🧨 Happy Fourth of July! 🧨
{Image: Julie London, 4th of July pin-up theme. From her gatefold album “Calendar Girl”, 1956 HERE // Pinned HERE}
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Well, hello July! We’re ready for school to finish for the summer this month and to have a chance to catch our breath. We’re ready to keep our 70s music groove rolling as we dance in the kitchen with evening closing in. We’re ready for more sunny days and early morning walks when the rest of the world is still sleeping.
We’re ready for afternoons spent on the couch with the windows open wide, letting the ocean breeze drift in and a good book in hand. We’re ready for more dinners by candlelight, setting up the projector to watch old movies and have our annual Christmas in July party. We’re ready for chances to go hiking nearby and cooling off in the water on hot summer days.
We’re ready to feast on ham sandwiches with heirloom tomatoes on homemade bread for lunch time with glasses of sweet tea by our side. We’re ready for ice cream for dinner and the taste of salt air on our lips. We’re ready for summer and the freedom it promises to bring.
{Julie Blues Marvelous New Swim Cap, Janet Hill Studio // Pinned HERE}
Hello, June! We’re ready for the longer days you bring, the warmer weather, dinners by candlelight as the sun quietly sets, beach music and long strolls. We’re ready to go seashell hunting, eat breakfast on the beach, watch our garden grow, stay up late watching old movies and read good books on slow afternoons with sweet iced tea by our sides. We’re ready to feast on strawberries fresh from the fields still warm from the sun with juice running down our chins and eat our weight in heirloom tomato sandwiches with salty potato chips on the side.
{Summer 1956 // Pinned HERE}
Today we celebrate sixteen years of marriage. How did sixteen years go by so quickly? Mr. Michie is the only person I want to be on this adventure with. Whatever the road ahead holds, we face it together, just as we have always done.
I think that Henry Fonda said it best, as Frank Beardsley in Yours, Mine, and Ours, because in all the monotony at times of day to day life, there is still magic to be found with the person you love by your side, it’s there in the little things:
Until you’re ready for it, all the rest is just a big fraud. All the crazy haircuts in the world won’t keep it turning. Life isn’t a love in, it’s the dishes and the orthodontist and the shoe repairman and… ground round instead of roast beef. And I’ll tell you something else: it isn’t going to a bed with a man that proves you’re in love with him; it’s getting up in the morning and facing the drab, miserable, wonderful everyday world with him that counts.
{Image // Dean Martin with his wife, Jeanne, at home, 1958. Allan Grant The LIFE Picture Collection/Getty Images HERE}
It’s the album that’s been spinning since this morning, when the coffee went cold and it has continued on through a rainy lunch, that drifted into brief glimpses of the sun that made the raindrops on the window sparkle and glow like glitter and it has taken us back into a wet and windy afternoon.
I hope this Thursday finds you happy and safe and well. x
Where the Sidewalk Ends
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
by Shel Silverstein
*Shel Silverstein was a favourite poet of mine as a kid. The library in my hometown used to be housed in an incredible mid-century modern building. It had that delicious old library smell. Along with my other favourite reads, I knew just where Shel Silverstein’s books lived on the shelves and I would often make a bee-line to that section, grab the first library plastic bound book that my fingers found, listen to the crackle of the plastic as I randomly opened it to a poem and then I would stand there in the aisle and read it. More often than not, I would write it down in a little notebook I carried and then trace over the illustration as well.
{Poem by Shel Silverstein // Image by Camilla Engman // Pinned HERE}
