Vintage Maps, Spelling Cards, Keys and a Target

Ever since building the sawhorse desk, and making a little creative space to work from, I've been gathering prints of maps to eventually hang a gallery wall right above the desk. 

So far, the prints I've been collecting up are mostly of maps. Maps of places we've lived, places that are our roots, and places that are our favorite to travel. I just love the idea of having a gallery wall that isn't just pretty prints inspiring me, but also a collection of places that have meaning in our lives.

When I ventured off to the Brooklyn Flea a few weeks ago, there was this vendor selling old maps salvaged from vintage school materials. She had this amazing selection of really old curriculum materials, like spelling cards and alphabet posters, too. I asked here how she got all of her prints, and she said that when schools are getting rid of old curriculum (we're taking materials from the 1950s and older), they call her. How neat, right?! I could only take with me what I could carry back on the subway, and I had no cash on me at the time, so I had to spend $20 in order to use my card. Lucky me, I bought $20 worth of vintage prints (seriously, a steal!?). The Poland map ties in my ancestry, and the South America print reflects my love seemed fitting since I studied Spanish all through college, and for a bit of nostalgia for our Peru and Argentina trip two years ago. You guys, it was so hard to only pick a few from her collection. I wanted so many prints!!!

I helped myself to her spelling cards too, and have plans to frame these "his" and "her" vintage word cards. Wouldn't it be neat to hang them on either side of our bed right above our nightstands?

The favorite find though, by far, was this old Winchester target. Its a clever nod towards vintage typography and design, yet a play on a very popular hobby in my household. I just love it. Matt was happy about this one, and I can't wait to hang it in his office or man cave one day, along with some photographs from our day out shooting clays and playing with the horses in Kansas.

Of course, to signify our whirlwind trip to NY, I bought this print by Rifle Paper Co. at the Chelsea Market. 

And the non paper find on my trip to the flea, these keys. I plan to hang them up too, but right now their functioning as a wonderful paperweight. I like to imagine what large doors they opened at one point in time, and what was hidden behind them. Oh my goodness, I just love finding treasures, don't you?!

Projects seen in desk view photograph:

Wire Chairs

Sawhorse Desk

Denver Map

La Catrina Framed Art

Printsagram Prints

The Most Comfortable Shirt Ever

I've found it. I've found the most comfortable shirt to ever grace my sensitive skin. Some might put me in the category of tag-cutter-outer and sock-seam-loather. As a child, I refused to wear jeans until junior high and I cut those seams at the toe out of my socks (oh the holes). Although now, I've learned that there are such a thing as comfortable jeans, and my feet have adjusted to socks, I'm still just as sensitive to clothing. I've always been picky when it comes to how clothes feel on my body, so when I bought this swing tunic at the Anthropologie in the Chelsea neighborhood last week, flattering and pajama-comfort collided--and I did no want to wear anything else. At all. So I didn't. Besides, we got stuck in the city for a day longer do to the snow storm, my packed clothing was already way deep in my suitcase, and I didn't want to unpack (and that totally justifies it ;)). Convenience and comfort won, obviously.

We've only been home since Thursday morning, and I've already found myself in the tunic at work and while running errands. And you know I'm being extremely vulnerable in writing this, confessing to have worn it so much, as you might think I'm a crazy lady (yeah, you counted right, five times). But hey, I just can't get enough. Shouldn't life be like that? Worn in and loved like you can't get enough? If anything, this shirt has been somewhat of a metaphor for life.

The shirt is by Puella, who makes really simple and flattering dresses, too, by the way. You can shop their other super cute and comfortable clothing here (I have my eye on that maxi dress):

A Grey Morning at Coney Island

With so many adventures had in New York this past week, I'll be doing a mini series to capture and document my favorite parts of our trip. It seems wrong to just clump everything together in one photo-logue (besides, that would be the longest post everrrr) as each day was filled to the brim with so many wonderful moments. The posts will be interspersed, but my hope is to share all the nooks and crannies we enjoyed oh-so-much, and I hope you enjoy looking back on a few of my favorite stops along our journey in the big city as well!

Coney Island has always had this air of mysterious nostalgia when I've pictured it, like the way you feel after watching Tom Hanks in Big, or the oddity of circus side shows, and the lingering history of the people who trapes in and out on this old boardwalk, with its 100 year old ferris wheel. As if Coney Island wasn't a bit eery enough on winter's day, with its closed up doors, starkly still rides, grey atlantic coast, desolate boardwalk, and whispers of gulls off in the distance--on a day where snow goes from hail then to rain, leaving a damp wooden planks as the perfect reflector of the bright paint, vintage signs, and light posts, it becomes even more mysterious, just begging you to peek around corners, peer closely through fences, and imagine what stories lie beneath it all. 

I like to imagine what it was like, to visit this place, when it first became. Beach goers not to be seen in a swimsuit, as that was so taboo. Side shows with the hairiest lady, or the man who swallows fire, or the bend-able acrobat dare-deviling his way across tight ropes and through suspended hoops--"enter if you dare, for a penny, to see it all" they'd say. Ice-cream cones with simple flavors, street music with accordions, and hot dogs of course. And how people came from all over just to ride to the very top of the wheel, and oh the view, how simply breath-taking it was to a Coney Island goer in 1920. 

