Fondly reminiscing about Labour Days past

✯ Day 248 of Vintage 365 ✯

 

Though nowadays the school year sometimes starts on other dates across towns and cities in North America, traditionally - and still to this day for many - Labour Day marked the last day of summer vacation, the very next morning ushering a return to classrooms everywhere.

It was a bittersweet day, as I recall. On the one hand you were crushed to see the weeks of summer fun come barrelling to an end, in no way ever fully ready to delve back into another ten month stretch of books, homework, teachers, and student life, yet on the other, part of you knew deep down inside that you needed to buck up and face the next leg of your future.

I remember many of my childhood Labour Days with startlingly detail - perhaps because as the hours of each ticked past, I tried my hardest to make them seem as though they'd stretch on until the end of time. Obviously though, such was never the case, and come the very next morning it - the brand-spanking new school year - began anew.

Truthfully, sad as I was to leave behind summer, I rarely minded returning to school. I enjoyed my academic days a lot and always liked the serge of excitement and possibility that the fresh school year held in its grasp.

Labour day always meant that there was new clothing (often the first since the prior school year began) to be laid out, golden yellow number two pencils to sharpen, notebooks to neatly write your name inside, shoes to shine, lunches to make, and a night of sleepless anticipation ahead.

{Vintage first day of school photo of a cute little girl in 1953. I remember posing in much the same way in front of my elementary school for my mother when I was little, too. Image via Ireed76 on Flickr.}

The next morning, butterflies swarming in my stomach, awake ages before the alarm went off, I'd get ready quickly, triple check that I had all of my school supplies, head downstairs for a quick breakfast, then open the front down and take a deep breath of the first day of the unofficial end of summer (after all, the start of a new school year really was the clincher when it came to summer's demise for any school aged youngster).

Yes, summer was as good as over, but there was so, so much possibility looming on the horizon. So with a blend of nerves and excitement, I'd take up my packsack laden with new supplies and walk to school, find my name printed on a sheet tapped to one of the windows (that being how kids at my elementary school knew which classroom they were destined for), wait for the morning bell, slide into a fresh desk and smile, ready for another intriguing year of learning.

Though my school days are long behind me now, it's still impossible for Labour Day to pass by without a hint of all those same childhood emotions rearing up, a pleasant reminder of every first day of school I ever had - and the fresh start that September always promised.

Welcoming August with open arms

✯ Day 213 of Vintage 365 ✯

 

A new week, a new month. There is much to take comfort in from the start of something fresh, unmarred by days and weeks of events perhaps left best forgotten. Of course a new beginning doesn't have to erase or replace negative events, it can be a continuation of something fantastic or the last chapter in a saga of awesomeness. Yet, whatever today means to you, the fact remains that it's a new beginning, if only on the calendar.

August can be a challenging month. Easy to both love and hate (adore in the icy depth of January, loath in the moment), to praise and complain about in nearly equal measures. It's a strong month (which, perhaps, is part of the reason those born during much of it get to have a lion as their zodiac mascot) that makes no bones about its power and summertime prowess. Yet like a battle hardened warrior encountering a fair maiden, it can also show its gentle side when presented with the right circumstances.

This month makes me think back the sunny-kissed days of my youth, spent in a town that boasted not one, but two rather large lakes. Swimming until it would have seemed natural if I suddenly sprouted fins, eating sandwiches and bags of potato chips sprinkled with the distinct texture of taupe hued sand, falling asleep under a cloudless sky, the buzz of a thousand water frolickers resonating in my suntanned ears.

The eighth chapter of the year is resilient and beguiling. Few months can even come close to presenting the world with the beauty it houses. Think of a glistening sunrise, a sublimely warm, silken soft evening breeze. Fields of proud sunflowers, gardens teaming with hearty produce. Light that can be glaring one moment and tame as a lamb the next.

{Cute vintage garb, a fun book, time spent outdoors, those are the simple, beloved pleasures of this sultry month, as seen in this marvelous August 1956 cover of Redbook magaine. Image via CapricornOneVintage on Flickr.}

August is rarely the time for massive new projects, but is very well suited to adventures of all magnitudes. From travel to parties, planning for the new school year to putting up preserves, August works well when we balance dog-eared knowledge with a dusting of the unknown.

I'm grateful that this month is here, able to take July and throw it into the storage closet of the past with its arrival. Was July unmentionable? No, thankfully, but it had some points that I won't be chatting about anytime soon and a heat wave that would make a desert dwelling lizard melt.

