Fort Wayne's Coney Island

I spent this weekend in Fort Wayne, my hometown, visiting with family. Every trip there, I plot to sneak away from everyone to enjoy some of the Fort Wayne that I miss. Mainly, my old favorite thrift stores. Like almost every trip, my plot was scrapped in order to squeeze in as much time as possible with my loved ones that I do not see nearly enough of.

I suppose I should be thankful that I enjoy hanging out with my family enough to pass up thrifting.

I did have the pleasure of visiting a Fort Wayne landmark this time around- Fort Wayne's Famous Coney Island. The little diner-style hot dog dive has been in business since 1914, and nothing on the short menu costs more than $2.50 (a hamburger). As their name suggests, the place is famous for their coneys- a thin dog on a steamed bun topped with Cincinnati style chili, chopped onions, and a line of yellow mustard.

This is the type of place where customers use the back entrance and are allowed to walk through the kitchen to get to the dining room. After descending a few wooden stairs, the path takes you past giant pots of chili simmering on the stove with handmade signs warning, "HOT!"

Although I am sure I ate at Coney Island several times during my childhood in Fort Wayne, the time that sticks out in my memory is a late night visit with my dad in my pre-vegetarian days. We sat near the front and made up stories about the large table of large men in the back and their adventures in the Russian Mafia. Perhaps I was his designated driver that night...

Point is, this is one of those places that could not be anywhere else. It feels exactly like Fort Wayne, and full of people who appreciate the connection to a place and tradition, even if it happens to be something as seemingly simple as a hot dog joint.

I certainly did appreciate it today.

Lost in New York

Not only are my thoughts still in New York City, but so are my favorite pair of thrift-scored vintage sunglasses.

Last seen on a gloriously sunny and windy day at the Brooklyn Bridge Park, where I hope they were picked up, and are being sported around town by their lucky new owner.

I'd rather not think of them being smashed to pieces on a sidewalk somewhere.

So long sweet, sweet shades.

Haven't Given Up

I haven't given up on blogging already, it's just difficult to get ahold of our shared computer during Garrett's last weeks of the semester.

New York was fabulous. Rainy, but fabulous. Enjoyed browsing at some vintage shops, but did not fall in love with anything enough to pay prices that were shockingly high to this midwesterner. Loved the abundance of sexy-messy hair and oxfords, and laughing to myself that the line at the Whitney was so much more stylish than the line outside of Abercrombie.

And just clarify, I was not in the line at Abercombie, just happened to pass by on my way to a rainy walk in Central Park.

Parisian Rejects

I found these photos while just now getting around to cleaning off the memory card from last summer's vacation for my trip next week to New York City. These were skipped over for our vacation photo blog, and not saved in the file of photos we hope to some day print for an album, but they provide inspiration for my upcoming trip.

Yeah, I ran around Paris in pretty vintage dresses, and gasp, even light colored ones, and a comfy pair of vintage sandals. I survived, and even enjoyed myself. As I am already dreading packing four days worth of clothes into only a carry on, I will remember how nice it felt to feel pretty in one of the prettiest cities in the world. I will be packing a dress, or four, and at least one pair of vintage sandals.

After our peacefully dreamlike visit to Pere Lachaise Cemetery, my husband and I were briefly lost in a neighborhood that felt more genuinely Parisian than much of the city we saw during our week-long stay. We stepped into this cafe for un cafe, the restroom, and to get our bearings. Although I did not feel comfortable pulling my camera out for the full on tourist shot, I did steal this one from under the bar just to have a small reminder of the place.

Leaving the cafe, on our walk to the metro, we came across a street market where we bumped elbows with real Parisians (literally, they are seriously aggressive shoppers) over pristine produce, seemingly unending varieties of fresh meats, bubbling vats of sausages and sauerkraut, and bins of ladies under-things.

These two spots, and the few blocks of sidewalk in between, will remind me that the unplanned can sometimes be the most memorable and beautiful part of being anywhere but here.