shanna murray

tie a ribbon

      

Feeling so nostalgic for Second Storie this morning. What an amazing year last year was. I'm already looking forward to seeing old friends, meeting new folks, being surrounded by amazing work and creativity, good food, happy shoppers, lovely music, late night chats, and all those beautiful buntings. Magic. 

Are you in?

There are only a couple days left to email your application! If you've procrastinated, you might want to tie a ribbon around your finger to remind yourself. The deadline is end of the day Monday, August 2nd. Head on over to our website for details, or feel free to write with any questions.

And if you're worried about details, don't fret too much. Participating artists will have a private blog just for organizing shared rides and road trips, finding and listing places to stay with other artists in town, and all the fun spots to visit while you're here. So get going, there's no time to lose! 

Happy Friday, pals! S

photos from top to bottom: Ashly R Thompson, Abby Trys Again, Abby Trys Again, Me, Abby Trys Again, Abby Trys Again, Lori Hutchinson, and  Abby Trys Again.

clearly

I love this time we have together. Moments like this, on our way home from some place, I will have with me always. The more time we spend together the more familiar we are and the more of each other we see. Sometimes life can be so beautiful. 

Happy monday friends, S

so good

For my dear, dear friend Julia and her sweetheart Jared. They got engaged!!! Hooray! Congrats to you both! xxoo, S

the long way home

Something my grandfather and I have in common; our love of long and winding back roads, exploring new places, and stopping for a little treat along the way. Perfection.

I haven't been too good at keeping you all abreast of goings-on lately! Here are some updates for you:

* I've been working on putting the decal gallery together. It will be full of wonderful photos from dear customers that show how they've incorporated the decals into their own spaces. I can't wait to share these photos with you, they're so great! If you haven't sent along a photo of your decal yet I hope you will! I'd love to include it. The gallery launches beginning of August.

* Also in August, I'll be adding a few new designs to the shop! 

* Have you been thinking of applying to Second Storie this year? We'd love to hear from you! Our deadline to apply is Friday, August 6th. Second Storie indie market will be held on Thanksgiving weekend again this year. It really is an amazing event, full stop! Here's a little re-cap of last year's event to give you an idea of just how special it is. If you have any questions do send them along, I'd be happy to help!

* Another super great event coming up in November is Little Winter, have you heard about it? The lovely Abby & Chelsea will be hosting. There's a great little line up of makers, and I'm so honored to be participating and to have been asked to create the logo and poster. Thanks, gals! It'll be at the Ace in Portland, Oregon - first weekend of November. I'm so looking forward to meeting those of you that live out that way and plan to attend, and to reuniting with old friends too! You can follow the Little Winter blog for details.

I've got some more happy little bits to share but I've already gone on enough. I'll tuck them away for another day, okay? 

Hope your day's a great one, S

for tomorrow

A little bit of love ready to go out in tomorrow's post. 

It's been a full day, out to breakfast with my grandfather (where I listened to tales of travels to Turkey, Greece, and Istanbul), a daily doctor trip, and a stop to pick up the groceries needed for a special dinner request. We move at a slow pace, which makes me notice so much more. The way the little yellow weed flowers move in the wind. How much more the barn on the corner has decayed since my last visit. The black cows no longer sleeping in the shadows since the weather has turned cooler. Every day there is something difficult, but somehow, without fail, something happens to turn the day around. I'm afraid to hope that this will always be true. But I will. 

Happy new week to you all, S

memory: nikole's grandmother

Hello, dear friends! With this post we reach the end of the heartwarming memory: grandparents series. I've said in so many words this week that reading all the memories, both in the posts and comments as well, has served as reminder, companion, friend, and guide. I know when I reflect on the beginning of this last journey with my grandfather I'll think of  how so much of what you shared was woven into my thoughts and actions, how all you shared left me comforted, stronger and inspired to live out the last of our memories to the fullest. I'll be sharing memories of my grandfather with you from time to time, as we continue this journey together. Love to you all, dear friends.

And now, the last of our posts...

