Locals mostly hate the Fourth of July. Too many people, loose dogs, and illegal fireworks going off at all hours. During my run this morning, a dog charged me, barking deeply, and the owner didn’t even apologize. But also a great many brown pelicans, sand all the way around Hug Point, and Gary built a fort. Some bad news, but good food. Education.
As of ten minutes ago. No Night Market this summer.
People, this is the decision of the Cannon Beach Arts Association, not me. It’s not delayed, but cancelled, and I do not know why.
Hi Artists,
I truly regret to inform you that the July 1, Summer Night Market has been cancelled. This is the result of some very unforeseen circumstances, I apologize for the inconvenience.
Scott and I work really hard to never cancel anything, and it was all unforeseen. (I promise we are not usually flaky)
—Scott and Summer
[Should I mention here that this has now happened to me in two out of three openings?]
Stay tuned in case I am able to find a date for “a pop-up shop” in July or August.
In the mean time, I have ruanas, shawls, baby blanket, and scarves. Email me for photos and I can ship. email: andpride@gmail.com
[The quilt below is here merely for the color.]
This coming Saturday—CANCELLED two days before! I have been offered “pop-up” gallery space. Might do that.
I will have woven pieces for sale—24 shawls and ruanas (if I can finish the ruanas in time!), maybe an afghan, and two scarves—in a variety of colors, mostly hand painted Canadian merino by Koigu with hand-dyed and handspun wool and some silk blends just for fun.
I began making Christmas stockings for my grandchildren. They are pieced differently front and back or have a plain backing, and use rich fabrics with metallics, cuff, and lined with silk, velvet, or cotton print. I can include a name on the stocking.
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I did not plan to have stockings for sale at the Night Market, but I can make them to order in colors to suit. They are meant to be entirely personal. The one shown was made for my husband who has conservative tastes in colors and patterns but I gave him gold and silver along with his greens (silver silk toe and heel). Children’s stocking are more playful. Delivery no later than Thanksgiving.
I’m waiting till 6:30 to go for my run so that we can stop at New Seasons on the way home to pick up tomatoes and avocados. Maybe cheese.
The sky is absolutely clear overhead—faintly aqua to pale gold around the edges with strands of pink clouds east of the city. Windows wide open. My coffee within reach. Gary reading news on his phone in the other room.
Imagine I am an ordinary citizen. When I take a government job, I swear to serve my country and uphold the law. When I leave that job a couple of years ago, I take my personal possessions with me, packed in cardboard boxes.
Imagine the Records Office discovers hundreds of documents are missing from my former place of work and that I am accused of taking secret documents with me when I left.
Continue readingAs I type, the night zombie is in the street screaming to no one: “Keep your opinions to yourself!” It is 6:35am and as he turns a corner, two blocks away now, the voice fades to where I can no longer make out his words. At least in the city, the dogs are mostly leashed.
Roses, submission, knitting, and Scottish Deerhounds in the park.
I knew this was coming because the editor had contacted me, but it was still a surprise. I had been working so hard on the novel that when Gary brought me the mail, I wondered why I’d gotten two copies of the OEJ. My essay about “Best Teaching Moments” was chosen to appear first in the Oregon English Journal right after the Editor’s Note. I began by confessing that my greatest moments teaching were those in which I was among those learning. It’s true.
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I have always dreamed in color, brilliant skies and water and greens. I might be flying on the back of a horse or flying as that horse. My bad dreams are typical: unprepared for something like a test (grades 1-12), a class (university), teaching (standing before students and teaching something I know almost nothing about). For many years I dreamt of running into a friend who committed suicide—so glad to see him and laughing, then screaming and crying. But the good dreams, my favorite dreams are about flying over wild land.
Memory. Change. This post isn’t about dreaming; it’s about landscape.
Continue readingOn my run this morning I thought about how, as a teenager, I used to plan my life. Alone or partnered? With or without children? Horses? Goats? I was still dreaming of five acres and independence in college when I completed a sustainable living plan for a Botany class using a book by that title as a reference. [Five Acres and Independence by Maurice Grenville Kains, 1935]
I was younger than the young woman pictured below, but she must also have dreams of where her life might take her. Life will probably surprise her.
It might have been a very young Ruby who used to say: “Doing?” as in “What are you doing?”
Knitting, reading, and revising and submitting two stories and four poems. And working on the novel. You remember that? The book? I meant to take a break from the novel, slow down, get some rest, but it’s almost as hard to stop as it was to get moving so fast last month!
