Christmas Stary
ART CENTER GALLERY
By Michelle Frost
Clatsop Community College
1653 Jerome Ave
Astoria, OR 97103
P r es en ts
THE ROSBERG SCHOOL
Figures In A Landscape
J a n u a ry 9th — F e b ru a ry 2 3 rd , 2001
THE OSBORNE WORKING
STUDIO & GALLERY
FINE ART,
SPECIAL EDITION PRINTS, ft
COMMERCIAL RENDERINGS
6 3 5 MANZANITA AVENUE
P.O. BOX 301
MANZANITA, OREGON 9 7 1 3 0
PHONE OR FACSIMILE
503 368 7518
Three young artists,
working out o f studio space in a
defunct grade school
in the tiny hamlet o f Rosberg, W A,
exhibit their works in a collective presentation
at the A rt C enter G allery .
Kyle Mathews & Darren Orange show
paintings, and Brandon Hoffman shows
drawings and paintings. The exhibit also includes
photographs by A n d re a K o sh a r ek
documenting the artists and the area
they work in and gain inspiration from.
An opening reception will be held
T u e sd a y , J a n u a r y 9 2 0 0 1 , a t 7 p m
with ambient music by Analog Trio -
J im K o sh a r ek , R o g e r H a y e s, and B ill
H o r is t.
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roTour oteaigns
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Lucys B ooks
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Astoria
’ A Unique Blend ot Art.
C ate and Comfort"
108 10th Street
Astoria, Oregon 97103
503-325-5450 • Fax 325-9712
Cannon Beach
"Fine Art Gallery and Gifts"
131 W. 2nd • P O Box 1245
Cannon Beach, Oregon 97,10
503-436-1253 • Fax 436-161 7
SUNFIRE
I w jn t to take the win to
heart
and fed It move
like possibility, the Idea
o f change, through things
seen and unseen...
Kathleen Norrts
ZOOM
3 4 8 12th Street
Astor« OR 97103
503-325-4210
www.lucysbooks.com
G A L L E R Y
central coast
glass artists' gallery
2289 Main Street
Cambria, C A 93428
80S • 9 2 7 • I8 0 0
G ourmet P izz A
A selection of
OREGON WINES &
fine BEERS
always on hand.
Come join us for
dinner near the
a pounding surf at
I Laneda & Carmel
] in Manzanita
503/368-5593.
Restlessness and the discontent are the
necessities of progress.
Thomas Edison
I’ve sold children’s books for almost too many years to count
on both hands, and just when things seem to be going along
pretty much business-as-usual, there comes the next surprising
question that catches you o ff your guard, and causes you to stop
what you’re doing to give your full concentration to this
customer who stands before you talking jibberish and appearing
perfectly normal.
There once happened along a guy who needed to use our
public restroom. He stood at the door with the restroom key in
his hand, a blue plastic toy sword with the key rubberbanded to
it, curious and befuddled by the door being locked. He jiggled
the doorknob half a dozen times, then knocked and paused and
knocked again. He could not for the life o f him understand why
the door was already locked. I listened to my co-worker explain
it to him in her simplest English three times, and then, with a last
hard look at the man’s face, she turned and walked away.
In the kids’ section it’s a common question to be asked the
title or author o f a book from long ago, from the customer’s
childhood. They haven’t thought o f it in years and now it occurs
to them to pass along this story that they loved so dearly as a
child. All day I rattle o ff titles and authors’ names in response to
brief, or sometimes quite lengthy and vivid, telling o f stories.
This is actually the fun part o f selling kids’ books, providing the
missing puzzle piece, putting someone back in touch with a book
they knew years and years ago. I watch their delighted faces as
they catch the first glimpse o f these long-lost books. They reach
out a hand to take it from me, so excited and careful at once,
nostalgia stealing them away. Watching these reunions, and
recommending new titles to someone who’s read everything,
these are the two challenges I face each day as a childrens'
bookseller, the two most pleasurable aspects o f my job.
