Tag Archives: old stuff

Hard stop.

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Growing up as an old car junky, abandoned vehicles left in fields along the Midwestern highway had an irresistible draw. There was unsolved mystery hiding in the broken glass, blank headlights and rusty quarter panels. What sort of heartless bastard gives up on a set of tail fins?

In my endless pursuit of Americana, I’ve found myself trying to recreate history as it never happened with plastic, paint and glue. While a real old car doesn’t have any sensible place in my life at the moment, I decided to build a small version of one that takes me back to those days as kid—racing down the highway in the middle of nowhere watching as forgotten chunks of the American dream wait for the crusher.

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Return to sender.

Our last Christmas in Chicago, people sent Christmas cards from all over the country. One of the many old-timey things that I indulge in, sending and hoping to receive paper holiday greetings is a tradition that lives on in the Shipley-Green household.

Of course, I understand why people would skip this insignificant little detail in middle of all the holiday madness. It’s time consuming. It can be a bit tedious. And if your friends or family are people like us, you have absolutely no idea what their current address may be.

Which takes me all the way back to 2009. I suspect the reason we raked in so many stamped, signed and sealed holiday wishes was because we lived in the same place for three years. People knew where they could find us.

So with only one official Christmas card on the San Francisco mantel (the other from a business), I’m willing to tell myself lies to get through the holidays. And if you don’t get a card from us, please let me know. It may arrive after the big day, but you could probably get away with displaying it until mid-January without looking like a crazy person.

Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays. Santa. Jesus. Trees and socks. Whatever you believe in, hopefully you get a few minutes to yourself to appreciate the world—with or without Christmas cards.

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