This week I have creamy white hydrangeas and a vintage green tablecloth that I adore.
For some reason hydrangeas used to make me think of little old ladies and cottages and I didn't like them (the flowers, not little old ladies or cottages). And then I gradually started to appreciate them. Isn't it weird how that happens? Or maybe it's just a sign that I'm getting old.
I love how the petals look like ruffles from the top.