Tag Archives: ashley noelle

a bit of irish – new at bored alice finery

1 Mar

I don’t normally talk about myself on this blog, as I like to keep things simple and upbeat (haha) and I don’t fancy myself so important that any of you want to know my personal day to day experiences. But! This story is too cute not to tell you, so I’m breaking my own rules today! And since St. Patrick’s Day is coming up, I feel it’s relevant. (Side note: when did St. Patrick’s Day become Mardi Gras II?? Cheap plastic beads and all!?!?)

When I was 14 I went to a bookstore and purchased a little cassette tape which accompanied a book called “Learn to Speak Irish.” I scoured this book and even bought an extra copy “just in case” (of floods, fires, acts of nature). I listened to the voices on the tape and repeated every word, the accent forming easily on my tongue, the cadence familiar somehow. I liked the way the words sounded and I liked learning a language that even the book admitted nobody really spoke anymore. I liked how the word for the number “four” sounded like “cat hair” (A ceathair /ah cah-hir/) 

I became somewhat obsessed with Irish culture and even purchased a shamrock plant every March when they’d spring up at the grocery store with their lush greenish-purple leaves and friendly little white flowers. I took these plants to college with me a couple years later. The funny part of this story is one day a friend who lived in my dorm brought her boyfriend in to meet me. It just so happened that he was visiting from Ireland. I became very excited and showed him my shamrock plants and spoke a few words of a near-dead language he probably didn’t understand and probably made a fool of myself. He was extremely gracious, though and a bit excited himself. He actually suddenly and surprisingly came at me, grabbed me up in his arms, kissed my cheek and said “thank god there is someone with culture at this school!” At that point the girl he had come to visit abruptly escorted him away from my room (as you can imagine). 

Anyway, that’s my little story about my obsession with Ireland. I have never visited there and have never met anyone else in person who is Irish. I would like to travel there someday and I think I will. Until then, I have created these pretty little pieces of jewelry for stylish vixens and lovers of Irish culture alike. 😀

As always, thank you for reading and all comments are appreciated! And slán abhaile to all you travelers. 


Dreams of New Orleans

23 Jan

New at Bored Alice Finery – The French Quarter Bracelet

Inspired by several trips to this fine city in the late 1990s and early 2000s. So many happy memories contained among these antique costume jewels. I had a great time planning this one and am very pleased with the finished creation! This may be my new favorite. I have a very active imagination, as you may have guessed and a total Southern Belle side to my personality. If I ever had a cotillion to attend, I’d definitely wear this bracelet. Alas, that will likely never happen! But this bracelet completely satisfies my inner Scarlet O’Hara. And it’s green! Just in time for all those pinchers on St. Patrick’s Day…

the new modern – now available from bored alice finery

19 Jan

Spring is so inspiring, isn’t it?! Here are a few new items from my Etsy shop, Bored Alice Finery. Each order comes packaged in a darling little box. Excellent gifts for pretty girls. Get 14% off every order from now until Valentine’s Day by entering the secret code: SWEET at checkout. This offer is only available to my blog readers and Facebook fans! Orders needed by 2/14 should be placed by 2/11 at the latest. FAST shipping and one flat rate to ANYWHERE in the world!


Real Vintage

11 Jan

I am in love with all things vintage, as you may have noticed. What I love most are photos of regular people as they lead their lives, as opposed to vintage photos of actresses or models in magazines (though those are nice, too!) I would like to share some photos from my family of extraordinary (but not famous) people in vintage photos full of glamour and vintagey goodness. Oh, the stories contained in these…I will leave you to dream a little  🙂

This is my grandmother, Greta as she participates in the Apple Blossom Queen beauty pageant sometime in the late 1940’s or early 1950’s. She tells me she pinned those flowers on her dress, they are real. Greta also tells me another girl won first prize in this contest because she winked and flirted with the judges…! Cute, cute, cute. This photograph was taken by my great-grandmother, Leta. Printed in the 1950’s on that adorable paper with the little scalloped edges they used to use. Lovely and a definite treasure!

This is my grandpa, Dean. He was in the US Air Force during the 1950’s and stationed here in Germany. Isn’t he handsome?

This is my grandfather’s handwriting on the back of the photo of him in his Air Force uniform. He sent this (and several other photos) to my grandmother, Greta via air mail from Germany. One thing I hold most dear in my life is the handwriting of those I love. That may sound strange to some, but if you are nostalgic like me, it will make perfect sense. My grandfather’s handwriting is instantly recognizable to me and brings about warm, happy memories. I love my family very much.

