Trinity Church Cemetery

I recently revisited one of my favorite New York cemeteries, the churchyard of Trinity Church on Wall Street in Lower Manhattan. The cemetery opened in 1697 and is one of three separate burial grounds associated with the church. The other two are at St. Paul's Chapel (also downtown) and uptown at Trinity Church Cemetery and Mausoleum, the only active cemetery remaining on the island of Manhattan. The churchyard is one of my favorite retreats from the crowds of tourists that overwhelm downtown on the weekends and I rarely run into more than a handful of people the whole time I'm there.

Trinity has its fair share of famous residents, including (the very in right now) Alexander Hamilton, but my favorite epitaph belongs to David Ogden, "who on the 27th of September 1798 in the 29th year of his age fell a victim to the prevailing epidemic." I'm not exactly sure which epidemic it was that took Ogden, but a yellow fever outbreak centered around Philadelphia in that year is a likely candidate.

It's a fairly small cemetery, but its collection of old, classic tombstones is hard to beat. My absolute favorite type of tombstone iconography is the skull—with wings, or better yet, crossbones—and Trinity churchyard has the highest concentration of this design that I've seen. I'm not sure when or why this motif went out of favor, but I think it's long overdue to make a comeback.

Holiday Windows 2015: Saks

I spent Sunday morning checking out this year's holiday windows at Bloomingdale's, Bergdorf Goodman, Tiffany, Henri Bendel and Saks. In keeping with the last four years that I've been in the city for the holidays, the Bergdorf windows are definitely the best, and Saks is the respectable runner-up.

I definitely preferred the fairy tale theme of Saks's windows last year to their around-the-world theme this year, and I think the main windows are overshadowed by the secondary, fashion-focused windows. Everything was rendered in shades of white and silver—mannequins, wigs, dresses, shoes and tablescapes were all draped in frosty tones and sprinkled with glittery, powdery "snow."

Once again I took these photos during the day, with Rockefeller Center in all its deco glory photobombing any chance it could get. I love an icy winter theme—but I do think Bergdorfs did it better two years ago—and I'm hoping the weather gets its act together and gives us some actual snow soon.

Abandoned Rockaway Beach Branch

On Sunday my dude and I made the trek out to Queens to take advantage of the beautiful weather and hike through Forest Park. Neither of us had been through the park before, but I had heard that it was a great place to see the fall leaves. The leaves are definitely past their peak—one that wasn't great this year anyway—but we had an excellent day and the park did not disappoint.

Almost immediately upon entering the park we quite unexpectedly stumbled upon abandoned tracks running through the woods, and I was beside myself with joy. I thought they were subway tracks due to the configuration (they have a covered third rail), but they belonged to the Rockaway Beach Branch of the Long Island Railroad, and were abandoned when the LIRR went bankrupt in 1962.

The tracks are visible from a main park trail, and accessible by climbing down a slight embankment. We climbed down near an overpass that is covered in colorful graffiti and the ground was littered with spray paint cans. It didn't necessarily feel as if we shouldn't be walking around the tracks, but we did eventually come to the edge of the park and were stopped by a fence and some gnarly-looking razor wire.

The tracks actually look to be in pretty good shape for being exposed to the elements for more than 50 years. Some stretches seem as if a train could pass by any moment until you realize that there are very large trees sprouting up from in between the rails. Apparently there have been plans to turn this abandoned line into a park à la the High Line, which neighboring communities don't seem to be too into. I'm all for revitalization and preservation, but I don't think that every single thing in this city needs to be shiny and new. I love that these tracks are abandoned, but accessible, decaying but not excessively dangerous, a glimpse into the past—or our dystopian future—and a really great place to take a Sunday stroll.

Canstruction 2015

Last year my mom and I went to see the results of the Canstruction contest on a whim, but it was surprisingly fun, so we went back to see this year's entries. Canstruction is a national contest whose purpose is to raise awareness about hunger, and all canned goods used to create the sculptures are donated to local food banks.

We both agreed that last year's contest produced better results, but there were still some interesting creations this year. There was the inevitable Trump appearance (with the Democratic side featuring... CAN-ye West?), two sculptures featuring Yoshi, a Golden Gate bridge made from spaghetti boxes over a bay of sea salt (cute), a rocket ship, bat signal, dragon, boxing turtle (?), Harold and the Purple Cans (aw), an eyeball, the WashingCAN monument (groan), a butterfly, PacMan and a Cookie Monster made primarily of tuna (ew).