No one knows what August holds in store, but my husband's upcoming birthday on the 6th gives me something extra special to look forward to. I hope for a month of tranquility and possibility, of answers and time to daydream. Of corn-on-the-cob eaten while practically too hot to hold, and nearly tooth-numbingly cold beverages sipped under the wise sun of summer's last truly full month.

As we launch into August and this glistening new week, I wish you each a month ahead that is precisely as you hope it will be. If you want to see the open road, may you be able to do so. If all you long for is evenings spent curled up in a hammock, your favourite reads by your side, so be it.

August is a splendid, exciting, incomparable month, and I hope deeply that is treats you all to a fabulous thirty-one days of summery bliss!

These gorgeous cherry print heels stir up happy childhood memories

✯ Day 132 of Vintage 365 ✯

 

The sun whipped across our necks in long lashes, the dry dessert air smelled of sizzling concrete and honeysuckle, and the breeze felt as electric as every fan that was running at the moment in the whole town.

This is how I remember those toasty, endlessly long, wildly beautiful late afternoons and early dusks as my brother and I peddled our bikes (mine red, his blue) around the neighbourhood, gathering about-fall-at-any-moment cherries from the branches of neighbours (who knowing the fruit would go to waste otherwise, had given my family permission to help ourselves to it).

With buckets and plastic shopping bags dangling from our handlebars - much like plump burgundy spheres of fruit threating to tumble from the trees themselves - we'd pull to the side of the dusty alleyways, apricot light dancing around our sun-bleached hair - and grab as many cherries as our little fingers could.

I grew up in a land of orchards and history, old houses interspersed with small small backyard gardens that produced more fruit than a clan of bears could get through in a season. Much of this produce was picked and savoured, turned into pies, jams, eaten fresh, and put up for the winter in glistening rows of boiled-fresh Mason jars.

Though I can never quite decide which fruit holds the dearest memory in my mind, peaches and cherries - both of which I picked in great abundance - are two very close contenders.

It is because of these early memories of gathering cherries in the shade of Edwardian era homes, aging neighbours smiling at us from their porches, the feeling of fruit juice running down my wrists as I plunked another handful into my crimson stained bucket, that I am drawn - almost inherently - to items featuring images of cherries.

Thankfully, this love of one of the world's tastiest fruits meshes well with my adoration of vintage fashion, for now - as in decades gone by - cherries remain an endearingly popular motif for all manner of clothing and accessories.

These splendidly pretty shoes, which feature cherries in a much more understated and easy-to-pull off manner than many pin-up girl and vintage inspired fruit adorned pieces, are the footwear equivalent of my early cherry picking memories: playful, hardworking, and absolutely lovely.

Featuring a lofty (but still manageable) 4 inch heel, a sweet little cherry pattern set against a blushing cream background, ankle straps and flirty peep toes, these vintage inspired shoes are as timeless as they are beautifully elegant.

Presently on sale for $37.99 (down from $103.99) from online seller Retro Cuties, these deliciously pretty shoes (which are available in ladies sizes 5 to 12)  are the sort of classic pair that will see you through season after sun-kissed season, calling to mind your own beloved summertime cherry themed recollections.

A cheerful, summery Sunday greeting

Hi my wonderful dears, as this last Sunday in July kicks off, I awoke with the thought that it’s been nearly two weeks since my last blog post at the forefront of my mind. I apologize for the absence, but as many of you know, my health is not in top shape at the moment, and far too often it keeps me from perusing the activities both online and in the real world that I’d dearly like to.

While the past couple of weeks were rather rough, I’m feeling a smidge better this weekend (yippee!), and simply could not let another day pass by without blogging.

Before I go any further, I want to sincerely thank everybody who left comments – heartfelt, beautiful, joy inspiring comments – for me on my birthday earlier this month. I am so blessed to be amongst such a wonderful group of online friends.

I wish that I had exciting stories, tales of recently found (vintage) treasures, or other exciting news to regale you all with, but alas, the bulk of my days lately have been anything but adventurous. Like many parts of the globe recently however, Toronto was hit a massive wallop of a heat wave earlier this month. At its worst both extreme heat and smog warnings were issued, as the temperature soared sky-high and rolling blackout hit part of the city (though, fortunately, not our area).

