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The Brooklin Town Crier 3 Brooklin's Community Newspaper 5th Annual Summer ArtFest By Sarah Eddenden Members of the Ashburn Art Circle, in partnership with Group 74, are getting ready to celebrate the 5th annual Summer ArtFest in Brooklin on Saturday, July 16 in Grass Park from 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. The Ashburn Art Circle is responsible for organizing the visual arts portion of the event and will host 15 to 20 artists and photographers who will display and sell their work in individual tents. Some of the artists whose work will be featured include: Donna Painter, painter Emma Inkpen, photographer and painter Sheri Gundry, visual artist (variety of media) & performance artist Jessica Tamlin, graphic designer Mike McGowa, painter Margaret Brackley - painter, jeweller Martha Weber, artist & photographer Andris Piebalgs, photographer Lela Filipovski, ceramic artist Kelly Fraleigh - photographer Veronica Kerr & Virginia Fernandes,stained glass artists Martha Longo, painter in oils Ruth McCurdy, photographer Mahika Perera, student artist Janice Sommerville, wildlife photographer Russ Styles, fine art photographer white grass, black icing, red socks A hot rainless day in June. Germany plays a dominant, boring game of soccer versus Slovakia. The thing is, I'd love it if Germany was warmer, and by that I mean more huggy. Messier, maybe, although Müller could pull his socks up every now and then. Maybe being more emotional would make them more endearing. They are like automatons. Two-zero, and I find myself losing interest, remembering I must make cupcakes for the grade 8 grad party. White frosting, red and black decorative icing, loops and lots of Ps for Pringle. The France-Republic of Ireland game this morning was better. Wonder when I developed this warmth for France. Blue shirts and red socks. I don't understand why Portugal's Ronaldo is so lauded. It is true, he is a great player, but such a sore head, such a bad sport. Does that not count for anything? He is always in the top 10 list of best soccer players worldwide. But then, so is Luis Suarez and he bites his opponents. He's done it more than once. It's true. Google 'soccer dude who bites' (I just did) and you get Luis Suarez. How could anyone think a guy who bites people on the other team is worth their time and allegiance? After a walk, I am covered with a thin film of sweat. I saw my dental technician, out for a jog while wheeling her child. She says she is going to jump in her pool. When I get home, I stand in front of the oscillating fan. Our cat sleeps. Our grass is dry and almost white. Seems silly to water it, like pouring money down the drain. We are letting it sleep for now. There are new yellow flowers in our back garden, alongside red and orange ones. I do water them, from a big tin watering can. The cat grass grows tall. The hummingbird feeder is empty again. Bees? my husband suggests. My son just came back from a trip to Muskoka with a scab that encircled the front half of his neck. Like someone had close-lined him. "What happened?" I asked when I saw it. He was decked out in his new Muskoka hoodie. Smiling and tired. He told me that he was walking past a tetherball set when someone took the ball and swung it around hard. Caught my son on the other side. Impressive. He says it only hurts if someone touches it. I leave it alone. It's good to have him back home. He liked kayaking the most. I turn the game off at 3-0. If the Germans could just lose their cool once. Not look so in control. The Croatians were a blast. Iceland is electric. Italy seems sort of asleep, though I award them coolest named player for Zaza. (runners up: Italian goalie Gigi Buffon, Poland's Jakub Błaszczykowski, and Hungarian coach Bernd Storck). But the French are supreme. Coman's bursts of incredible speed, a tall drink of water like Sissoko and Pogba is a gazelle. My husband says the French coach looks like he should be holding a cognac. Courvoisier in a big snifter. While I appreciate Didier's laissez-faire (and I just love the name Didier), I most enjoy the Polish coach. Mr. Nawalka wears a collared shirt, a dark v-neck sweater and a scarf messily wrapped around his neck. Gelled back short gray hair. Footie is a game that entrances, that charms and grabs hold, lures and seduces and, when it is done, winks and leaves. Some play it mechanically. Some play like they are fighting for their lives. Some dance and dart and hover, then fly. The cat is awake now and eating his grass. Our house smells like frosting.