One week ago today, we woke up and hopped on the subway straight to Coney Island. The few hours of exploring ended with a cup of coffee and a late breakfast hotdog at the World Famous Nathan's. It was the best way to spend that beautifully grey Saturday morning in New York. Firsts for me, on this adventure: The trip to Coney, hotdogs before 11 a.m., and the beach at 20 degrees.

To Being Adventurers

I feel like an adventurer. Maybe being in New York for a week changed my inner clockwork and made me dance to a rhythm with each new day. A transformed ticking where I hear, see, and smell, brighter, deeper and richer. And this week in New York has felt like months. Months of adventure and seeking out new and exciting, simple yet delightful, wide awake and exhausted, contrasting details that make life so alive--with a sleep hard way of being, a taste every bite way of eating, and a walk-like-your-life-and-catching-the-subway-depends-on-it type of travel. The days feel like a collection of a million moments. Like a net being held up, chasing the wind and filling up with monarchs as they head south. If my life where to sit in an old photo booth, and flash!, moments had and chances missed would fill the rectangles staring back with the question of "what do you see?", would I like it, would I like what I see? Would I feel like my life, a mere twenty eight years of living, was really like centuries or a full net of moments deliberately caught and saved? Would the photo strip in my hands reflect purposeful living, adventuring through the simple, and taking delight in the often unnoticed? I hope so. I want that for myself. Because really, these moments, this life, these things we consume ourselves with--they could be gone at any time. Like me, leaving New York, we could be on a plane at any moment and how we would hate to say "I wish I had done more, seen more, paid more attention--lived better." So here is to being an adventurer. An adventurer of the simple and quiet to an explorer of the big and unknown.

Something To Write Home About: The Brooklyn Flea

Ever since I started reading Jenny's blog, Little Green Notebook, years ago, I've been slightly enamored by her trips to flea markets, antique shops, and other vintage vendors while she lived in New York- mainly while in Brooklyn. I've always told myself that one day, one day, if I found myself in Brooklyn, I would go to the flea. That I just had too. Coney Island and the Brooklyn Flea. Priorities. And finally, that day came--today! 

I am definitely starting a bit backwards, in more mays than one, with documenting this trip. First, today is day three and half, and my trip to the Brooklyn Flea comes after a long list of other really incredible things we've done while here. Second, I have been taking photographs this entire time with my cannon, but opted out of carrying the precious cargo to Brooklyn this morning because I wasn't really sure where I would end up or what I would end up doing. Thankfully, I did end up where I planned, and saw way more than I could have imagined. And I tried on lots of vintage clothing out in the open, which was way easier without straps and things hanging from me like a coat rack. Nevertheless, the flea was amazing, so much so, that I am sharing this intentionally first before any other NYC documenting, because I just loved it that much.

Before I even get to the flea, I have to tell you about these antique shops that have been popping up and pulling me in like a refrigerator magnet. They are full of beautifully salvaged items. A beautiful rust and reeling paint sort of beautiful. If you don't like shopping second hand, these shops might just convince you otherwise. The little shops in Williamsburg off the Bedford subway stop are too cute, they make you want to find your grandma and say, "Look, look, all of these things make me think of you, and your house, and that smell in your closet!." I didn't buy anything in these shops, because I wanted to keep my hands and option open for what was to come at the flea market. But one thing is for sure, if I I lived near these stores, I would be lost in here for hours, and my apartment would be full of vintage dishes, old clocks, and repurposed window panes. And a closet that may or may not smell like my grandmas.

Onto the flea: In the winter time, the flea is indoors in this big ware-house like building. Its right town the street from the antique shop above, and along the way there are tons of little restaurants and stores. And it was such a quick subway trip to get to from mid-town. It seems like a super fun part of Brooklyn. But you know, I was on a mission to get to the flea--so other than my one little detour, the flea is where I spent most of my afternoon.

I was as happy as could be by just being at the flea and then I came across this clothing vendor who not only had amazingly priced vintage pieces, but she herself was sincerely down to earth and so lovely to talk to. And then I found this shift coat on one of her racks. She told me I was the first girl to actually fit the shoulder width of the coat. Which is usually where I run a bit snug. I had been looking for an ivory or tan coat for years and to stumble across one so uniquely vintage that actually fit? I was sold. 

Then came the mecca of rugs. If only I had the room to take the pink, yellow, and orange rug over 100 years old from Turkey (below) back to Denver in my carry-on. This would pretty much be a dream to have in our house. Gosh darn the rugs, they are so so so beautiful.

Ridiculously gorgeous. Right?

I came home with more than a just a coat. Some rusty finds and vintage school prints that I'm really excited about made it back on the Manhattan bound subway as well. I'm pretty much still giddy from the fact that I finally went to Brooklyn for the flea. It was this long awaited adventure I had always dreamed about. And you know what? It was so much better even than I could have thought. Plus, I conquered the subway and walking there all on my own, a feat and adventure in itself. That's something to write home about.