My mom with my brother and me at Sequim Bay (on the Olympic Peninsula, Washington State) in I'm guessing 1982? We used to rent this cabin for the same week in June every year... I remember my parents saying it was $110 for the week or something and it was nothing short of magical. Photo by my dad.
Today is my Grandpa Don's birthday (he would have been 90). Above is a photo of him with my mom on Vashon Island, probably about 1951, and below is him in 1978. Pretty cool jean jacket.
Happy birthday, old timer.
I can't decide if these are funny, creepy, or funny and creepy: Sketchy Santas.
[via SLOG]
That's me, and the kid in the white sweater behind me is my brother. I remember I asked for red socks for Christmas, which is what I want now. I want that red hat too dammit. Click to enlarge and check out the fire truck patches my mom made for my Osh Koshes. Pretty snappy little dresser if I do say so myself.
Me and my brother sitting on a gigantic log that washed up on the shore of, Sequim Bay, ca.1982? Somewhat unrelated but I am thinking about my brother across the country.
Me and my brother, I'm guessing 1982?
A postcard that my great grandmother Gigi sent to her mother in Seattle (addressed to "Mrs. Strathdee" – that's where my name came from, it's Scottish), on a trip to the Olympic Peninsula in August, 1922. The first line she wrote was "Dear Ma, This is to let you know that we're this far."
If I remember correctly my aunt Shan took these photos of my mom, my brother and me and we made them into a poster for my dad's shop (click to enlarge).
Schmitz Park, West Seattle 
My first birthday. Hell of a damn cake.
This is my dad and me working on his Triumph TR4A. When I say that I was working on it too, I mean it in the same sense as how I helped him install the record and book shelves in our condo – I stand there and make sure he has ice water or coffee or a beer, and I help lift things when they're too big for him to do it himself. Occasionally I say 'looks good' and stuff like that.
This photo is fresh to me for about 800 reasons, including but not limited to (1) model ship in glass case, (2) homemade papier maché and painted wood Christmas ornaments with popcorn garlands, (3) Bauhaus book, which I have since liberated, (4) reel-to-reel, (4a) short-wave radio, (5) bricks and boards in an odd configuration, (6) old school toy airplane, (7) sweet beard and haircuts, (8) nice button-down shirt and jeans, (9) good glasses, (10) extremely comfortable yellow pajamas with built-in feet.
This is my dad at a cabin we used to rent every year on Sequim Bay. He's not giving that look because he's sad or bewildered, it's because the water is freaking cold. He used to go out and pick up all kinds of odd sea life, put it in his mesh bag, and then my mom would figure out how to cook it. It inspired a spirit of adventure in eating that I still proudly maintain. That thing over his shoulder is an old pile driver we used to row out to.
Under Admiral Way in Schmitz Park (same goes for the top photo)
My mom and my uncle Perry collecting eggs on my grandpa Don's chicken farm, Vashon Island, ca.1951
My mom's kindergarten class, Vashon Island – that's her in the middle row, fourth from our left. Click to enlarge – the back row looks like trouble.
Don Woodfin Poultry Farm float, Vashon parade, early 1950s. The sign on the front of the truck says
I think this might actually have been my dad's birthday, I'm not sure... anyway, this is what birthdays looked like in the Shepard house ca.1973. Chic, no?
[for no reason in particular... just was looking at this photo the other day of me with my mom and my dad, october 1972. apparently rust-colored shirts were all the rage.]
This is Mr. Littlejeans.
This is my brother Sky and me a few years ago. Well, it might have been longer, but who's counting.
Today Sky, Jeans and I are leaving New York bright and early in a gigantic Penske moving truck, beating feet for Seattle. (Emily and Inez are traveling separately by plane—Jeans is too big to fly so he's riding with the boys.)
Mount St. Helens erupted 28 years ago yesterday. I was nine at the time so I guess I didn't totally understand the magnitude of it, but I remember we got sent home from school early, and I remember hearing from my cousins that Aberdeen was covered in ash. My grandpa's cattle were also dusted over in Ellensburg—the ash blowing everywhere affected the entire Northwest. I saved a little vial of the stuff, I'm sure it's around here somewhere.
These black and white photos are by Frank Gohlke, and are collected in his excellent book Mount St. Helens, published by the Museum of Modern Art on the occasion of his exhibition at the museum in 2005.
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah Blue Turning Gray MP3
And here are the kittens. My brother and I named the gray one Toutle—after the color of the Toutle River, which they kept showing on the news, filled with ash from Mount St. Helens.
If you find yourself in Soho any time soon, stop by the Jack Spade store on Greene Street—they've got a bunch of vintage model rockets on display.
They wouldn't let me take pictures in the store so I grabbed these images off the web. (It's kind of annoying. On the one hand, Jack Spade has a cool aesthetic and fashions itself as a place for regular American dudes with a heightened sense of design. Judging by the old things they collect and display, I would say that it's as close to my point of view as any store out there. On the other hand, they're pretentious as hell, and the majority of their own products—the things they actually sell—are way too pretty. If you understand the inspiration, you also realize that the products that inspire Jack Spade—Klein tool bags, army surplus, Brooks Brothers, real messenger bags—are still available, are much less expensive, and probably better made. It's a case of the inspiration being cooler than the outcome.)
When I was younger my dad, my brother and I built a lot of model rockets and launched them in the field next to my grandma Dessie's house in Marysville. They go up really high and then they come back down on a little parachute that deploys when the burner is spent. Truthfully, my dad did it all, but we got to pick out the rockets, hold them, press the button, stuff like that. We were obsessed with space and it was fun. Here's a picture of us (Sky, me, my dad) in I'm guessing 1979, about to launch.
Photo by Lee Woodfin, aka "Mom." Note the patches on Sky's jeans—she used to make these really cool patches when we'd wear through our pants.