During the peak of the hotter-than-the-surface-of-the-sun wave, (taking the infamous Toronto humidity into account and thus determining the humidex or “feels like” temperature) we reached (according to the Weather Network) a staggering 43°C (109°F).

Luckily the worst of this heat blitz has since passed, being swept out (as I’d predicted to my husband that it would) by a brief lightning storm. Still, as is to be entirely expected at this time of the year, we’re still a very long ways off from building snowmen anytime soon!

Still, even on the most suffocatingly hot of days, when one’s skin feels like it’s going to slide from your frame and melt like an accidentally dropped popsicle on the searing hot ground, I can’t help but focus on the idyllic side of the third season of the year.

Summer draws out the gypsy in me, the desire to traverse lands both near and far (if only as a whilom traveler for the time being, content to venture through my memories and daydreams alike, the open road left to others better fit for its demanding paces), to wax poetically about the beguiling beauties of this incomparable time of the year.

There is a lingering depth and undeniably majestic quality about summer. It’s often the boldest of seasons, the loudest of extremes. Summer is rarely pensive, preferring to embrace the upbeat and optimistic. Indeed, if one thinks back to the days of childhood summers, weeks of unbridled possibility at your feet, it seems as though anything could have taken place under the ever watchful eye of a glistening sun – and sometimes, if you were especially lucky, it seems as though it did.

It is this captivating spirit of possibility and desire, excitement and fervour that always endears me to summer, no matter what I may – or may not – be doing, where I am, who I’m with, or what’s on my mind. As a Canadian, knowing full well what the icy depths of winter are like, I need the almost manic heat and vivacious energy of summer to work like a reserve of fuel that will see me through as the brief weeks of autumn give away to the frozen, grey world of winter.

And when those days of slashing cold and endless ice do arrive, I’ll warm my mind my looking at sun-smooched images depicting the fiery elegance of summer and all it creates, such as the ones below, and be reminded that once again there will be blistering heat waves, electrically warm breezes, meditation calm nights, and wickedly beautiful days to look forward to once more.


~ * ~ Hope is a ray of sunshine ~ * ~


{ 1. Untitled, 2. Old Fashion Lemonade bench, 3. Sweet Carousel, 4. summer of 48, 5. It's just another manic Monday, wish it were Sunday 'Cause that's my funday! HBM :), 6. the ties that bound us, are still around us., 7. Untitled, 8. Antique Rose Farm, 9. proud to be pink, 10. In a summer morning, 11. Summer, 12. You have got a long way to go., 13. al mio amore...}


Wishing each of you a day, a week, and a lifetime that sparkles with the passionate splendour of summer!

Wonderful Wednesday Recipe: Eunice’s English Lemon Curd

Last Wednesday’s introduction of a weekly recipe post was met with great enthusiasm, and I must extend a very big thank you to everyone who left comments on my Welsh Rarebit recipe (like some of you, I always thought the word “rarebit” sounded like “rabbit” as a child, luckily this dish is 100% bunny-free though, I assure you! :D). I can scarcely begin to tell you how elated I am to be sharing some of my favourite recipes with you all, and how much I’m looking forward to celebrating the art and fun that is cooking together.


Eunice’s English Lemon Curd
For a period of my childhood I was fortunate enough to live in a delightfully old house (built in 1909, to be exact), on a small, sleepy street that teamed with elderly neighbours. Some of them had lived in their respective houses for decades upon decades, but Eunice was not one of them. I really can’t recall how long she’d lived in the tiny creamy beige hued house directly across the street from us, but I don’t think it had been more than a couple of decades.

An English immigrant, she and her husband had come to Canada somewhat later in life and eventually settled on the very same street where I lived for a spell. Enchanted with all things British as a child and charmed by Eunice’s kind, spunky attitude, we quickly became friends.

If there was one thing I liked almost as much as listening to Eunice’s tales of life in England during the war years, it was when she would stop by and treat our family to a jar or two of her sublimely delicious lemon curd. In fact, it was this darling elderly English woman who provided me with my very first taste of the creamy, tart, sweet, immensely addictive spread that is lemon curd.

You can imagine my delight then when one day Eunice stopped round to ask if my little brother and I would like to help her whip up a new batch. With eyes wide as the saucer she rested her mixing spoon on, I stared intensely as Eunice turned a small handful of everyday ingredients into one of the tastiest substances my young pallet had thus far enjoyed.

