Saturday Snapshots: July 18, 2015

{Heartwarming, timeless and very easy to relate to, this immensely sweet photo from c. 1918 shows three young sisters busily engaged in needlework on the verandah of their Toowong, Australia home as their matching trio of dolls watch on.}




{This photo from 1950, which has the accompanying note of "Irma at home" lands a place in today's post because Irma's red skirt suit and sophisticated bird wing adorned hat are the kind of early 50s fashions that make swoon and then go running to Etsy to try and duplicate those same styles! :) (PS: If you click though to this person's Flickr stream, you can see lots more photos of Irma over the years.)}




{A wonderful car, elegant mid-century attire, and a great getaway to the woods. Sounds like my idea of summertime heaven!}




{It was all I could do to keep my knees from buckling when I came across this delightful vintage photograph or two friends or relatives in their causal c. 1940s daywear attire. I mean, come on, just look at that A-MAH-ZING airplane novelty print sweet. Tres swoon!}




{A once common part of youth for many women that is now all but forgotten in most circles, these lovely ladies from 1954 were all debutants that year - and what a beautifully evening/party dress adorned group they were!}




{Tourists, and likely the occasional local or two as well, exploring Windsor Castle, 1949. I'm always drawn to vintage crowd shots like this - they give you such a good look a decent chunk of the population at one time and thus many outfits and hairstyles to study, learn from, and simply enjoy seeing.}




{The caption "traveling with friends" accompanies this 1920s photo of six fashionably attired ladies who all look marvelous from their elegant shoes right on up to their jaunty cloche hats. Talk about traveling (with friends) in style!}




{This photo stirs a sense of nostalgia in me. Though you need to bump things up about three decades, this photo could easily have been taken little me along with my mom and aunts or some of her girlfriends during my childhood. Not only that, but look at that crazy cool animal and cocktail print wallpaper - I had to post this 1950s photo if only for that!}




{Two young woman (very) hard at work on the war effort front, March 1943. I always seriously admire how well dressed and put together those who did these kind of demanding manual labour jobs still managed to look day in and day out.}




{The cross section of genuine facial expressions in this 1950s colour photo is more perfect than had it been staged. You're got the visibly concerned, serious faced lady on the right, the woman engaged in telling her story on the left, the sweet, excited little gal in the middle who looks like she just saw Santa Claus step into the room. }

{All images above are from Flickr. To learn more about a specific image, please click on it to be taken to its respective Flickr page.}

♥ ♥ ♥  

Several months ago I was involved in a situation with someone for whom I went unbelievably above and beyond. I'm prone to doing this. It's in my nature not just to care, but to care incredibly deeply. I am an empath, a highly sensitive person, and INFJ, so you can likely image (or perhaps personally relate) to the fact that I quite literally feel other people's feelings and can sense a mile away when someone is in distress, is upset, was hurt - any negative or positive emotion, I'll read like a book, even if they don't say a word. In fact, it often between those proverbial lines that I pick up the very truest clues.

The details of what unfolded do not merit relaying, but the very in-a-nutshell version of things is that I did what I felt was an incredibly kind and generous thing and the person I was trying to help (who it should be noted, gave me permission to do so for beforehand) rebuked, complained about, and was mind-blowingly rude regarding what I had done.

I didn't see that coming in a million years and was floored by it (believe me, I say this without an ounce of bias, their response was incredibly uncouth, hurtful and selfish). I mean, to the point where I literally felt a powerfully crushing, gripping sensation in the center of my chest for days afterwards. I was nearly paralyzed from the trauma of their reaction and I was as good as useless to myself and the rest of the world for at least a week as I slowly began to recover from how incredibly ungrateful and hurtful they were to me.

I'm a sensitive person, there's no question about it, but I've been wronged, slighted, screwed over, used, you name it, over the years, and for all my tender emotions, I've grown quite a thick skin, so to have someone (who I barely knew) trouble me so deeply was unnerving unto itself.

