memories as infants might not be lost

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."

Inner Harbor

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By © Nevit Dilmen, CC BY-SA 3.0, 

https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=28857001

Memory traces from our earliest years might stay in our brains.

Most people don't remember anything before the age of 3, but a new study out of New York University suggests that memories formed in our early years might still be latent in our brains. With the right triggers, those memories might get unlocked, reports New Scientist.

Mother Nature Network

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

Little kids think birthday parties actually make you get older

"We're having a party," Aubrey told her and put both her hands on Sybill's cheeks 

to ensure her full attention. 

"I'll have a party next time when I'm three. You can come."

Inner Harbor

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By Patrick Subotkiewiez from BAZIEGE, FRANCE - 

https://www.flickr.com/photos/28781447@N04/8355725866/, CC BY 2.0,

 https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=29241457

Adorable munchkins fundamentally misunderstand how times passes.

This kid could stay a baby forever if she would just stop having parties!

MSN

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

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

dog-owning families may be healthier

He was talking with Ethan now, making wide, exaggerated gestures with his free hand 

while his dog took quick, playful leaps at his fingers.

...

 He took a huge bite of his sandwich, then talked through it. "We're boatbuilders."

His hands were far from clean, she noted, and his face wasn't much better. She imagined such niceties as
washing up before meals went by the wayside in a household of males. 

...
He wiped his mouth with a swipe from the back of his hand. The hand Foolish had enthusiastically
licked, before and after, Sybill noted with an inward wince.

Inner Harbor

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Dogs are no longer just man's best friend: The furry family members may also protect infants against breathing problems and infections, a new study suggests.

Researchers found that Finnish babies who lived with a dog or - to a lesser extent - a cat spent fewer weeks with ear infections, coughs or running noses. They were also less likely to need antibiotics than infants in pet-free homes.

REUTERS via YAHOO!

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