Oh, how I love OOB on a warm summer night - my favorite Maine spot to people watch.

At times it's fashion taken to extremes - wedges so high they defy gravity, tight white sweatpants dripping with rhinestones, bags that boldly display the Playboy bunny.

You won't see these looks in Vogue or Bazaar - maybe not even on the streets of Portland. But somehow, bathed in flashing lights of carnival rides, OOB's spirited style parade seems just right.

How do you do red, white and blue?

I’m partial to dusty blues, with a nod to my Nordic ancestry. I give myself white-blouse immunity to buy any white shirt that really fits. (But I rarely find one.) And yes, there’s just something about red shoes...

But how could I fashionably don red, white and blue for the Fourth without looking just a little too, well, patriotic?

Shopwatch: Holly Stone

I’m in big trouble now... I just discovered a fabulous little shop a mere stone’s throw from the Old Port that's well worth a lunchtime trek.

Holly Stone is tucked on Pleasant Street just behind the John Ford statue on Gorham's Corner. The clothing inside is simple with a French edge – white shirts in many styles that will keep you crisp on hot summer days, long skirts with matchstick pleats that hug the hips, swing jackets, funky capris, the softest tees you’ll find around... Just right for the woman who wants a unique style and (dare we say it?) - comfort.

I can't picture Grandma, all five feet of her (almost) in anything but that early ‘60s-era navy "shirtwaist" with the tiny white polka dots.

Maybe it's because that's all she wore when we visited. I pleaded so often for her to wear my "favorite dress" that she eventually didn't even bother with anything else.

If you're dotty about dots, you no doubt understand. I still feel a little thrill when I find that special polka dot something... Like those killer stacked-heel Bettye Muller slingback peep toes - black with white dots. Had to have them. My husband, bless him, even found me a black umbrella with brightly colored polka dots on a trip to Target last week. Love it.

I knew from an early age there was no excuse for bad fashion.

Go-go boots? Had to have them. (Bless my parents, penny-pinching grad students that they were, who realized there are some things a girl's just gotta have.)

Clogs? I proudly stomped down the high school halls before anyone knew what they were. And let's not forget the Betsey Johnson elephant-bell coral cords or the neon tights that brought a stern warning from the principal. (They were too distracting.)

Thirty-five years later I'm still devouring fashion magazines, searching for a style that screams "me."