We had an original plan: to surprise our (slightly suspecting) families with a wedding during the official “first meet and greet” weekend in NYC. However, my sister started whispering, wondering. Then more. And more. Turns out, we’re a little obvious with our secret plans. They totally called us out on this. Then the logistical necessity of getting married as soon as possible quickly turned into an official invitation to our families to join us in our City Hall ceremony this October.
We were never great keepers of secrets in the first place.
Regardless, our original plan was always rooted in a weekend with our families as a weekend to show them what we loved about this city; where we met, fell in love, laughed, and more importantly, ate our way through these first glorious years.
[Awesomeness abounds, just come on in. Lil Frankie’s: 21 1st Ave in the East Village, NYC.]
I feel a twinge of embarrassment when I hear myself lamenting the cost and exhaustion that comes with living in New York City. I’m surprised to find myself disenchanted with a city that held such a mythical spot in my mind. I’m surprised to find out how much all of this wears on you after time – how those weekend getaways from the city are actually a necessity in order to retain a small semblance of sanity. How the hustle and bustle that is so magical to new and wondrous eyes, takes on a painful reminder of the anonymity of life here.
Of course, those very qualities are actually what drew me here — those qualities are what make New York City the most incredible place to exist … alongside those 8 million other people. However, over time, your perspective begins to change. Things start to lose their sparkle of exciting and new. After three years here I’ve found that I’ve started to lose my patience. I’ve started to forget what a small token of generosity it is to give a smile and hold the subway door for someone is. I’ve become so concerned with getting to Point B that I often forget to look up and bask in the light of the city that is such an awesome testament to the melting pot of architecture. And while ML and I are both suspect to these feelings these days, I found this quote in the NYTimes yesterday that reminded me of the very reason why we all put up with a lot of this crap. It’s that fleeting glimpse of a city, a magical little moment that you fall in love with this place all over again. And again. Every time.
The search for a fun, flirty (and preferably ruffly) dress for ML and I’s upcoming October New York City Hall ceremony started with my usual gusto and verve for internet scouring. I covered many of my first choices here, and now I am happy to announce that the finalists were ordered, examined, and a winner declared! ML implored me to keep the final selection a secret, but considering that a good friend of mine sighed, and then announced “I know exactly which one you picked. I do know you that well – and I mean, you love ruffles”. And I clearly cannot keep a secret for the life of me – especially one that involves white frilly things.
I will also admit, slightly sheepishly, that my grand plans to search and search and search some more for the most perfect dress was cut short by a) budget, b) time, and c) my attention span. (And maybe those pesky shipping charges.) Regardless, I managed to finagle a very “Manhattan Bride Does City Hall” dress that is the perfect combination of short, ruffles, and screams “Party Dress!”.
[Top Row left to right: Phoebe Couture; JCrew Cecilia; Nicole Miller. Bottom row left to right: Jessica Simpson for Macy’s (teeth grinding, but cute! also not in peach but ivory); JCrew Robin; Phoebe Couture, redux.]
And the winner is?
I came across this yesterday via Ellie at Mint, and was dumbstruck at how brilliantly simple, yet incredibly profound it is. (Has it made enough internet rounds that I’m being a touch redundant? I can’t tell…) As a Canadian, I’ll admit to having a bit of a love-hate relationship with the US – mostly love of course, but there have definitely been moments when I am totally perplexed and infuriated at certain facets of the American way. However, the notion of patriotism is something that I find fascinating – not because I lack any towards my own homeland (in fact, I find that I’m even more proud of my Canuck heritage nowadays) – but that us northerners don’t have nearly the same kind of outspoken (that, I think, is they key) pride in our nationality. I suppose the stereotype of friendly, docile Canada is somewhat true. Quiety proud, we are.
Moving on – these posters, to me, refer to something about America that I’m inspired by, while also signaling that despite the many differing beliefs and opinions, that a country, united, is a powerful thing.
“States United” by Gregory at beauchamping via etsy. Or as a letterpress poster for the more affordable option.
Does it really surprise you that I grew up with this all around me?
[The west coast of Canada – I have an incredibly deep love of all things old growth forest-like. I recommend visiting one, at least once in your life.]
That I would, in turn, have a life-long affliction for anything like this?
[Note to self: stop falling in love with a 25k table. It’s not healthy. However – if you ARE in the neighbourhood throwing down that chunk of cash, BDDW is the place to go. Some of the sexiest furniture alive. Smooch.]
And so, imagine my a-tithering self setting eyes upon a work of art that uses big, hearty, pieces of glorious wood. Even as a daughter of a forester, a west-coast lover of the forests, I still want a house made of solid wood beams. I want beautiful cedar shingles, decks of glorious planks turned silver, and the smell – oh the smell! Goodness me, I need to catch my breath…
Therefore, when I do finally discover those that posses the craft to turn rough hewn logs into something magical, I can often, well, lose my head. These are well-built pieces of furniture will last a lifetime — and they really ought to, if you think about it. Heirloom-worthy indeed.
Although, when you start throwing the notion of reclaimed wood into the mix, then things get hot and steamy real quick. It’s a wonderful answer to the reuse and recycle dilemma, not to mention the specimens themselves have such incredible history already; their textures and patinas are not something that Pottery Barn et al could really replicate, as best they try.