I’ve always treasured times when I’ve been able to learn recipe’s firsthand from other cooks and loved that I was able to come away from that day not only with a very fond memory, but also with Eunice’s recipe for lemon curd. Whether it was one she perfected herself or sourced from someone else, I really do not know.

Over time I’ve tweaked little about her version – save for occasionally replacing the lemon juice with that of another fruit such as limes (you may want to add even slightly more sugar if you go this route), mangoes, or blood oranges. The ingredients are just as Eunice stipulated, though the instructions are in my own wording.



{This beautiful old fashioned fruit crate label calls to mind the sort I like to imagine the containers of lemons Eunice brought home (when she was a young homemaker) being adorned with. Image via Vintage Holiday Crafts.}


To my mind lemon curd finds its most perfect mate with a piece just prepared toast, the refreshing, tangy coolness of the curd marrying harmoniously with the soothing warmth of the bread. This spread however, works well on a multitude of other baked goods, too, from English muffins (naturally) to scones, blueberry or poppy seed muffins to biscotti (in the case of the latter, use the curd as a dip for these crisp Italian cookies).

It can also be employed with equal success as a filling (think cakes, trifles, cupcakes, doughnuts, cheesecakes and tarts – to name but a few possible uses) or thinned out a tad and drizzled over everything from pound cake to French toast, Greek yogurt to ice cream (it marries particularly well with berry flavoured frozen desserts).

If you’ve never treated yourself to lemon curd before, I can scarcely begin to tell you what you’ve been missing. If you like custards, lemon and/or jam, there’s a very high chance you’ll fall, just as I first did as youngster, head-over-heels for lemon curd and soon yourself mixing up batches to give away to your friends and neighbours, just as Eunice used to love to do.


Ingredients

• 3 large lemons (if you can get Meyer lemons, all the better, they have such a beautiful, gentle flavour)

• 4 extra large eggs

• ¼ cup unsalted butter (allow to come to room temperature before using)

• 1 ½ cups white sugar

• ½ cup lemon juice (this equates to the juice of about 3 to 5 lemons, depending on their size)

• Small pinch of fine sea salt


Directions

Notes: While it may not actually make too much of a difference, I like to have all of the fruit and fruit juice I’m going to use in this recipe at room temperature before beginning.

Start by washing and drying the lemons thoroughly, then with a citrus zester or vegetable peeler, zest (remove in strips) all of the peel (try to avoid hitting the bitter white pith that lies between the peel and the fruit’s flesh). Chop the zest very finely by hand or in a food processor. In a mixing bowl (or in the food processor) combine the lemon zest with the sugar and mix (or pulse) well.

In a separate bowl, cream the unsalted butter well with a wood spoon, then add in the lemon and sugar mixture, stirring to combine. Next introduce the eggs one by one, beating well after each inclusion. Once all four of the eggs have been added, stir in the lemon juice and salt; stir until all of the ingredients are thoroughly combined.

To a non-reactive, heavy bottom saucepan (stainless steel is terrific here) that holds at least 2 litres (2 quarts) add the raw lemon curd mixture and cook over low (or even extra low, if your stovetop/cooker gets especially warm) heat (while a gentle simmer is all right, do not let the mixture come anywhere near a bubbling boil). I personally feel that you cannot mix lemon curd too much (the last thing you want is for pieces of cooked egg to start forming!), and recommend that you stir the mixture almost constantly until it has begun to thicken (this usually takes about 9 to 12 minutes in my experience).

To gage the consistency of the lemon curd, coat the back of a mixing spoon (give it a moment to cool down) and run your finger (or the handle of another spoon) through the mixture. If in doing so you leave a clean line with distinct “sides” flanking where the line appears, your mixture has most likely reached the right consistency.

Remove the lemon curd from the heat and pour into a medium sized stainless steel, ceramic or heat-safe glass bowl. Immediately place a layer of plastic wrap (cling film) on top of the lemon curd to prevent a film (skin) from forming as it cools.
Use warm (I dare you not to savour a spoonful straight!) or put the lemon curd into the refrigerator and store (covered) for up to one week. Lemon curd also freezes very well and stored in its frozen state for up to one year.

Makes approximately 3 cups of scrumptious, buttercup yellow lemon curd.

Bon appétit!

Greetings 2010, I’ve been waiting for you!

This week begins what will one day encompass the third decade of my life, ushering in with it the end of ten years that saw much strife and worry the world over. The 2000s were many things to many people, myself included. Though I count myself extremely fortunate that I was not affectedly personally by any of the largest global catastrophes that occurred during the last decade (baring the trickle down effects of the economic crisis most of us are still very much feeling), I would certainly say that I faced innumerable personal challenges along the way.

