all in the

The Gypsy Caravan happens once a year here in the Lou and it only means two things: football fields of junk/treasures and some serious people-watching.  Either I got there too late in the game, or I was too caught up shoving kettle corn in my face, but the pickins were pretty slim.  However, right before I decided I had seen more rusty tools and troll dolls than my brain could handle, I found this sweet old sign and my time as a gypsy was complete.


Bada bing bada boom, this ledge in our house has a purpose ... you know, just in case we forget where we are.  


curtains & throw: Anthropologie ]