There’s something about a blank wall that feels unfinished, as if it’s waiting for a story to unfold. When I first set up my office, I found myself staring at one—a vast space that felt like it should hold more than just paint and possibility. I knew I wanted something vintage-inspired, something with character. But the more I looked at that empty wall, the more it seemed to drain my creativity. I didn’t want to fill it with just anything. I wanted something familiar, something that felt like an old friend keeping me company as I worked.

I wasn’t sure what that would be until my mother handed me a free drugstore calendar. It contained twelve months of Saturday Evening Post covers, each one a small world of its own, painted by Norman Rockwell. She had picked it up on a whim, not realizing it would become the centerpiece of my office.

Each page was filled with children peering through shop windows, families gathered around dinner tables, and barbershops humming with easy conversation. Every scene felt like a love letter to life’s quiet moments—the kind that so often slip by unnoticed. It was an ode to days gone by, a glimpse into a world that felt familiar and just out of reach. And suddenly, I knew exactly what to do with my blank wall.

A box of dollar store frames, a handful of tacks, and an hour later, that simple calendar had transformed into something more—a nostalgic gallery wall, a space that now feels lived in, warm, and full of stories.