The best of the bunch included an homage to Bugs Bunny, complete with carrot, a charging bull and Magic 8-Ball (which I overheard someone call "a hand holding a world," - sorry, try again). My very favorite was a dual subway scene, featuring the dreaded manspread on one side, and a person demonstrating proper bag-holding procedure on the other. Its accompanying sign said that courtesy is "CANtagious." We overheard a little boy interpreting the scene as "someone sitting on a toilet"—a more accurate description of the New York subway experience, there isn't.

Project 365: Days 310-316

310/365: I had to see a doctor, and their office is right on Gramercy Park. I resisted the urge to ask if they had use of a key, but I did stop to admire the beautiful leaves near Calvary Church.

311/365: We walked to Prospect Park and passed my favorite flower shop sign and the beautifully gloomy Green-Wood cemetery.

312/365: Another beautiful cemetery in the fall—Jim and I finally got into Woodlawn.

313/365: A thing I helped illustrate at work was printed, featuring this cool dude.

314/365: I'll be so sad when it's no longer Honeycrisp (or, Honeycriap) season.

315/365: Made a special dinner for a special dude.

316/365: Spent two days at work obsessed with Shia LaBeouf and #allmymovies. As Francesca said "I'm trying to not be sad that it's over, but happy that it happened at all."

Woodlawn Cemetery

On Sunday Jim and I made the trek up to Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx. Woodlawn is the very last stop on the 4 train, which is now significantly farther for me living in Brooklyn than it was when I lived in Harlem. We had tried to go once this past winter, only to be told the cemetery wasn't allowing walk-ins "due to hazardous conditions," (it was snowing, but come on).

A few weeks after we were rebuffed, I tried again on my own—there was snow on the ground but it was sunny and in the 40s—only to be denied entry for the same reason as before. I had successfully been to Woodlawn once (in the fall), but after two failed attempts I was slightly hesitant to go back. It's hard for me, however, to resist the allure of a cemetery—especially on a beautiful, sunny fall day.

One of the first mausoleums you see as you walk along the central drive belongs to the Woolworth family. I remembered it from my first trip because I've never met an Egyptian-style tomb that I haven't loved, and theirs is spectacular. Woodlawn opened in 1863 and is one of the largest cemeteries in the city. Like Green-Wood, it's a designated National Historic Landmark and is the final resting place of many famous people. We grabbed a map from the office and visited the graves of Miles Davis, Fiorello La Guardia, Duke Ellington, Irving Berlin, Herman Melville, Robert Moses (by the highway, of course), Montana "Copper King" W. A. Clark and Archibald Gracie, a survivor of the Titanic.

I've complained about the lackluster leaves this fall, but the trees in Woodlawn were really beautiful. The sunny, cloudless sky and midday sun combined with the bright oranges, yellows and reds to make the most wonderful backdrop for viewing headstones and monuments.

Woodlawn feels a little newer and a bit more grand than Green-Wood and there are certainly more mausoleums (up to $1.5 million to build one today). There were still some wonderfully spooky sights to be found in between the grandeur—an ornate, rusty chair, mourning girls and cherubs with their faces chiseled away by acid rain. My favorite though is Hattie, forever separated from her legs but still standing guard. We even found a mausoleum that was topped with a clock, which is not something that seems very necessary when most of your neighbors are no longer very concerned about keeping the time.

And speaking of those Egyptian monuments I love so much, Woodlawn is lousy with them. It seemed as if everywhere we looked we saw this wonderful style—slightly triangular, flanked by sphinxes, adorned with winged suns—probably a case of people "keeping up with the Joneses," or perhaps just the Woolworths.

Standalone Diners

I've been seeing a lot of articles lately about the fate of the classic New York diner, no doubt set in motion by the (very depressing) recent closure of the Market Diner. It's a topic that has been on my mind pretty much from the moment I moved to the city, and back in August I was asked to write about disappearing diners for the Need Supply blog. I had unwittingly been doing research nearly every weekend for years, but I amped up my diner visits to gather new information for the post.

In the beginning of last year, I made it a goal to visit the last five remaining stand-alone diners in Manhattan. This list included the now-shuttered Market Diner, Empire Diner, Star on 18, Square Diner and Pearl Street Diner. A stand-alone diner is freestanding on at least three sides, making them quite rare in a city where air rights can be sold for millions.

It turns out that there's one more in Manhattan that I missed on my first go-around—Hector's, an oversight that I quickly remedied. I didn't have time to eat at all the diners I scouted, but I did have breakfast at Hector's. It is wedged somewhat improbably under the Highline park, making it even more of an anomaly in an area of the city filled with designer shops and boutique hotels. I sat at the counter—my favorite seat at any diner—and had a very delicious breakfast wrap and coffee that was refilled numerous times.