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From Nikole Herriott

my great grandmother was maggie, 
but we called her our nan.



she came on a ship that bobbed in the sea.
and she told me that story, more times than just once.
i was eager i remember, 
i wanted to hear every bit.


flags waving, planks creaking and people jumping aboard
prepared for a journey from ireland to here,
from a life they could imagine to one they could not.




she told me of bunk beds, of breakfasts and of life down below.
of shiny decks and dank cabins and what they would eat.
of the sadness and joy and the small bits in between.
of captains and shipmates and babies that cried.
and of the ocean, and wind, and the days out at sea.


of trunks in her hands and wind through her hair,
ginger back then and filled with big bounce. 
but gleaming and white when we very first met.




she's a memory that glitters and makes my eyes shine.
one of childhood and fun and hot meals from the stove.
of bedtimes that were late and of cookies from a tin.
of cooked carrots, sweet biscuits, and sourdough bread.
of playtime and baking and all that is good,
a memory of perfection in a five foot frame.




that's for you nan,
i so wish you were here
i've got so much good i'd tell you.
xox, n.
 

-- -- -- -- --

From Nikole Herriott

my great grandmother was maggie, 
but we called her our nan.



she came on a ship that bobbed in the sea.
and she told me that story, more times than just once.
i was eager i remember, 
i wanted to hear every bit.


flags waving, planks creaking and people jumping aboard
prepared for a journey from ireland to here,
from a life they could imagine to one they could not.




she told me of bunk beds, of breakfasts and of life down below.
of shiny decks and dank cabins and what they would eat.
of the sadness and joy and the small bits in between.
of captains and shipmates and babies that cried.
and of the ocean, and wind, and the days out at sea.


of trunks in her hands and wind through her hair,
ginger back then and filled with big bounce. 
but gleaming and white when we very first met.




she's a memory that glitters and makes my eyes shine.
one of childhood and fun and hot meals from the stove.
of bedtimes that were late and of cookies from a tin.
of cooked carrots, sweet biscuits, and sourdough bread.
of playtime and baking and all that is good,
a memory of perfection in a five foot frame.




that's for you nan,
i so wish you were here
i've got so much good i'd tell you.
xox, n.
 

memory: julia's grandmother

I'm feeling quiet this afternoon, after reading Julia's post. I'm missing my grandmother - think I might go through some of her things that are still around the house - and so I'll let Julia's beautiful post speak for itself.  It's pretty wonderful. Be back a little later with just one more post to wrap up this amazing week. Hugs to you all, S

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From Julia Davidson

I had never seen this photo of my grandmother until after she died.  I think a friend of hers snapped it at a brunch or something, but it encapsulates my Grandma Connie perfectly.  Full of joy, full of life, and full of class.  I've always said that I don't think I'll ever meet anyone as classy as my grandma was.  When I look at this photo, I can hear her voice saying my name.  I hope I never lose that memory of her voice that lives in my head.  I have so many memories of my grandma, which I think is lucky.  She lived until I was 21 years old and for most of my life we were just a one hour car ride away from each other.  She and my grandpa were almost always present at birthdays, graduations, and even my prom pre-party (which, at the time, I thought was a little embarrassing- but in retrospect I'm so glad they were there.  She even leant me some neon green heels to wear!).  What I remember the most about my grandma was our close relationship, exchanging letters, phone calls, and even some emails quite frequently.  I remember my first year in college I had to write a religious history of my family and I called my grandma to interview her.  A friend walked my dorm room while we were on the phone and afterwards he asked who I had been talking to.  When I told him it was my grandmother, he seemed shocked.  He told me how lucky I was that I could talk to my grandmother like I would to a friend.  It just never occurred to me that I wouldn't be able to talk to my grandmother about anything and everything.  Sure, I have all the kid memories of spending weekends at their old house, sitting at the kitchen table eating corn pops (which we never got at home), or looking through all her clothes and shoes in the extra closet in the basement, or playing chopsticks on their piano, and all the parties and celebrations we shared.  But my favorite memories are of her voice over the phone, or her handwriting in her letters.  What I remember most is our friendship.  And I miss her so much.  