It was a decade of growth, of pain, of moments that tore at the fabric of my soul, of hope in the face of adversity, of love and laughter, of overcoming the impossible, and immense realization. During the 2000s I morphed from a teenager into a woman, a bachelorette to a wife. I, particularly in the past three or so years, began to truly accept myself. Between the pages of the last ten years, at times, I lived heartache, breathed anguish, felt as alone as the moon, embraced bliss, survived, celebrated achievement, saw certain dreams materialize into entirely different realities, moved on, never stopped hoping.

Some of the very best and the very worst moments I’ve ever known took place in the 2000s, both bolstered me onwards in the most powerful of ways. I haven’t the slightest clue what this newborn decade, the 2010s, holds in store for the world – or myself, none of us do, but isn’t that part of what makes life, the constant sunrises and sets, highs and lows, so very worth it? The possibility that the future holds equal or better opportunities, greater levels of happiness, more beauty than the prior years.

It may sound odd to look to future on a blog devoted squarely to the past, yet in my eyes, the two are not entirely separate beings. In the days of yesteryear, those before my own life began, I find so much to love and embrace, to learn from and aspire to. These elements that speak to my heart help to guide many components of my future, and I hope, will help to make up some of the threads in the fabric of my future.



{The beginning of a fresh decade calls for a little starry eyed optimism, don’t you think? Image, from a 1948 copy of Charm magazine, via myvintagevogue’s Tumblr stream.}


Though it’s the morning of the third day of this massively new year, not the first, I want to take a moment now to say straight from my heart, welcome, 2010, and the decade you launch! No matter what you turn out to be, know that I’m routing for you all the way.

The Sears Wish Book catalogue: a time honoured tradition

For many who have grown up in North America few things are apt to bring back a flood of holiday nostalgia quite like thinking about the annual Sears Wish Book catalogues of our youth. Produced and distributed well in advance of the “big day” each year, these large, glossy paged tomes were the fodder for many a child’s wildest dreams of what may lay in store for them under the tree come Christmas morning.


{Santa beams his jolly smile festively from the cover of a 1957 Sears Christmas catalogue, an image that I’m sure countless kids were thrilled to see appear in the mailbox in the autumn of that year.}


While Sears and their catalogues have been around for considerably longer, the Wish Book (also known as the Sears Christmas catalogue) itself first debuted in 1933. Stocked with a seemingly overflowing menagerie of everything from holiday decorations to shoes, jewelry to scores of toys, the Wish Book quickly became a beloved publication for families across America and Canada.

Though I have never had the pleasure of holding a vintage copy of a Wish Book in my hands, I do recall the 1980s and 90s versions with a good deal of clarity and many a happy memory. Back in those days (and I’d venture to guess in the decades leading up the eighties) the Wish Book was somewhat different from the iteration that exists nowadays, though of course there were endless similarities too. Yesteryear Christmas catalogues seemed to devote more pages catered directly to children. Perhaps it’s just the perception of my imagination, but I seem to recall a much larger (and more diverse) section of toys in the Wish Books of my youth, compared to those of today.

Like many children the world over, I wrote heartfelt letters to Santa as a youngster, promising him that I had been tremendously good all year and asking for a handful of items (I seem to recall my parents telling us we had to limit the number of things we requested). Though I didn’t honestly always end up getting what I’d asked for, the notion that I could, maybe, just maybe, watch a toy or two materialize from the pages of the Wish Book into a present under the tree was more than enough to fuel my love of Sears’ Christmas catalogue.



{A doll house so pretty I would still be thrilled to be given such a present at the ripe old age of 25, was amongst the offering in the 1947 Wish Book, and no doubt was something that tons of little girls implored Santa for that year.}


Gone are the days of penning notes to St. Nick and of thinking I could hear reindeer hooves stomping on the roof, if I listened carefully enough. What remains however is a soft spot in my heart for the Sears Wish book, which I still eagerly run out to bring home and pour over each year as fall starts to resemble winter.

I dream of one day finding a vintage (circa the 40s or 50s) copy of a Wish Book that my wallet can smile about, but until that day happens (such catalogues have many a fan on sites like eBay, who snap up not only Wish Books but Sears catalogues from other times of the year, too), I know that there a fantastic online source that showcases entire copies of vintage Wish Books.