Far from being bitter or even angry at that person. I felt sorry from them. Pity sprung the very core of my heart and I wondered how they could function in this world with the attitude that they possessed. I wept and in a way I grieved for them, but through it all, I never regretted the actions I had taken in my attempt to make their life better, their world happier.

During that rough patch in my life, I thought and meditated on the quote that launches today's edition (the first this year, believe it or not) of Saturday Snapshots, hailing from the mind of that wise philosopher (amongst other things) of ancient Rome, Lucius Annaeus Seneca, who said "It is another's fault if he be ungrateful, but it is mine if I do not give. To find one thankful man, I will oblige a great many that are not so."

Each time I read it, my soul calmed. My nerves relaxed, my heartbeat slowly returned to normal and the invisible elephant sat up and wandered off from my chest. It would be easy to let an experience like that one jade or sour you. To turn your spirit harsh, your heart cold. To make you stop remembering that there is good in many and that there are some people who can never truly be pleased or who lack the ability to experience genuine gratitude.

I could have, but I didn't. For I did not do so each time (with other people) at earlier stages in my life, and I will not when something similar happens down the road in the future. It is bound to. There are too many human beings on this planet to not run into at least a handful more before my mortal time expires that will cause similar feelings, provoke such agonizing reactions, and who have as little clue about how to be grateful as that aforementioned elephant does about flying a spaceship to the moon.

Today, a relatively long time after this experience unfolded, I share it with you here to let you know that if you're currently facing, have dealt with, or will one day encounter something similar, that you're not alone. This problem predated even our good man Seneca (not to mention all the lovely folks in these vintage snapshots) and it will far outlast each and every one of us here.

When you encounter ungratefulness, and I promise you that you will, think not of that individual but of those for whom your actions, words and caring soul were appreciated - and of those who stirred in you those very same feelings.

The next time someone does something from a place of love and care for you, make sure your look them straight in the eyes (or write a heartfelt thank you letter/email) and make sure that they know just how very grateful you are. Believe me, Seneca, would approve, and so will the rest of the people in today's world that you will actually want to be around as you move forward with your life after having been dealt a painful reminder that it truly takes all kinds!

Saturday Snapshots: September 6, 2014

{Image source}




{It is yesteryear images like this - the ones that depict real world women wearing wonderful fashions in the most charming of settings (inspiring me greatly in the process) - that help ensure this series will keep going strong for as long as Chronically Vintage exist - which I hope is very long time to come!}





{This immensely cute snapshot of a young girl holding two darling kittens has been in my "to use" list of Flickr favourites for years now, but I don't believe it's appeared here before. On the off chance it has, no bother - a photo this precious deserves to be seen twice.}





{There's just something about summer and sherbet hued party dresses - no matter if you're a schoolgirl or sophisticated woman of the world - that go together so smashing well, as these sweet little lasses from 1956 clearly knew.}





{A newsboy cap, bobbed (or possibly simply tucked under) 'do, and rugged stripped ensemble give this c. 1920s gal such an awesome air of menswear inspired style and understated elegance.}





{Though it was written a decade after this great street scene snap was captured in Atlantic City in 1954, the moment I saw it, the opening lines from the classic song Under the Boardwalk sprung into my head.}





This wonderful 1940s group shot of several Alpha Phi sorority members instantly made me think of my maternal grandma, who was a teenager herself during the decade, and I'm sure posed for a few similar snaps with her friends back in the day (though I don't believe she was ever in a sorority).}




{You guys know I'm a big fan of vintage photos that are chocked full of interesting background details, and this fun 1950s image of two female employees at work on the grand opening day of a pet shop just such cool details in spades!}




{Unique perspectives just happen to be another type of vintage image that I've always been keen on, so the moment I spotted this lovely vacation snap of two tourists gazing at the castle on St. Wolfgang Lake, Austria back in 1959, I knew it was destined for this month's Saturday Snapshots post.}