As you can imagine, the holidays usurp my pleasure, and
selling books in the childrens’ department becomes warfare.. .
strategic and brutal. No time to waste, shoppers have in mind
the perfect storybook gift which may or may not exist, and they
come to me in all the push and shove expecting me to see that
image in their mind. Aside from being crowded, bumped into by
shopping bags and pushed aside by cranky toddlers, the holidays
are pretty standard fare, each year predictably as rushed and
short-tempered as the year preceding it.
When enough is enough, my co-workers and I find each other
in the lunchroom snacking on holiday treats put out for us by
management, and seeking a few short minutes o f sanctuary, a
safe zone from the continuous and progressively frantic stream
o f customers. W e swap anecdotes, cracking each other up with
the day’s events, one-upping one another with our tales o f
difficult and psychotic customers, releasing some tension before
heading back to the front lines.
Cashiers carry the brunt o f the load, standing for hours at a
time without moving other than bending at the knees to fetch a
shopping bag, staring out at the endless sea o f dazed faces, a
steady checkout line which extends twenty feet or more before it
disappears into the literature aisle. Unsmiling people mostly,
shell-shocked, recounting in their minds Who and Which and
How Much while they wait patiently or not. Some appear
organized and bemused, a basket o f selections on the floor
beside them, listening o the music, watching the action, and
taking it all in stride. Others, well, it’s God’s grand scheme to
cause this tragedy in their lives, to keep them suffering in such a
state of distress and despair. They don’t think twice about
unleashing the monster of disappointment which lives inside
them. As soon as they approach the counter, the cashier is
expected to hurry it up and why isn’t this cheaper and don’t you
have another copy o f this?
So, we gather in the lunchroom, eat a few cashews and
goldfish crackers, have a laugh when the going gets tough to
encourage each other with humor and to share the burden that
customer service becomes at Christmastide.
A woman came to me the other day asking me to show her all
the books I had that explain Christmas. Stepping down the
ladder from overstock, I immediately took offense to her sour
personality, the demanding tone and the obscurity o f her
question. Fortunately, my reaction to this sort o f blurting-it-out
is one o f calm and reasonable reckoning. I lean away. 1 breathe.
1 give thanks to be me and not this woman who is unhappy and
off-putting. I smile because I’m supposed to and I keep at an
even pace, asking her more specifically what she had in mind?
A story? For what age? I show her a generic story o f the
nativity. She looked at it responding, “but then he’s going to ask
’what’s the big deal about this ONE baby?’ and I just don’t want
to deal with all o f that. .
I stood motionless, looking more closely at her to get a better
clue, and before I could stop myself the words came out, “Well,
Christmas is all about the birth o f Christ.. . it’s a Christian
holiday.” She’d asked for a book explaining Christmas, am I
crazy? Getting nowhere with her, I faded into the back o f the
section to regroup. . . not being particularly religious myself, but
certainly spiritual, I felt suddenly offended. The girl who
attended Lutheran Sunday School every Sunday morning for the
first 15 years o f her life felt red-faced angry and perturbed that
this woman just wiped her muddy feet on her clean doorstep.
Funny how people touch us, for better or worse. A couple o f
deep breaths layer, I went to her with three alternative stories
about snowmen and Santa Claus. She thanked me
enthusiastically. Was this the same woman who just accosted
me? For the rest o f the day I thought about the origins o f
Christmas. If it is not about the birth of Christ, than what is it
about? As far as I can tell, it’s the time to honor those you love,
to give them something o f yourself, to celebrate the world as you
know it with music, food, and the company o f your dearest
friends. It’s a season for taking stock o f what you love and
giving thanks and celebrating the road thus far.
Well, I love children and stories and kind-hearted people. I
love helping people find something to read. I love the feel c f a
book on my lap and the places I can go on any evening from the
chair in my livingroom; to lands far away and along ago where
there lived no customers, only farmers and seamstresses,
shepherds and milkmaids, in a peaceable kingdom by the
Norwegian Sea. . .
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