Strange Vintage Holiday

My husband and I went away for a few days to Cape May, NJ. The weather had gone from rainy and cold to really beautiful--sunny and 55F on Thursday and almost 70F on Friday--the first truly Spring days we've experienced on the North East coast of the U.S.  We packed a lot into two days and now that we're home, looking back, it was a bit of a Strange Vintage weekend, so I thought I'd share some images here.

Our hotel of choice,  Congress Hall, is a gorgeous old Victorian hotel that's been rehabed but the feel is still very much vintage. The rooms are very simple and tasteful with lots of white, white linens, bright walls and white vintage bath tubs and sinks. We love this place.

When walking the hallways you feel the ebb and flow of the dips in the floor.  This old building has seen so many years of use and rough weather.  Despite its sloped floors,
ill-fitting doors,

Faithful Friends, Listen

"In the vast celestial library of the Thielli, The Book of Starlight was opened by a child who wanted nothing more than to read to the birds, as they loved stories and had many of their own to share by song, but none to know back by the voice they loved best, the human one. The birds gathered round -- as did Grawyn, the toad -- and their ears opened to tales they would later relate to their own young, in their
own language; and though the myths would change with each telling, they would never fade. The book would not be silent. The child was just one chapter. The birds were the words."

--Michael (a.k.a. Frogmuseum2 on flickr)

Michael Titus is the author of  The Girl Who Read To Birds, the book I recently illustrated.  It's been slow going getting it printed and into our hands, but we both believe this will happen soon.  Hopefully, one day in the not too distant future, you'll see a post on this blog shouting "IT'S FINISHED!!!"  That will be a happy day for both Michael and me.

The Acceptance of Basil

She was aware every moment of every day he didn't belong in her home. One day he just walked in the door and lumbered into a corner not uttering a single word. She was aware he was prone to destruction--never of her but of things in her home. Early this morning she was awoken by a loud explosion. He had blown up the family safe. Never took a thing from it once the deed was done. Just stood nearby, not speaking but looking a bit pleased with himself. She knew she should ask that he leave, but something felt right about his presence. In some odd way he made her feel safe.