{As with many of the most engaging vintage wedding photos, this 1930s group shot depicting a bride, groom, maid of honour, and three bridesmaids is teaming with a wide array of facial expressions - the very cheeriest of which appears to me to be the groom’s.}




{From her lovely green dress to the darling dachie, those fab white peep-toe heels to the the Chevy they're posing with, there isn't a single element of this delightful 1940s snap I don't adore.}


{All images above are from Flickr. To learn more about a specific image, please click on it to be taken to its respective Flickr page.}


♥ ♥ ♥  

Have you ever encountered a quote that - while you didn't go out of your way to find it - came into your life at precisely the right moment, lifting up, shaping, or changing your outlook on some element of your existence, your world, or your future?

About a year and a half go now, in the midst of deep discussion with myself - and some days with my husband, as well as with a treasured online girlfriend - about my own appearance and the struggles I've encountered throughout my whole life regarding self-esteem and how (I feel) society views me from an aesthetic standpoint (a topic that I discussed last year in this post, sparked by one of the most touching, incredible gifts I've ever received), today's quote from Vietnamese Zen Buddhist monk and author Thich Nhat Hanh appeared in my Facebook stream one day.

Quite literally the night before Tony and I had been waist deep, so to speak, in the thick of a conversation about my perception of myself vs society's actual take on my appearance (by which I mean my physical appearance, not my vintage attire), which really hadn't lead anywhere more productive or helpful than past discussions on the topic had proved to be.

I know that many of us struggle for some, or all of our lives, with issues pertaining to self-esteem, self-confidence, and body image. I am by no means alone on this front, and am sure that quite a few folks out there battle these things on a much greater level than I do, but they've been present with me - like unseen, nagging passengers - ever since I was a very little girl, and I am, quite honestly sick of them (which is part of the reason why I finally mustered the courage, to hone in on one of them, to show the world my crooked/bad teeth on camera via my YouTube videos for the first time this summer, as I discussed in my second ever video here).

For a very long I could scarcely bring myself to even look at my own appearance in the mirror, and if I was out and out in public (where I generally feel substantially more self-conscious and shy) I would intentionally divert my gaze from my reflection in any kind of surface for many years. This carried on until I was about twenty-five - though I still do it occasionally, old habits dying, as they tend to do rather hard.

I saw no beauty in my face or body whatsoever for most of my life. I could, after a certain age grant you cuteness perhaps, but beauty was as illusive as a unicorn, and I longed to have even an inkling of a sense of what that word - that single little subjective adjective - actually felt like.

I wish I could tell you that reading Thich Nhat Hanh's endlessly wise quote delivered that sensation my way, that I woke up the next morning and felt gorgeous, self-confident, no longer at odds with my appearance, but I didn't - well, not entirely. Something had changed that following day though, because I was suddenly more at peace with the face looking back at me in the mirror (much as I was after I received Lorena's beautiful aforementioned gift). I liked how I looked a whole lot more, and I honestly felt like I cared considerably less if others viewed me as aesthetically pleasing or not (again, I'm absolutely not talking about my fashion choices here, happily, I'm very confident on that front).

I am not shallow, and I try never to judge another person based on their looks, but we all critique both ourselves and each other, if only on a silent, internal level sometimes. In the Hanh's words I found the permission to stop judging myself so harshly, and perhaps just as importantly, had a light bulb moment of realization that being myself is its own kind of profound beauty.

Miss Universe I may never be, but I am my true self, as best and honestly as I know how to be each and every day. I am a wife, a sister, a best friend, a chronically ill individual, a blogger, a crafter, a pet mama, a photographer, a daydreamer, a bookworm, a vintage lover, an Etsy shop owner, a traveler and so very much more, and each of these things conspires to make me beautiful in my own unique way.

Just as the passions, stories and telltale characteristics that make you who you are - who each of us has been since the dawn of time - transforms you into a deeply, perpetually lovely individual, too.

