The Mill

A week ago tonight I was permanently affixed to the fireplace at my grandfather's house. I kept that sucker going all through the night and day (no paper or lighter fluid!) and only left it to snap a few photos in between miserable rain showers.

The Mill
My grandfather's hiking pack, still full of gear, and my grandmother's sweater pretty much shifted my whole concept of clothes as a kid, from neon stirrup pants to wanting to wear exclusively barn coats and flannel. Here is where I first devoured a j. peterman catalogue.

The Mill


The Mill


The Mill


The Mill
Grandpa's car is basically the most beautiful vehicle ever made. I could just sit in the passenger seat in the garage all day long, pretending to be whoever would ride around in a jag in the late 60s. He really was a gentleman, the glove box even has his old driving hat and gloves with the holes on the knuckles.

PS- It just dawned on me a glove box is called a glove box because it's wear you stash your driving gloves. Am I right or am I right?!

Aunt Betsy

I went to the mill for a night this weekend and found several albums of Emerson family photographs I hadn't seen before. The photos of my Aunt Betsy made my throat go lumpy. She died when she was 27 26 and my mom was 25, which is really hard for me to wrap my brain around what that means in reality.

Aunt Betsy


Aunt Betsy

She was my mom's best friend. Since now my mom is my best friend, do you think that it means Betsy and I would somehow mystically be best friends by association? I console myself by thinking thus.


Deluge

I'm partial to March lion weather. The downpour has been nonstop, the winds are blustery and my toes are darn near frozen together but you can feel the seasons are changing nonetheless. Wore my scratchiest wool sweater today (knit it myself cause I can never find them scratchy enough) while I hunkered down in the shop and watched rain splash down the storefont for hours.


Of course Saipua is a delicious slice of spring right now. Lilac, rex begonia, muscari, sweet pea, hellebores, snap dragons, hyacinth, parrot tulips, cherry blossoms.














Even a rare canine cutest maximus complete with ivy garland. Appropriate only for a Red Hook rendition of A Midsummer Night's Dream, staring Nea.

Victorian photo collaging

For those not in possession of feet that can easily walk to the Met on the first springlike day of the year, allow me to personally escort you via dreamland for the next 5 minutes.

Victorian photo <span class=
Playing with Pictures: The Art of Victorian Photocollage really hit me hard. Grace suggested I go and I was completely entranced. I was that girl who devours every inch of written word on the walls and lingers too long with her nose pressed to each and every piece. Behavior which I tend to find sanctimonious in others but don't generally hesitate in doling out myself when the time is right.

Victorian photo <span class=
The show focused on a trend of the mid 19th century- aristocratic women painting vignettes and the pasting photographs of the disembodied heads of their friends and family into the scene. The resulting albums are wildly clever and now my conception of victorian stuffiness is totally skewed.

Not to mention these rich ladies were charming painters, in and of themselves.

Victorian photo <span class=

Victorian photo <span class=

Victorian photo <span class=

Victorian photo <span class=
Just another reason why I should have been to born to Victorian aristocracy. Instead, I got yoga doing hippie parents in 1984. Not complaining..... Only a little.

Checking my mail always makes me a little anxious. I know that 96% of the time there's going to be nothing good, or even worse, nothing at all. I've been getting a lot of letters addressed to my ex-boyfriend and I that advertise buying joint funeral plots. Depressing on so many levels.



And yet I watch my mailbox like a hawk. Every Sunday as I automatically reach for my mail key, my heart sinks a little bit when I realize there's not even the tiniest of hope that something wonderful will be waiting inside.



Until something wonderful does turn up. Last week I got a mini surprise sent to Saipua from Christine, a darling kindred spirit who reads An Apple a Day. The envelope had 8 vintage stamps used as postage- in the accompanying letter she explained that each of the stamps was inspired by a post on the blog. Seriously. Some people are so thoughtful, sweet and kind. I'm left in shock, wondering how I've turned into such a self consumed maniac.



The inside she stuffed full with beautiful old photos, an old pullman car ticket and more of the same beautiful unused stamps. I have an idea of who I'd like to send them off to, but I think I've lost my nerve. Best to bide my time till I can figure out a good home for them.





Old stamps feel like little time capsules, almost too precious to use. Maybe I'm still in the puppy love stage, but I'm not ready to part with them. Especially the fox one, that one's all mine. I've been going as far as to call it my preciousssss, which is the highest compliment I can give to anything, living or otherwise.