Pamela over at Sweet Peach Blog wrote up a nice piece on us a few weeks back. She swung by the party in Atlanta and said hi and it was so pleasant of a meeting, even if it was a real short one. But it's those little introductions that turn out to be the ones that are the best.
Go give her some eyes. She's got some really great content, and the look of her site is just about as great as they come.
Flying at Night
By Ted Kooser
Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.
Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies
like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,
some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death,
snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn
back into the little system of his care.
All night, the cities, like shimmering novas,
tug with bright streets at lonely lights like this.
Well, we were so lucky as to be asked to design the bag that the very talented Meredith Perdue (currently of Maine, but Carolina in her mind) put together.
Go see the post and tote right over here. Thanks to the kind folks at Southern Weddings for reaching out and to Meredith for rocking it.
Got home the other day and had an amazing care package sent up to us from the sweet folks at Red Truck Bakery in Warrenton, Virginia.
They wanted to let us know they were big fans and to welcome us to the neighborhood, as it were. And to have fans who themselves have been written about in The New York Times, Esquire, Oprah, Southern Living and Garden & Gun is high praise indeed.
My dear pal from South Kakalakey (SC) sent me a lovely print from your wonderful print shop for my birthday. I can't express to you how much I love the print and I truly love the story that you posted about your inspiration. I'm actually writing because I noticed the handwritten number for the printing. I had such a good laugh yesterday as I noticed that I had the 42nd printing. I'm not sure if you're familiar with the book “The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy”, but in the book “the answer to life, the universe and everything” was determined to be “42”.
I think this picture may express what I saw yesterday and the reason I'm so humored. Thank you for being God's little blessing to me.
IF MY BOUNDARY STOPS HERE
By Ruth Whitman
If my boundary stops here
I have daughters to draw new maps on the world
They will draw the lines of my face
They will draw with my gestures my voice
They will speak my words thinking they
have invented them
They will invent them
They will invent me
I will be planted again and again
I will wake in the eyes of their
They will speak my words
Mr. Davis over at Tracery was so kind as to send over a picture of his home entryway with this amazing note:
My grandfather Lloyd Davis had a 3' x 4' oil painting of Ronald Reagan in a cowboy hat, hanging in his office for all of his life that I can remember. This is my attempt to similarly acknowledge my political leanings. I do wish I knew where that painting has gone to though.Here's to sticking with family.
Met up with Caroline of Back Down South while I was in Atlanta. She's a blogger and photographer and has, in just a few short months, really carved out a nice niche for herself amongst style bloggers. She's always finding folks and shooting them and making all kinds of people look really famous (some of which certainly are).
Swing by and give her looks a look. Take a page of style advice from it. It'll be worth it. Or if you just want to overview, check out the Tumble Down South.
She even makes guy like myself look kind of important.
My favorite comment on this snap I saw over on The Well-Pressed Gamer's tumblr page: "I generally don’t like vests when they’re paired with shirts that are unbuttoned or worn without a tie, but this guy kills it. Two-tone saddle shoes are fly as shit, especially with those blue soles."
We skipped down to America's smallest state with the biggest heart for a bit of a dinner party. And a bit of a regular party.
Our friends Gerald and Melanie, who let us shoot our first prints for Old Try, lent us their space again so we could shoot some new ones. They moved from South Boston down to Providence, Rhode Island so they could live in a proper downtown and pay something the resembles a stomach-able rent.
“I will never forget my first cup of coffee. I was 13 years old and I spent the coldest morning I can ever remember hunting with my father and his friends in Red Hills of North Florida. Once we returned to the camp, I found a fresh pot of hot coffee steaming on the stove. I poured a cup and loaded it up with sugar and powdered creamer hoping it would be tolerable. I can distinctly remember what that warming cup of coffee meant to me on that cold morning. It was more than a life saver... it was a right of passage.”- William Lamb
IF YOU SEE THIS MAN
By Thomas Lux
Notify someone of authority
if you see this man:
He has a fish hook
in his upper lip.
He usually carries a bleeding starfish
in a Dixie cup.
He is an excellent fork-lift
operator and is known
to play dice with nuns.
He is big.
He claims to detest golf coaches.
We want him for the robbery
of the first kiss ever given
to a bus driver’s sickly daughter.
And remember he is ruthless.
If he knew you had read this
he would murder you.
The Line just sitting, waiting on wall space at the home of Gentleman South in Georgia.
In less, of course, the Line isn't waiting on wall space and decided to buck the trends and instead kick it right there. In which case we could all take a lesson from his playbook.
Just got back from Atlanta and one heck of a weekend. The Grand Old Party was one, indeed.
Want to give a big thanks to Fallen Arrows for putting it all together. And for Muleskinner McQueen, Damon Moon and the Whispering Drifters and Little Horn for hooking up the guitars and adding some sounds to the night.
By Wislawa Szymborska
I’ll never find out now
What A. thought of me.
If B. ever forgave me in the end.
Why C. pretended everything was fine.
What part D. played in E.’s silence.
What F. had been expecting, if anything.
Why G. forgot when she knew perfectly well.
What H. had to hide.
What I. wanted to add.
If my being around
to J. and K. and the rest of the alphabet.
We've been trying to make sure we have a date night once a week since we got married. It's not that tough when things are slow, but as life gets more hectic, that's when you really have to take time to connect and make time for one another. On Date Night, we try not to check our smart phones, our emails.
So after driving up to Burlington in the snow (first of the season, really) and having a drink and a burger, I took a peek at my email. I know I shouldn't have, but I did. I'm a weak, weak man.
And there was an email from a fellow who said he'd seen us on Apartment Therapy. Wait, wait. Not THE Apartment Therapy, the go to for smart city readers who make the most of their anemic square footage? That just couldn't be...
This piece has made it on the the nation's capital. And it's hanging in there with that wine in the foreground called The Show. Not surprisingly, it's one of our favorites if not for the taste (which ain't bad) but the letter-pressed label.
We'll drink to that. Three Cheers!
The incomparable Mr. Harper over at Gentleman South just wrote up a little ditty on us.
In his words:
Gentleman South was formed to purvey quality, unique Southern finds. While all of the items we promote may not be made south of the Mason Dixon line, we feel certain that you will enjoy them as much as we do. We invite you to share your thoughts, products and ideas as well.
Started by Hil Harper of Cartersville, Georgia, Gentleman South strives to capture the many talents that once were merely a vision. Our goal is to convey the commitment and hardwork that these individuals put forth to provide quality unique goods to their customers. As a bimonthly blog, we hope to capture as many of these successes and pass them on to you, our reader.
Head over and give it a read, should you like. And find some other treasures you might not've known about til now. He continues to surprise me with the bits he finds.
By Joseph Stroud
Everywhere, everywhere, snow drifting down,
a world becoming white, no more sounds,
no longer possible to find the heart of the day,
the sun is gone, the sky is nowhere, and of all
I wanted in life—so be it—whatever it is
that brought me here, chance, fortune, whatever
blessing each flake of snow is a hint of, I am
grateful, I bear witness, I hold out my arms,
palms up, I know it is impossible to hold
for long what we love of the world, but look
at me, is it foolish, shameful, arrogant to say this,
see how the snow drifts down, look how happy
The other day, I was just minding my business on the internet. Doing things. Shuffling pixels. Things a web designer by-day is want to do daily.
And I got an email from Art In the Age. Said they'd seen our stuff, and they liked it, and they were coming to town, and would I want to swing by and say hi, as they were hosting a tasting the night after.
Why yes, yes I would.