(photos watermarked, please do not use without permission)

for intergalactic royalty – new for 2012 + beyond

7 Jan


~>>fine adornments + little luxuries for stylish vixens<<~

<<>>The Past Making Love to the Future<<>>

Clockwise from top left:



►►LIGHT YEARS (again)


No. 3 – the way mothers do

4 Jan

Violet was the prettiest waitress at the truck stop cafe. You may not think that is saying very much, but trust me, Violet had an angel’s face. She stood out partly because she was the only one who ever smiled. Violet smiled through the foggy haze of the smoking section, emptying ash-trays and taking orders. She smiled as she scrubbed extra hard at tables sticky with maple syrup. She even smiled as she ran the carpet sweeper with its rhythmic zip, zip, zip, erasing cracker crumbs crushed into the floor by the chubby little fists of toddlers in high chairs.

Violet didn’t have any children, but she loved them. It was easy to tell she loved all her customers, too. There was never a request Violet did not at the very least try her hardest to fulfill and always with those beaming cheeks of fresh pink rose.

The truck stop was located on the edge of a town where the census three years prior had recorded that only 423 people were living there. It was 1955 and Violet was one of those 423, living in a small two-bedroom house along with her mother and her mother’s dachshund, Marty who the census did not count even though he was just as spoiled as any child you ever saw. Violet’s mother was a widow who stayed at home and did all the cooking. Violet wasn’t fond of cooking meals after having to serve them all day on tired feet, so she was grateful to her mother for her willingness to slave over a hot stove night after night, the way mothers do.

Everyone in town loved Violet. Even those who were prone to gossip only spoke of her to say it was a wonder she hadn’t married yet, a girl of twenty-six and so pretty the way she was. Such a hard worker, too, they’d say. Eventually they’d grow tired of gossip and start chattering about what their own children were up to, bringing out brag books and photographs to show off, the way mothers do.

One Saturday night at the little truck stop cafe, among the usual patrons of truck drivers who always ordered coffee and tipsy high school kids who never left tips, Violet saw an unusual sight: a baby all alone in a high chair in the corner, wrapped in a pale green afghan blanket. As Violet crossed the room toward him, he reached toward her with tiny fingers the color of seashells.

“Where is your mother?” Violet asked the baby. Her words were formed within a gasp. The baby just looked up at her with sweet blue eyes. He didn’t have an answer. Violet put her index finger in his little outstretched fist and he clasped it and shook it a bit. As the baby boy shook Violet’s finger his blanket fell down from his shoulders. This uncovered a note attached to his tiny shirt with a diaper pin. Violet handled the note and the pin carefully, her slender fingers holding just the edges of the scalloped paper as she read.

Violet’s eyes looked sad for the first time maybe since her Pa died. The baby–Charlie began to cry and she scooped him from his seat. Though she wasn’t a mother, Violet instinctively snuggled him close to her shoulder and patted his back with her right hand, swaying back and forth in place the way mothers do.

“It’s okay, little one,” Violet whispered and kissed the baby’s sweet smelling hair. “I’ll take care of you.”

Charlie’s mother watched through the big front window of the truck stop cafe as the waitress held her little son, rocking him from side to side.  She had driven two hours from the next town that night to give him up. Violet had the face of an angel and Charlie’s mother knew the moment she saw her that she would be the one to pick him up and that she would be good to him.

The only comfort she felt as she walked away into the tear-streaked, blurry-eyed night was a tiny voice in the back of her mind that insisted this was the right thing to do. Violet would give little Charlie things she never could. She would sing to him, read bedtime stories, and bandage scraped knees. Violet would raise him to be gentle, kind, and honest. She would always smile that lovely smile when she looked at him, the way mothers do.

Dallas Ghosts

28 Dec

Currently the most popular photograph on my humble Etsy print shop is this one, which I call Dallas Ghosts. I believe I must come from another time, in part because I am so smitten with old hand-painted advertisements on the sides of  buildings. I have quite a collection of photographs of these lovely, yet fading signs from the past. I love this photograph in particular because it shows how much character downtown Dallas has and how the new and the old co-exist beautifully. That is the famous Reunion Tower there in the background. This photo prints beautifully and I have a few 8×10 metallic prints currently in my possession. I think it would look so cool blown up to poster size, don’t you agree?

%d bloggers like this: