Today is my darling bride's birthday. Three cheers to the birthday gal!
We spent the weekend in Montreal over Memorial Day. And of course we had to drive out of town to go see the Olympic Stadium.
And this thing has taken over my life.
So intriguing. Fascinating! From a month, 36 years hence, hulking on the Montreal horizon, a beacon to hope and the global community and at the exact same time a sign of failure and what might've been. Breaking down, slowly, in the Canadian winters. A roof that never worked. A tower that wasn't completed until 8 years after the games had left town.
I've been reading about it and searching images of it and can't get it out of my head.
Your print is ruining my life.
Your print is ruining my life.
Ok, so that's a pretty big overstatement, but you said to be clever. I pinned one of your prints on pinterest because it was cool and I thought that one day, when I'm all grown up and decorate my house like an adult (note, I am 25. And married. So any day now...). But since then, my inbox has been flooded with notifications and repins and yada yada yada. So in short, it's coming down. And hopefully it lives on through the interwebs and ya'll make enough money to fill up that vault with gold coins and bags of cash. Just don't try swimming in it Scrooge McDuck style because I don't think that physics is on your side.
I'm not much given to envy of logos. Some are great, some are fine, a lot of them are poor, but I just take them for what they are. I like ours, and that's what counts.
But when I got some hits the other day from a site called Cast Iron Coalition and went over there, I was just stilled when I saw their header. All at once it's clean and fresh and old and you know I love me some letter interplay.
So I want to thank them for their nice words on us. And want to applaude their design sense. It sure isn't lacking. And want to whole heartedly get behind their mission:
This is a collaboration of four friends who all have a deep appreciation for being raised in the South. Our aim is to share the things we love about our heritage and help preserve a culture that is much more than mud tires and mullets.
I've gushed about em before. Great folks. Hard workers. Amazing places (see here, and here). Living up here but connected to the South by marriage and by families. With keen eyes and great taste. Taste that aligns with ours pretty well.
So I went over to shoot with some of their most recent finds. The fruit of that labor is up on the site first thing this morning. And I'm going to keep going back as long as they'll have me. Pairing their old things with our new things - both of which will take you back to a place and time in life. Maybe it was helping grandma pick blueberries out in the patch or bottling up lighten bugs in mason jars. Or an old sextet that your great-grandpa had sitting up high on the bookshelf.
Whatever it is, they come across it at some point. And they'll be stewards while it's in their hands. And maybe we'll be lucky enough to catch a picture of it while they got it. At which point it will be packed up and sent on home.
They were shooting a movie there. In the woods, right off the interstate. It was 1991 or 92, and that was the first time I heard of Mooresville. Disney was there. Jonathan Taylor Thomas was there. A kid down the street was JTT's body double and he was there. Everyone, it seems, was there. And there is a place I'd never been.
This beaut here made it to the home of a fellow who is, himself, a rather prolific artist. It is always encouraging to see your stuff hanging in the home of someone else who creates.
By C.G. Hanzlicek
I’m scrambling an egg for my daughter.
“Why are you always whistling?” she asks.
“Because I’m happy.”
And it’s true,
Though it stuns me to say it aloud,
There was a time when I wouldn’t
Have seen it in my future.
It’s partly a matter
Of who is there to eat the egg:
The self fallen out of love with itself
Through the tedium of familiarity,
Or this little self,
So curious, so hungry,
Who emerged from the woman I love,
A woman who loves me in a way
I’ve come to think I deserve,
Now that it arrives from outside me.
Everything changes, we’re told,
And now the changes are everywhere:
The house with its morning light
That fill me like a revelation,
The yard with its trees
That cast a bit more shade each summer,
The love of a woman
That both is and isn’t confounding,
And the love
Of this clamor of questions at my waist.
Clamor of questions,
You clamor of answers,
Here’s your egg.
When I saw this shared by our friends at Ampersand Vintage Modern, and clicked to see the New York Time writeup on it, I had to do some more digging.
This house, in Selma, AL, is the kind of place that will convince an expat to move back. It's got history and class and grit in spades.
This weekend we got to host some great old friends from Florida, Greg and his wife, Mollie. I met Greg eleven years ago in New Zealand, and the number of ways in which we are connected is mind blowing. You can read more about that over here and see his beautiful wedding day with his bride over here.
Humanity I Love You
by E. E. Cummings
Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both
parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard
Humanity i love you because
when you’re hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you’re flush pride keeps
you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house
Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity
i hate you