Evidence of the general awesomeness of Medici.
I'm very, very not a reporter, even though I went to Penn State to major in journalism. Well--not exactly. I went to Penn State because I needed to go to college, and I put down journalism as a major because my parents thought it would be a good prospective profession for a kid whose favorite activity was reading books in a hammock.
I did spend a semester and a half as a general assignment reporter on the staff of The Daily Collegian, covering such topics as the Campus Loop's route change; a cushy, snap-on backpack attachment called the Packmate; and an ire-inspiring poster of sports cars entitled "Justification for Higher Education." In my skinny manila folder of yellowed clips is a Reporter Evaluation noting that I wrote .6 stories per week ("not quite enough") and that, while I was "easy to work with," I was "not as accessible as we'd like."
There were a couple of problems with my being a reporter: 1) I was too shy back then to properly interview people, and 2) I had never been unleashed in my life, so I was finding it quite delightful to deliberate over life-affirming decisions like what and how much to eat and drink, which classes to skip, and when or if to go to bed. That headiness resulted in a 2.7 GPA my first semester, a brief, misguided detour into a psychology major my second semester, a near-terminal rift in my relationship with my parents, and, at last, a major in English, where I should have been all along.
I tell you all of this because--not a reporter, see--I went to pay homage to one of my favorite Huntington stores carrying only my camera and an umbrella, with no thought of a recording device or (ironically) a pen and paper for note-taking. So I fervently wished I were a real reporter and not just playing one because Mary, the owner of Medici Fine Stationery & Gifts: Invitation Specialists, along with her team of resident artists (on deck that day, the sweet and talented Destiny), offered a welcoming wellspring of information about her gorgeous goods.
She established up front that she herself was not photo-ready (even when she was, she said with a laugh, she requested "Facetoning"). That was okay, there were many other riches to photograph--not least the 130-year-old letterpress machine that Mary acquired in August and affectionately named Minnie Pearl, complete with price tag dangling from her hat. Why a letterpress machine? I asked. "Covid," Mary said with a shrug. "Something to do." The practical beauty of the majestic machine is that it allows for small runs and quick turnarounds of invitations and cards and any other sumptuously printed items.
Minnie Pearl, in da house.
Minnie operates via foot pedal and wheel. No additional workout required on the days when you're printing.
More gestaltic Medici awesomeness.
Look, they love Soul Brew too (as Reed says, "Mom, who wouldn't?")! Check out these cool custom coasters.
A correspondence card pressed with M for Medici. And Mary. And: Maybe I need to go back and get some cards for myself with the letter B for Beth. And emBossed.
Textured paper that begs to be touched. (Of course I did. Reverentially.) Deployed on envelope liners and belly bands that clasp the exquisite invitations and RSVP cards.
As do all proper kid-in-a-candy-store establishments, Medici boasts an array of alluring items that beg to be bought. As gifts? Sure. But even better, for yourself.
Because technically, you only need one journal at a time, but you'd better buy three just in case they try to flee the store when you're not looking.
I won't hold you up any longer. Go. Now. You'll find Medici at 4 Green Street in Huntington. I'll be over here saving up for my next visit.