I only walked by the New Thompson's Diner in Long Island City, but underneath its new (and horrible) awning is a beautiful classic stainless steel diner. I love the red stripe details, but it's killing me not knowing what's under that awning. I have seen many new-ish awnings come down only to reveal beautifully-preserved old signage underneath, and I can only hope the New Thompson's is harboring a similar secret.

Also in Long Island City is a beautiful stand-alone diner that is currently sitting empty. It was most recently home to M. Wells steakhouse, but the inside still has classic diner décor—long counter, vinyl booths, stainless accents and swivel stools. It looks as though it's being renovated or at least doesn't look totally abandoned, which gives me hope that it won't suffer the same fate as the Market Diner (or 5 Pointz) and end up leveled to make way for even more luxury condos.

Roadside America

I've had my eye on Roadside America, billed as the "World's Greatest Indoor Miniature Village," for a while. It's about two hours west of New York City in Shartlesville, PA and has been operating in its current site since 1953. The village is entirely the vision of one man, Laurence Gieringer, who started making miniature models when he was about five years old. As an adult, he became a carpenter and a painter, and started getting recognized for his miniature work, leading him to move his display to Carsonia amusement park in 1939. In 1941 he began to construct the current warehouse that houses his collection, which is remains how he left it when he passed away in 1963.

Roadside America is currently operated by Gieringer's great-granddaughter and her family and is open every day but Christmas. It is everything that a classic roadside attraction should be and I'm shocked but incredibly grateful that it's still alive after all these years. We arrived later in the day, but there were only a few other people viewing the attraction.

Saying that Roadside America is an indoor miniature village is technically correct, but it definitely doesn't capture the scope and scale of the whole thing accurately. If numbers mean anything to you, RA occupies 8,000 sq feet and includes more than 300 structures, 18 trains, 10,000 hand-made trees, 4,000 miniature people and 21,500 feet of electrical wiring. It has flowing water, 600 lightbulbs and nearly a hundred animations that are controlled by patrons pushing buttons around the display.

The hand-painted signs are wonderful and the entire room is painted to blend in with the scenes. Since the display hasn't been updated since the 60s, everything has a very idyllic, pro-America feel, from the large Statue of Liberty and American flag that loom over the towns, to the streets and shops of SmallTown USA. The level of detail is really mind-blowing—there are zoos, a circus, mountain-top ice skaters, working farms and even a few churchyard cemeteries, that of course I love.

Next door to Roadside America is the Pennsylvania Dutch Haus, which wins the distinction of being the oddest gift shop I've ever been in. It's definitely worth a stop just for the experience, although I was disappointed that neither gift shop had a squished penny machine. Everyone and everything at Roadside America feels stuck in time, which is exactly how I want my roadside attractions to stay. And if nothing else, definitely go to experience the "night scene," which I won't describe because they request that you not take photos because it's "an experience exclusively for our visitors," but just believe me when I say it's so worth it.

Prospect Park: Fall

On Saturday my dude and I wanted to take a walk. Although it's already the second week in November, the weather still feels more like September. I've been commenting since the beginning of fall that I just didn't think the leaves were going to be very beautiful this year, and unfortunately I think I'm right. The leaves change in the city much later than I'm used to from living in Ohio, but I don't think we're going to get much of a show this year.

That didn't stop us from finding some trees in Prospect Park that actually came to work this year, although I think most might already be past their peak. Saturday was cloudy but warm, and just walking through the piles of leaves made me feel like a kid happily jumping into the huge piles of leaves my dad used to rake up in our front yard. We shuffled through some pretty beautiful spreads and saved a few of the better specimens.

I haven't talked much about my move this summer to Brooklyn, but I've never once regretted the decision to change boroughs. Sometimes I miss my morning commute through the park, but I love exploring new parts of the city and being so close to places I've always loved like Prospect Park and the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. It's been a little bit difficult to really appreciate fall this year when I'm still sweating in a light jacket, but I'm glad we got a glimpse of it before we're walking through the park in our snow boots again.

Project 365: Days 296-309

296/365: Francesca and I went to Warby Parker at lunch to try on glasses and this photo was definitely an accidental capture, but there we are.

297/365: Francesca took this cheesy senior/tourist photo of us sitting on hay bales in a Sleepy Hollow median.