Many months have passed since this quote appeared in my Facebook stream, but it hasn't left my side for a day. I turned it into my desktop background image for nearly a year and have reflected on it scores of times since then, trying to embrace and better live its message on a deeper level each morning, noon and night.

Few snippets of sagely advice has resonated as profoundly with me, and so I knew that the time had come to pass it along to each of you, in case you're also in need of the important reminder it carries, and the powerful feeling that comes with accepting yourself right here, right now, exactly how you are in the moment. Beautiful, in more ways than you will ever possibly know.

Saturday Snapshots: July 5, 2014

{A young woman - possibly on her way to the prom (the photo is dated June 14, 1958) - poses in a gorgeous black and white strapless party dress on the front lawn. Wouldn't you just love to borrow that dress for a night?}





{This lovely group shot taken in Holland c. 1939 is captioned, "Hannie and the other secretaries link arms in the sun". They look like a sweet, close-knit group, who I'd happily spend time in typing pool with any day.}





{This great 1950s photo of a Jantzen beauty contest participant goes out to all my vintage loving friends in Portland, because the background info provided for it says that it was snapped in your fine city on Hayden Island one sunny Memorial Day long weekend.}





{In stark contrast to the photo above, many of us are already getting hit with snow again, so it seems only fitting to include a charming outdoors winter photo, such as this one of four 1940s University of Wisconsin students enjoying a spot of tobogganing fun in today's post, too.}





{Vintage wedding photos and even group wedding shots aren't rare, I'm happy to say, but it certainly isn't every day you come across one with as many bridal party members and guests in the same frame as this fantastic 1950s picture. taken in Sussex, England, has.}



{Here a fun looking couple (aren't her slacks great?) pose in front of a beautiful garnet hued Cadillac in Washington, DC - a date of '52 is given, but the poster doesn't indicate if that's for the car, the photo or both.}



{As much as I adore what this stylish young woman is wearing, it was also the fascinating bit of background information that the Flickr poster provided about her that prompted me to share her snap. It would appear that after she passed away later in life, she donated more than $5 million to the Cat Protection Society in Sydney. There's a pet loving lady after my own heart!}




{Give me a V, give me an I, give me an N, give me a T, give me an A, give a G, give me an E, what does that spell? VINTAGE! Go, vintage cheerleaders from 1954 in your adorable circle skirt uniforms!}



{Really, could this attractive young couple who are on their way to Valentine's Day costume party be any more delightfully dressed?}



{Doesn't this terrific shot of numerous female college students on bikes have pre-official-launch-of-the-Tweed-Run Tweed Run vibe written all over it?}


{All images above are from Flickr. To learn more about a specific image, please click on it to be taken to its respective Flickr page.}

♥ ♥ ♥


Early in the spring of 2013, I had an absolutely wonderful dream one night. Before I delve into the details though, it's worth mentioning that, as a general rule, I either tend not to dream at all (that I remember in the morning) or to have very vivid bad dream/nightmares. My dreams are usually stark, detailed, and serious (in terms of subject matter). I've never dreamed - as best I can recall t least - that I was flying through the air or riding a horse through a meadow of wildflowers, to put it mildly. So when I have a genuinely good dream, it's such a noteworthy event that it often stays with me for months or even years afterwards.

Alrighty, now onto the dream itself. I was about my current age, though I don't think we were living in the house we do now, instead we were in a small post-war house (that may or may not actually exist) on what looked to be the street that my high school best friend used to live on. Suddenly I was driven in a car up to this house and knew that a party was being held - my birthday party to be exact.

As I stood on the front lawn, glorious summertime Okanagan sun tap dancing across my shoulders, I began to watch the party guests arrive and quickly realized that I was seeing a steady stream of my very dear online vintage friends enter the house one by one. After everybody was inside, I went in too, and we had a rollicking good time, every last person in full vintage garb, great music and food, and just the best kind of celebratory fun one could ever hope for.