-- -- -- -- --

From Julia Davidson

I had never seen this photo of my grandmother until after she died.  I think a friend of hers snapped it at a brunch or something, but it encapsulates my Grandma Connie perfectly.  Full of joy, full of life, and full of class.  I've always said that I don't think I'll ever meet anyone as classy as my grandma was.  When I look at this photo, I can hear her voice saying my name.  I hope I never lose that memory of her voice that lives in my head.  I have so many memories of my grandma, which I think is lucky.  She lived until I was 21 years old and for most of my life we were just a one hour car ride away from each other.  She and my grandpa were almost always present at birthdays, graduations, and even my prom pre-party (which, at the time, I thought was a little embarrassing- but in retrospect I'm so glad they were there.  She even leant me some neon green heels to wear!).  What I remember the most about my grandma was our close relationship, exchanging letters, phone calls, and even some emails quite frequently.  I remember my first year in college I had to write a religious history of my family and I called my grandma to interview her.  A friend walked my dorm room while we were on the phone and afterwards he asked who I had been talking to.  When I told him it was my grandmother, he seemed shocked.  He told me how lucky I was that I could talk to my grandmother like I would to a friend.  It just never occurred to me that I wouldn't be able to talk to my grandmother about anything and everything.  Sure, I have all the kid memories of spending weekends at their old house, sitting at the kitchen table eating corn pops (which we never got at home), or looking through all her clothes and shoes in the extra closet in the basement, or playing chopsticks on their piano, and all the parties and celebrations we shared.  But my favorite memories are of her voice over the phone, or her handwriting in her letters.  What I remember most is our friendship.  And I miss her so much.  

memory: rachel's papa

Just a two more of these lovely posts left, I will be posting them tomorrow. What an amazing week of posts it's been. I'm so honored to get to share these memories here. Thank you, friends! For more on my thoughts about this week of memories, read this post. I'll share a few more thoughts tomorrow when we wrap up the series. Thanks so much for visiting.

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From Rachel Saldana

He always wore a feather in his Stetson.  It was an ostrich feather I had found for him, and he kept it neatly tucked inside the band of that Stetson.  My Papa was a dapper cowboy, starched wranglers, pearl snap western shirts, silver and turquoise belt buckle, and ostrich skin boots. He never treated me like a delicate little girl, pretty much letting me try my hand at whatever struck my fancy, be it learning to drive the tractor or trying to dig post holes for the fence.  At 13 he let me drive the old green Chevy pickup the five miles into town, and even when it died while still zooming down the back road he just said "oh, it always does that.  Just start'er up again."

My Papa was the man who showed me what it meant to be a good husband and caring father.  Always patient, he would take my grandmother antiquing, never saying a negative word about it.  He was appreciative and helpful, not one to sit around when there was work to be done.  I started dating my husband in February 1995 when were seventeen years old.  My Papa passed away that May, only a few weeks before my high school graduation.  He never met my husband, which I have always thought was a shame, because it turns out they are really so much alike.  

I have been extremely fortunate, because I grew up knowing all four of my grandparents.  My grandmothers are both still living and have relationships now with my children, and we are still very close.  But my Papa was always my favorite and it wasn't exactly a secret.  I was the apple of his eye and he was, well, my Papa.  

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memory: tracy's gramma

Just a few more of these lovely posts left, I'll post another later today and one more tomorrow. What an amazing week of posts it's been. I'm so honored to get to share these memories here.

Your posts have been a real comfort during this first week with my grandfather. Originally, I had thought your memories would be a wonderful tribute, a way of showing him that there is so much that lives on long after our time together. So much.

He isn't ready to read them yet, the news from the doctor on Monday too fresh. And now I realize that these posts are just as much for me. To remind me to be patient, to go slow, to not forget for one second that we will still be making memories right up to the end, whenever and wherever that end may come. So thank you for this amazing gift, dear friends. Thank you so very much.

First up today, a post from my dear friend Tracy who, years ago now, after my mom passed away, reached out and made me so much less alone in the world.