298/365: Lazy Sunday with this lazy kid.

299/365: Sleepy Hollow souvenir inventory: floaty pen with Headless Horseman? CHECK.

300/365: I met Jim at Cooper Union for a really interesting lecture on the history (and future) of the NY subway map. We left before they started on the future, however, since we only care about the past. Side note: HOW did we already get to day 300 of this year / why is my life speeding by so fast / help I'm old already.

301/365: Top-secret costume work that is no longer top-secret since Halloween is over. Having a mannequin head is surprisingly helpful when I'm trying to be crafty.

302/365: Senior pictures to celebrate National Cat Day.

303/365: I wasn't feeling well so I stayed home sick with this idiot, who likes to stare at the curtain instead of the interesting world of Brooklyn.

304/365: I got up super early to prepare for my second annual BOOzy Brunch.

305/365: I know this probably doesn't count as a photo since it's a screenshot, but I was so wiped from my party (and walking in the Halloween Parade/riding the subway with a heavy ice cream cone on my head) that we just lounged around and watched movies all day. First Beetlejuice, which I had never really seen and then Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, which made me realize that Pee-Wee and I have the exact same aesthetic and share a love of the absurd.

306/365: My Mister Softee bowtie was put on permanent display.

307/365: Daylight Savings time changes are the worst, but the light during my lunch breaks has been especially pretty this week.

308/365: I started a new book based on a recommendation from Trent about James Garfield and it's way more interesting than it probably should be. I also continue to be amazed that I can walk into the library and take books home for free.

309/365: Still obsessed with Mad Men and even more obsessed with Glen and Betty—I want an oil painting of this screenshot to hang above my couch // I heard fireworks and looked out my window just in time to catch the finale.

Kentuck Knob + Falling Water

While the main reason for our recent Ohio-bound roadtrip was our friend Katie's wedding, Jim and I were both really looking forward to our tours of neighboring Frank Lloyd Wright houses, Kentuck Knob and Falling Water. Falling Water had been on my radar since college, and it's only a 3-hour drive from my hometown in Ohio. I'm not sure why I'd never made the trip, but I'm so glad that I finally did.

I hadn't heard of the lesser-known Kentuck Knob, but it's only 15 minutes from Falling Water and touring both made traveling a bit out of our way to the middle of nowhere totally worth it. Kentuck Knob was finished in 1956, designed by Wright after the Hagan family fell in love with their friends' house, Falling Water, and wanted a Wright creation of their own. The houses are very different in some ways, but similar in others. Both are built organically, honoring and integrating into their surroundings in interesting ways.

Kentuck Knob has only been sold once, from the Hagans to the current owner, Lord Palumbo in 1986. The house is currently filled with his various collections, including a few pieces of Wright-designed furniture from some of his other famous projects like the Imperial Hotel and Coonley Playhouse. The house sits on 80 acres above Uniontown in Western Pennsylvania, and Palumbo's sculpture collection is scattered about the grounds, which includes The Red Army installation and a piece of the Berlin Wall.

After Kentuck Knob, we headed to the star of the day: Falling Water. There were no photos allowed on our tour, but believe me when I say that it's breathtaking in ways I never thought a house could be. I had a basic knowledge of what to expect, but I was blown away by how emotional the house made me feel. It is just so incredibly beautiful and unlike anything I've ever seen. Our tour guide was really knowledgeable, and the tour is really thorough. Unlike Kentuck Knob, Falling Water is no longer privately owned—it was donated to the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy in 1963 by Edgar Kauffman Jr., the owners' son.

Although the forecast called for rain, the weather cooperated for most of the afternoon. It did, however start to pour down rain just as our Falling Water tour was ending, affording us the opportunity to see falling water on Falling Water. We didn't witness any of the leaks that the house is notorious for, although I suppose having to set out a few buckets would be a small price to pay to live somewhere so life-changing.

Duquesne Incline

When Jim and I were in Pittsburgh recently, we didn't have much on our to-do list since it was a short trip. But the one thing we both knew we wanted to do was to ride the Duquesne Incline. The incline was completed in 1877 to connect Pittsburgh's south side with the neighborhood of Mt. Washington.

The incline closed in 1962 but was reopened in 1964 by a non-profit organization. It has since been completely refurbished and is one of only two remaining inclines in Pittsburgh. The cars travel on 794 feet of track to an elevation of 400 ft at 6 miles an hour. Each car holds 18 people, although there was only one other passenger with Jim and me early on a Monday morning.

