So...here's a picture of my Crissy Field mug appropriately displayed with a Golden Gate Bridge background. I have A LOT to say about this mug. And no, we're not going to talk about the fact that the image was stamped onto the mug crookedly. I choose to believe that it was intentional. But to continue...
I grew up in Fort Lee, New Jersey, so it's not surprising that I have a fondness for WPA style artwork.
The post office there (the original one on Main Street) used to have depression era murals on the wall. Also Oak paneling and Arts & Craft style tiling--all of which still push all the right stylistic buttons for me.
We've discussed my YOSHIKO YAMAMOTO obsession already yes?
All. The. Buttons.
In any event, I grew up, and eventually moved to the West Coast where I ended up in the Bay Area--yet another community with a strong Arts & Craft, depression era aesthetic. Witness the Coit Tower murals.
Really, it's not so surprising when you consider that I basically moved from one end of Route 80 to the other.
In any case, I lived in the Bay Area for nearly thirty years, and spent at least a third of that time volunteering at the annual Coastal Cleanup Day. For many of those years, the posters for the event were the work of Christopher Wormell--an English Illustrator whose connection to the event is unclear. I don't care. I love his work and did manage to acquire a nice collection of posters that I might still have (although successive moves make that questionable, at this point). Here's an example of one of the posters (NOT my photo):
These posters remind me very much of the artwork you can find in Subpar Parks -- now a book, but also one of the BEST profiles on Instagram, IMO.
She’s a witch, Sam decided, as he sent the Day-Glo pink Frisbee sailing across the lawn for the dogs to chase again. Definitely a witch—and in more ways than one. But he didn’t want to think about that, right now. He just wanted to get the hell away from here. And away from her.
The tally was finished, but they were all still stuck hanging around. Other than that whacko realtor, who’d announced her intention to leave the minute the counting was done, and who nobody had seemed inclined to stop.
And people said city life was stressful. These small-town folk were seriously nuts.
The girls were turning cartwheels in the grass, laughing whenever one of them fell, the dogs running over each time to lick their faces. The air was warm, it smelled of seaweed and sage. And the water in the bay looked like countless sheets of shiny gray glass sliding back and forth across each other. He could not for the life of him understand how the people who lived here were not continually seduced, by the beauty all around them, into forgetting all their problems.
Maybe they were just too used to it. Maybe they didn’t even see it anymore. Because the only one who seemed to be getting deflected here, was him. And that was not a good thing. Oberon might be a nice place for a visit, but it was obviously a very dangerous place in which to try and live.
The dogs had reached the Frisbee, landed at the edge of the lawn, but they paused and stiffened, and he tracked the direction of their gaze. A huge blue-gray bird, easily four feet tall, gazed back at the dogs. Motionless. Majestic. The most incredible thing Sam had ever seen.
Sam knew of only one person who might be able to tell him what it was, and what it was doing here. And there was no way on earth he was going back inside that building to ask her about it.
As he watched, the scene came unstuck. The dogs resumed their fight for possession of the Frisbee, the bird shook out its feathers and stalked slowly away. And Sam paused, half turned towards the Nature Center, irresolute. She probably wouldn’t bite his head off again, just for asking about a bird. But on the other hand, he wouldn’t lay odds on it, either.
Scout and Officer Henderson chatted on the porch. Erin, Larry and Gail had gathered together on the steps. All of them forced out of doors by the unbearable tension inside the building. All of them waiting.
Only Marsha remained indoors. As the source of the tension, she wasn’t being forced anywhere.
The last time he’d seen her, she’d been sitting in a chair with a wet cloth covering her eyes, blocking out the world. Her feet rested on a second chair, a cup of tea sat untouched on the table beside her, growing cold. A very tired, very stressed out, very angry witch.
Or maybe she was just working up a new spell? One that would transform her back from the raging she-devil she seemed to have suddenly turned into, would be a nice idea. And if it worked, be it the blackest of black magic, he was all for it.
The dogs came bounding back across the grass toward him, leaping over the children, who had fallen down in their path. The older dog, a little larger and part greyhound from the looks of her, had caught the Frisbee again. But that didn’t stop the younger one from trying to steal it away. Sam wasn’t sure what kind of dog the second one was, maybe a chocolate lab/chow mix with a little rottweiller thrown in?
Taking hold of the Frisbee, Sam sent it sailing over the lawn once more, smiling as it flew over the girls’ heads. They squealed delightedly as the dogs barreled over them again. The way the dogs charged through the grass reminded him a lot of those geese.
And thinking about the geese, of course, brought him back to thinking about Marsha. The witch.
Ah, hell, at least it beat thinking about all the other things his mind was doing its best to not think about. He couldn’t help remembering how pretty she’d looked this morning; or how her smile and her laughter and the touch of her fingers on his arm had lit him up inside. And then later, when her hooded eyes and the husky whisper of her voice had turned their silly little word game into something more hotly competitive than he would have thought possible.
Even when she’d zapped his headache away she’d been smiling. A friendly witch. For the most part. Smart and helpful and more than a little innocent-seeming, but with just a touch of fire buried somewhere deep within her. Not at all the kind of woman he was usually drawn to. But someone unusual. Intriguing, even. Someone he wouldn’t have minded getting to know better.
Until she’d gone all rabid on him.
He supposed he should give her the benefit of the doubt. Just because he had no idea what he’d done to set her off like that, it didn’t mean she didn’t have a reason. It was even vaguely possible that the reason might be something…reasonable.
Besides, he did owe her one. Right now, it appeared that the only thing standing between him and a lengthy, unpleasant police interrogation was her word that he’d been in the parking lot all morning. And he still had no idea why she’d said that. He’d been watching her, hadn’t he? He knew damn well she hadn’t seen him, except that one time. She couldn’t possibly have known that he hadn’t gone down to the beach. And she didn’t know him from Adam. So why had she vouched for him?
It could be she’d done it as part of some police conspiracy, of course. That she wanted to lure him into complacency, and tie him up here, while elsewhere, nefarious forces were engaged in who-knew-what illicit activities. Camille would’ve probably endorsed that idea, but it seemed a little too unreasonably paranoid, even for him to consider.
He’d just about made up his mind to go back inside and ask her, what was the worst that could happen, after all? She probably couldn’t really turn him into a toad, could she? But when he’d turned to go inside, he saw the other cop—Kate’s father—bearing down on him. The look on his face was not encouraging, and Sam felt the tension inside him ratchet up again.
https://books2read.com/Welcome-to-Oberon
Ever wish you could find a small-town love story with magic, mystery, a huge cast of characters and a happy ending? How about an entire series like that? Welcome to Oberon, California. Where murder and mysticism combine. Where the focus is always on friends, families and feelings. And where love will save the day…eventually.
Three connected tales of love, murder, mystery...all set in a mystical small town where anything might happen.
This volume contains the first three books in the Oberon series:
Scent of the Roses
A Sight to Dream Of
Sound of a Voice That is Still.
Second Chances, Friends to Lovers, Opposites Attract, Hurt-Comfort, Age Gap, Betrayal, Suspense.
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