When I was a young girl, my family moved from Iowa to Old Saybrook, CT where my parents rented a seaside cottage while building a house in Guilford, CT. This week my father, mother-in-love (that’s what I call his wife Marge because calling her “my Dad’s wife” sounds distant), my brother, his wife and six children, along with my husband and daughter spent a week along the Connecticut shoreline. We have all been settled in California for many years. The occasion was a celebration trip of my father’s 80th and brother’s 50th birthdays. The idea was to unplug, revisit happy haunts and memories, and to enjoy each other’s company. We rented a rambling colonial seated in the woods in Old Lyme, and accomplished exactly what we set out to do. While my computer came along, I resisted to temptation to pack knitting, sewing and craft projects, and opted to commit to staying in the present and enjoying my nieces and nephew. But that didn’t mean that the creativity monitor slowed down. In fact, it probably woke up. We stopped for lunch in the small marina in Old Saybrook, and this is what was out the window. The casual happenstance of a salty green piling next to one of faded whitewash with a red top, struck me as a wonderfully creative mix in an unexpected spot.