That's it, I woke up as the party wound down, and - honest to goodness - had a smile on my face as I did. Unlike some lucky vintage loving folks who live in larger cities (or towns of any size) that have a vintage community, I'm not in that boat. Though surely there must be at least a few others, I'm the only mid-century wearing person I know of north of the Lower Mainland (the area around, and including, Vancouver), and as a result I don't get to interact with other likeminded folks where I live.

I know that many of us out there are in this same kind of spot, and it can be a lonely one at times, even though the awesomeness that is our online vintage community certainly helps us feel more connected and like other people "get us" when we wear a 1950s cocktail dress or stack of Bakelite bangles nearly up to our arms as we run errands around town.

One doesn't need an interpretation book to crack the dream that I had, it's clearly my subconscious' way of doing something I'd truly love to have happen in real life, but which I know will probably never come to be (attending Viva would probably be one of the closest things to such a fabulous shindig of vintage fans).

This marvelous get-together was real, as Tennyson might have said, only so long as I was asleep, for we are spread across all four corners of the earth, and much as we adore one another, it would almost certainly be impossible to get so many vintage folks out to my wee corner of British Columbia for a day.

It's an awesome thought though, and the kind of feel good dream that really helps to counterbalance all the less than stellar ones I have in a given year.

Though this party wasn't real, the happiness that it brought my way sure was, and that's just about as wonderful as an actual birthday celebration - and who knows, perhaps as time goes on, I really will have the opportunity to meet some of those party guests in person (hey, a gal can always dream - literally! :)).

Saturday Snapshots: February 8, 2014

       
{Two lovely 1940s ladies - identified as Marie Finberg and Frances Nikstad - enjoying a moment of photo booth fun on what, based on their heavy coats, may very well have been a chilly fall of winter's day.} 


{Sweetness and cuteness abound in equal measures in this darling photo from 1949 of a little girl dressed up in classic Southern Victorian inspired garb for a genteel pageant.} 


{Four yesteryear collage students enjoying a cigarette outside of their (unidentified) school. I really like how in the midst of the other three's more lighthearted expressions, the hat wearing chap in the center is peering dead on into the lens, all straight-faced and serious.} 


{An understatedly beautiful bias cut wedding dress for her and a classic tux and bow tie for him, helped ensure this lovely young couple looked as though might have just stepped out of a magazine or movie of the day, as they posed for their wedding photograph nearly eight years ago to the day (May 6, 1933).}




{With summer just around the corner, it seemed fitting to post this delightful 1950s swimming pool shot in the hopes that it might help bathing suit weather get here even faster (actual wearing of a swimsuit completely optional, of course ;).} 


{I think we can all agree that the cuteness factor here in this lovely vintage snapshot of two little girls and their beautiful pet spaniel is off the charts.}



{A dramatic, dark grey cloud filled sky lends a great depth of interest to this colour taken in 1953 of tourists visiting Moffat Tunnel in Colorado.} 



{A wonderfully pretty springtime vintage portrait of a woman and young girl (likely mother and daughter) posing in front of a blossoming tree, perhaps, I'd venture to guess in their Sunday best.}




{A heartwarmingly precious studio portrait of two young children taken on December 8, 1928.} 



{Saddle shoe, cuffed jeans, plaid shirt, knotted neck scarf vintage causal attire perfection.}


{All images above are from Flickr. To learn more about a specific image, please click on it to be taken to its respective Flickr page.}

♥ ♥ ♥
  Their names were Flo and Fern. He was French Canadian, she was a native daughter of the Okanagan, who had lived in the charming little Edwardian house, with its coffee bean hued roof and faded cream siding, that she’d called home for very nearly her entire life. A life which, at the time I came into the grander picture of it, was well into its eighth decade.

They were spry and friendly, childless, very much in love with each other, and fond of spending summer weekends at their small 1940s wood cabin up at Chute Lake, a stone's throw away from town.