The aptly named source I’m talking about is Wishbookweb.com, a site that brims with not only scanned copies of Sears Wish Books, but also a handful of other holiday season catalogues from chains such as Spiegel, and Lord & Taylor (with catalogues spanning the decades from the 1930s to the 1980s). The images (such as the ones in this post, which hails from Wishbookweb) on this immensely handy website (it is, for example, a tremendously useful source of images that show women’s, men’s, and children’s clothing from vintage catalogues) are well sized, clear, and chocked to gills with enough images to keep you entertained and fascinated long after the last Christmas stocking has come down.

As the years roll by and no doubt paper copies of old Christmas catalogues become harder to find, it is a joy to know that such a website exists for all those who wish to view (or relieve pleasant memories of) copies of Wish Books from the past.

I personally have this site bookmarked and return to it often throughout the year as a reference source for all manner of vintage items one might encounter in a Sears catalogue. It is, however, at Christmas when I most find myself spending hours flipping through the (virtual) pages of the old Wish Books on that site, imagining the countless people, both children and the young at heart alike, who poured over these Wish Books when they were brand new, fantasizing about the Christmas gifts they most wanted to both give and receive alike.


{No matter your ages, there was always something in the Sears Wish Book that was bound to catch your eye. These lovely tie neck jersey blouses from the pages of the 1945 catalogue might have found themselves on the lists of both mom and big sis alike.}


As the Christmas season descends upon us, I thought this weekend would be the perfect date to post this entry, giving you a few weeks to immerse yourself in these wonderful old catalogues, daydreaming that you could still stock your letters to Santa with items from their pages. If you also look back affectionately at thoughts of the Sears Wish Book, I would love to hear about your Christmas catalogue memories.

The nostalgia and joy of collecting vintage books

Old books have always fascinated me. Perhaps my interest in them was first sparked by my mother’s extensive collection of original Nancy Drew titles (which I read voraciously, often by moonlight when I was a wee little thing), perhaps it came from the fact that reading was encouraged and fostered in my home. Whatever first planted the bookworm bug in me, I have loved reading and vintage books for as long as I can recall.

As a child I had a rather odd (for someone my age at the time, I mean) assortment of medical books that ranged from 50 to 100+ years old. It wasn’t the largest collection, but at one point I must have had at least eight or nine heavy duty, hard cover medical text books (at that stage in my life I was interested in going into a career in medicine) of the very sort that would have once sat on a doctor’s shelf. Many of these books were lovingly given to me by elderly neighbours, one of whom had been a nurse for many years.

It wasn’t just medical tomes that caught my eye though. I’ve always scoured second hand book shops, garage sales, flea markets and library sales (when libraries sell of their old books) for literary treasures. Though sadly at one point in my life I had to sell off most of my book collection to help raise funds to move overseas, I still have the wonderful memories of the times I spent sifting through stacks upon stacks of books, some older, some newer, endless piles of inexpensive paperbacks and microwave cookery books (seriously, why is there such a glut of microwave cookbooks almost anywhere retro and vintage books are sold?), to find an early printing of a Steinbeck or Hemingway novel.

There is something almost transcendent about holding an older book in your hand, its paper often yellowed as if dipped in tea by the passing years, a slightly musty smell emanating from each page, its typesetting done up in a classy, concisely sized font. As you flip through the pages of any book that’s lived with someone else before, it’s hard not to catch yourself wondering what sort of memories that book would have to tell, if it were alive and able to speak. Did it cross over on an ocean liner, ride around in the back of an old roadster, sit beside someone on a Hawaiian vacation, provide a moment of respite for a weary WW2 factory worker? What thoughts did those who owned the book before you think as they absorbed its knowledge or tale, how did what they read shape or impact their lives – and what impression will it leave on your own?

There is indeed something marvelous and valuable about vintage and antique books; their worth lies not only in their age and content, but in the place in time when they were first released into the annals of history to which they will forever belong. It is this essence of time and distant place, that I feel weaves itself through so much of my love of vintage. When I don a 40s inspired outfit, a pair of 50s heels or a 30s hairstyle, I am reaching somewhere deep into my soul to connect with a world that I while I did not experience firsthand, I can sense I belong to.


{A stylishly well dressed literature fan from a 1941 Vogue spread. Photo found via myvintagevogue’s Flickr stream.}

If you’re a fellow bibliophile, what memories and thoughts do vintage books invoke in you?