A roundtrip costs $5 and there's a cute little museum and observation deck when you reach the top. The museum consists mostly of photos, but for an extra 50 cents you can visit the "working museum," which is basically the underbelly of the incline. Seeing how the cars work is really neat—and really simple.

The views of Pittsburgh and all of its bridges from the observation deck are quite wonderful and more than worth the price of admission. The museum has a nice gift shop filled with classic souvenirs like big pencils, magnets, Christmas ornaments, floaty pens and various items emblazoned with the world's happiest mascot, Duke. They also have not one, but two penny squishing machines, so come prepared.

BOOzy Brunch 2015

On Saturday I threw my fourth Halloween party—my second since moving to New York, and my second time having a daytime BOOzy brunch. It was my first time dressing in costume for Halloween since I've moved to New York, but I had been planning this particular costume pretty much since the day I arrived. I've also moved since last year, so it was my first party thrown in my Brooklyn apartment.

I no longer have a fireplace to fill with pumpkins (so sad), but I brought back some of my favorite spooky treats like eyeball cupcakes, spiderweb eggs and the drunk pumpkin—who managed to make some of my guests so queasy that they wouldn't go near the dip.

True to its name, this brunch was definitely boozy with most people BYOB'ing (or BYO-mimosa-ing). If drinks aren't your forte (*raises hand*) I definitely recommend this approach when throwing a party. Alcohol is expensive and can be very hit-or-miss. People have such varying tastes, and they'll never be disappointed if they bring what they like to share. Francesca definitely won the mimosa game with her beautiful, dangerously delicious and easy-to-make candy corn-inspired drink—I see it becoming a staple at all of my future Halloween parties.

I think the reason I love Halloween so much is that it combines and rewards people for being two things: weird and creative. For at least one month out of the year it's an actual asset to be both of those things—it's ok to be into cemeteries, to hang ghost paintings on your refrigerator and wrap your door in caution tape.

It's also acceptable to wear a giant ice cream cone on your head and walk through the streets of New York with all of the other people who are just as crazy as you, and some who are even more so—only 363 days until Halloween!

More Halloween parties: 2014 | 2011 | 2009

Magic Forest: Storybook Forest

I know I've posted a lot about the Magic Forest, but there were so many wonderful, weird, creepy, strange and ridiculous things contained within the relatively small park that I'm still having a hard time grasping the scope of it all (this will be my last post on it though—unless I go back).

Most of the park felt very collected rather than curated. Figures of varying styles and genres are placed around seemingly haphazardly—Santa next to Uncle Sam, chickens next to elephants, Robin Hood next to the Easter Bunny. Things get slightly more cohesive when you enter the Storybook Forest section, although the style of the figures still varies wildly from scene to scene.

A large portion of the figures are of the glassy-eyed, often open-mouthed variety that is common throughout the park. It's pretty obvious that these figures were all made by the same person, and they're the reason I though this post was Halloween-week appropriate—they're terrifying.

As the name implies, the Storybook Forest includes figures and scenes that can be found in classic storybooks and nursery rhymes. Goldilocks and her three bears (which looked an awful lot like seals), the Old Lady in the Shoe, the Mad Hatter, Jack Sprat (and his wife), Little Jack Horner and Little Boy Blue are just some of the stories represented.

Like a lot of other things in the Magic Forest, most of the storybook scenes were broken or damaged in some way. Almost all had buttons that, when pushed would tell the story on which the scene was based—in theory. I think I pushed every one and had about a 10% success rate, but it should be obvious by now that a large part of the Magic Forest's appeal to me was its scrappiness.

And like finding a Van Tassel headstone at Green-Wood, I was thrilled to see two classic Washington Irving stories represented: Rip Van Winkle and the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, which both felt right at home in the overgrown, cobweb-covered, slightly spooky and entirely wonderful Storybook Forest.

Sleepy Hollow, 2015

We recently went on our third annual day trip to the village of Sleepy Hollow—formerly known as North Tarrytown—which is located about an hour north of the city in the Hudson River Valley. Although Washington Irving published his classic short story The Legend of Sleepy Hollow in 1820, North Tarrytown didn't officially adopt the name until 1996.

The village is very small, but they definitely embrace its association with Halloween, and have fully adopted the headless horseman as their village mascot. He appears on everything from the street signs to the fire trucks, sanitation vehicles and police badges—even the high school football team is called the Horsemen.

