, hold ... Each room, a world.

 EL MUNDO

google translation (English)

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 They'd kept his room. It had changed over the years, different paint for the walls, a new rug for the
floor. But the bed was the same one he'd slept in, dreamed in, waked in.
The same bed he'd sneaked Foolish into when he'd been a child.
And the one he'd sneaked Alice Albert into when he'd thought he was a man.
He figured Cam knew about Foolish, and had often wondered if he'd known about Alice.

Chesapeake Blue