He would sit outside on their classic porch on evenings during the nice weather and take long, thoughtful draws from a classic briar pipe, the almost indescribably lovely scent of vanilla tobacco wafting down the street and filling my young nostrils with delight. She would have us over for tea, her house more akin to a museum - a small, beautifully curated museum of antiques and wonders - in my eyes, and tell tales, made all the more vivid by the framed black and white photographs mounted on walls plastered with paper many decades older than I was, of what life had been like in this town when she and her sisters were young.

Much like Flo and Fern's house, ours was a small Edwardian charmer, complete with everything from original lead glass windows to areas on one wall of the basement designed originally to house a cache of coal. The oldest house on the street (Tennis Street, to be exact, named for the fact that it once held the town's first tennis court), ours had stood there since 1909. It's still there in fact, though my family has long since moved out.

At the time Tennis Street was a blend of turn of the century homes, some from the 20s, 30s and 40s, as well as newer, more modern abodes. It's entire length up one side could be walked in a couple of minutes, and in doing so, one would likely spot at least a few of the street's elderly inhabitants out in their yards or sitting, like Fern and his pipe, on their porches. Not all of the residents had been there for as long as their homes had stood, but all of those with at least a glint of grey in their hair instantly became like multiple sets of surrogate grandparents to my siblings and I, no matter how long they’d resided on that street.

Some were eccentric, some needed far more care than their relatives could provide, some had fantastic tales and yes, cliché as it may sound, hard candies aplenty, both of which they were happy to dispense at a moments notice. We loved them all, these senior citizens, who ranged in age from about sixty to ninety. Retired nurses, school teachers, WW2 soldiers, railway workers, and homemakers, to name but a few of the roles they'd held throughout their venerable lifetimes.

My family wasn't well off (though the true extent of that fact was a carefully guarded secret in our house), but we never ran the risk of going hungry. There were hundreds of peaches, pears, raspberries, tomatoes and green beans growing in our neighbours' gardens, which they were more than happy to let us come over pick each summer. A good many of which, my mother and I would put up each summer, just as the residents of our street had been doing since before the days of colour television.

They were there with a meal, a smile, an understanding ear, a tire jack, a string of Christmas lights, and yes, even the proverbial cup of sugar (which came in especially hand if one ran low while caning all those peaches and pears), as well as the invaluable gift of their wisdom and life experience. I've always held senior citizens, those members of our society who have beat the odds and made into their sixties, seventies, eighties and sometimes even beyond in the highest of regard.

I loved feeling safe and protected by each of these folks who shared our street, and have tried very hard over the years to keep the memories that they shared with me alive in my own mind. Save for one lady (who, like my family, left Tennis Street many years ago), all of these seniors, these adopted grandparents, these preserves of the past - even if they didn't know I saw them at the time as such - have passed. Many of their beautiful little vintage homes have been knocked down and replaced by faceless, dime a dozen duplexes.

A small number of original houses number still exist though, and every now and then, when I'm downtown, I'll take a moment and wander the length of Tennis Street again, where suddenly I'm ten years old, Flo is beckoning me inside to see her family album (it was stunning!) or take a plate of freshly baked cookies home to share with my family, and my young ears are buzzing with soft voices telling priceless stories that I simply could never get enough of hearing.

I think often of these people and the roll they played in shaping who I am today. The morals, manners, insight, and wisdom they imparted. How generously and wholly their gave of their time, their homes, their gardens and their recollections. I learned at their feet, I grew under their caring gaze, and I hold onto the past with the greatest of reverence and love today, in no small part, because I witnessed a handful of neighbours doing the same, in their own unique ways, when I was at the most impressionable of ages.

Flo and Fern - whose surname, sadly, I have long since forgotten and no one else seems to be able to remember either - left this world quite some time ago, and though they never had children of their own, I hope with all my heart they knew, in their own special way that they had grandchildren in me and my siblings. One of whom thinks of them often and will always, for the as long as I live, treasure their memories as though they were my very own.