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From Tracy Bartley

That's my Gramma May on the right. My dad looking up at her. My uncle peeking between her and her sister Irene. I love her smile in this picture. It is so full of life. I never knew this smile. Afer this picture her eldest child, and only daughter, died of cancer. After this picture her husband died of a heart defect.

  

I spent a lot of time with my Gramma.  She was a constant in my life. She lived in a little town close to our little city, and my dad doted over her as I have learned many middle sons do with their mothers.  She was a strong woman.  She kept a perfect vegetable garden, played a perfect game of cribbage, and always had marshmallow peanut butter squares waiting for me.  As a child we would visit her on the weekends.  We would play in her garden while my dad played cribbage with her in the kitchen.  As a teen, I would take the bus to visit her.  Have lunch at the Chinese restaurant around the corner from her little pink house and sit at the table she always sat at when she ate there.  As an adult I would visit her whenever I went back home.  It was part of the routine of my visits.  By the time she met my girls my Dad, her middle son, had died of that same genetic heart defect and she had sold the little pink house and moved into a convalescent home.  She died shortly after her 93rd birthday.  My cousins cleared out her room, and sent me her set of Pyrex mixing bowls, and bags and bags of old photographs, including this one.

I keep this picture pinned to the board above my desk.  I am trying to get to know this smile.  

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memory: hannah's grandmother

As I spend time on the west coast with my grandfather while he comes to terms with terminal cancer, I'll be sharing posts from dear friends - all in tribute to our grandparents.  I've asked friends to share a favorite memory and a photo, and I have to say that I am truly so very honored by the beautiful memories and photos that landed in my inbox.  I think you'll love these posts as much as I do. And I hope you'll join us with your own memories in the comments. 

I loved reading Hannah's post. It brought back so many memories of my own grandmother. It always felt good to be near her, as Hannah said of her grandmother. In fact, while she was alive there was nowhere else I felt more me, more loved, more safe. But I'll save my post for another day. Today is all about my beautiful friend Hannah and her grandmother...

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From Hannah Huffman

you know how you have a tendency to freeze people in your memory at a certain age?  for instance, i will forever picture my brother josh as that chipmunk cheeked seven year old in the blue three piece suit.  never mind the fact that he is thirty.  that is immaterial to my memory.  as for my grandmother, this is exactly how i picture her in my mind.  in a caftan, with her hair piled up high on top of her head in that neat bun of hers (maybe a bit more grey than in this photo), with reading glasses on a fancy chain.  i am the apple of her eye.  her favorite.  and i can say this proudly with validation.  maybe this is just the special right given to the first grandchild.  maybe it was because there wasn't another on either side of the family for another four years, or maybe it's because when i am with her, i feel best.  whatever it was, we were attached at the hip.  don't worry, i started wearing pants around the age of four.  i spent every single possible weekend sleeping over at my grandmother's house until middle school.  we cooked together, we birded together, we watched golf together, she watched dr. who and i covered my eyes, but i still sat with her.  we were even known to wear matching outfits from time to time.  i could spend hours and hours trying on all her jewelry and fox stoles.  or i would join her at the folding card table where there was always, without fail, a gigantic jigsaw puzzle in various stages of completion.  as i got older, we would do fancy things like go to art exhibits and book talks.  my grandmother traveled the world and always brought back the perfect thing for me.  during the terrible cabbage patch kid craze of the 80's, my grandmother somehow managed to find one in spain, of all places, and bring it all the way back to missouri for me.  i was on cloud nine, or nueve if you will.  these days she's not doing so well.  her physical health is good, but people get mixed up a bit for her.  the last day i spent with her before leaving for california, i couldn't bear to tell her and have her get upset, so instead i asked her to tell me old stories of her life.  she met my grandfather during WWII.  they were both in the air force.  she was a nurse, and was assigned to take care of japanese prisoners of war on the isle of lady in the pacific.  she told me that my grandfather would sneak bottled beer onto his airplane, then fly as high as possible so that they would get cold and frosty, then quick as could be, come back down and bring them to her.  i guess cold drinks were hard to come by.  how fantastic.  i will miss my grandmother more than i can put into words when she goes, but i will always and forever cherish the memories we made together.  

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