We started off the day by seeing the Chagall and Matisse windows at Union Church, which is located in the picturesque neighborhood of Pocantico Hills, northeast of Sleepy Hollow. Photos aren't allowed inside of the church, but it's definitely worth the trek (we took Uber) to see the incredible glasswork by two insanely-talented artists. The Matisse window is widely believed to be his last work and Union Church is one of only three places in the US to see Chagall glass.

We wandered around taking in—and taking photos with—the festive sights, drank pumpkin beers and hot cider, took a lantern tour of Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, were scared and impressed walking through the creepy Horseman's Hollow and I came away with a floaty pen featuring the headless horseman—this is Halloween.

More Sleepy Hollow: The Great Jack 'O Lantern Blaze | Lyndhurst | Sunnyside + Kykuit | Sleepy Hollow Cemetery

Green-Wood Cemetery

I feel as if I'm forever explaining and defending my love of cemeteries. I insist that I don't find them sad or creepy, but instead consider them peaceful, lovely places to spend a leisurely afternoon. I'm fascinated by their history and the histories of their residents; by the design of the stones and by the symbolism and trends that dictate those designs. And this is true the majority of the time, but every once in a while I do see things in cemeteries that creep me out or make me sad. I guess I sort of even like those things, and I definitely do seek them out even if I'm not entirely sure why.

I've been to Green-Wood cemetery more frequently than any other cemetery, and while I've still not managed to see it all, I've tried to explore parts of the cemetery that aren't as frequented by visitors and tours. Since it is Halloween week, I thought I'd share some of the things I've found on recent visits that have made me happy to have found something a little different, and creeped me out a little at the same time.

Statues and figures are always my favorite things to look at in cemeteries, and Green-Wood has some incredible ones. The more disfigured they've become due to age and weather the better. There's pretty much nothing creepier than a mourner or creepy child topping a headstone that's missing a face, or fingers or hands (or all of the above). Except of course the hooded mourner that I came across recently, which earns the distinction of being the single creepiest/scariest grave marker I've seen yet.

Then of course there are mausoleums and vaults, most of which are kept in impeccable condition at Green-Wood. I was surprised recently to find myself in an area of the cemetery that was more run-down than I'm used to seeing, with a handful of mausoleums that were bricked-up, over-grown and generally felt forgotten.

And because I always have Sleepy Hollow on the mind around this time of year, I was thrilled to stumble upon a plot for a Van Tassel—no indication that they're related to the real family that inspired Washington Irving, but a girl can dream.

Project 365: Days 289-295

289/365: A Queen reigns atop Pillow Mountain.

290/365: Jim and I got a peek inside of the magical Four Seasons restaurant, the National Arts Club and City Hall for Open House New York weekend.

291/365: I creeped around the newly-renovated Kings Theater in Brooklyn on the second day of OHNY weekend.

292/365: Mozart has been causing me a lot of grief lately, but then she does something so undeniably sweet—like rest her hand on my shoulder while we're laying in bed—that I can't be too mad at her.

293/365: I got a pretty new iPhone but I think I'm even more excited about my pretty new case.

294/365: My man suggested we start watching Mad Men, and I'm 100% obsessed, like I knew I would be (aka the reason why I haven't written a blog post all week :| )

295/365: Very into this new (to me) book, and the cover glows in the dark.

Wiltshire Motel

When Jim and I left for our destination-wedding roadtrip (if you can call Massillon, Ohio a destination) we planned to drive as far as we could after work and find a hotel along the way. We got tired around Breezewood, PA, which I recognized from my childhood family roadtrips as a popular stopping spot. We inquired at a few chain motels but were discouraged with the prices, so we consulted Google, which led us to the Wiltshire Motel. It had good reviews and the price was right so we drove to it not knowing what we would find.

We were both immediately delighted when we pulled up and noticed the classic neon letter signage. The neon was, unfortunately not on, but there was enough ambient light to know that we were at the right place. In the morning, we realized that the place was basically lousy with wonderful signage, with a two-sided "Motel Entrance" arrow at one entrance and another classic sign (with arrow) at the other.

The delights continued when we were handed a classic motel keytag to our room, which looked as if it hadn't changed since the 1950s. The room was classic roadside motel through and through—everything looked like it was authentically vintage, but was also in inexplicably good condition. The pink and teal color scheme of the bathroom is perfect, and the wall art above our beds was something I would have definitely grabbed at an estate sale to sell on Blue Carrot.

Bonus Motel: In the morning we also realized that we were across the street from a totally wonderful abandoned motel with the most perfect "MOTEL" sign out front. At first glance, Breezewood appears to be all chain hotels and gas stations, but I love that there are still signs of the old roadside life if you look hard enough.