Honestly, Lucille Bond is such a miserable human being! I am exhausted from years of bowing and scraping to her to earn an income. I am convinced that she purchases clothes from me only because it gives her an outlet to make me feel worse about myself than I already feel.
Today she came to pick up the dress that I had made for her. She had been most specific about her choice of style, and type of fabric. We even had a fitting to make certain that the garment fit her perfectly. I do everything in my power to please Lucille. I need her business. Oh how I wish that I could tell her to take her business elsewhere. I simply could not survive in this little town without her business.
The fitting went very smoothly, which for Lucille is remarkable. Today she strides in demanding to have the finished dress altered. She wants the sleeves to be broader leg of lamb sleeves. (Initially she had wanted regular arm fitted sleeves). Lucille does NOT request. She DEMANDS. I am certain that she spends time thinking of new ways to annoy me.
Fortunately I had enough fabric left to remove the fitted sleeves and create new sleeves. As I was glancing at my stockpile of fabrics to ascertain if I had enough fabric Lucille decided to go through my well organized supply of buttons. She pulled out of my small cabinet one or two buttons of virtually every one of my button choices. I have at least 200 different types of buttons. That makes around 400 buttons that I have to re-sort and put away.
At this point I was not speaking about anything other than the dress that she wanted re-made. I felt as though I were literally holding back my temper from exploding. I wanted to slap her. Of course she did NOT apologize for messing up all of the buttons.
Next she strode over to a dress that I had finished and hung up for Sophronia Evans. Sophronia has very little money. She has children and any money that she gets goes to clothing and feeding her children. Sophrie befriended me when I first came to Calkington. She befriended me even when the gossip in town was about Madame Rouge's death at the ranch, and my being a prostitute.
Lucille strode up to it and demanded. "I want this dress!"
I moved forward. Inwardly I was cursing myself for not putting the dress in my bedroom where Lucille Bond could never see it. She has actually done this twice before, demanding that I give her a dress that I have made for someone else. Both times I told her that I would be happy to make something similar. Of course, heaven forbid that Lucille wears a dress like somebody else's. The town is small. It would be very likely that both women would attend a social event in the same dress.
Both times the dress that she insisted she should have would have to be altered substantially to fit Lucille. Lucille doesn't care about that. She's excited to find some way to make my life more complicated.
Again I said, "Lucille, this dress has been made for someone else. I would be happy to make you a dress of similar style and fabric."
"You never make ME dresses like that. You always do your best work for OTHER clients in Calkington."
I sighed, "Lucille, I make you the dresses that you request. I usually alter patterns to make your dresses but the alterations, and changes to the style are always your choice. So, you are saying that your taste is faulty?"
I saw the anger in Lucille's eyes. If she were a dragon she would have been exhaling flames. Without a single word she snatched up the dress that she had said she wanted altered and strode out of the shop.
I sighed and stretched my back. I actually feel sorry for Lucille. She feels inferior to everyone. On the surface she acts as though she's better than anyone else. The reality is that she grew up desperately poor. They did have love in their family (Willard has told me), but very little else. Lucille often went hungry. She worked really hard to help provide for her family.
Knowing what drives her cruelty and unkindness, and tolerating her actions are two very different things. If Willard were not her husband I would refuse her business...even if I starved. I dare say that if Willard did not insist that she purchase her clothing from my shop she would starve before allowing me to sew for her.
The best thing about sewing for Lucille Bond is when she leaves!
Monday, January 27, 2014
Friday, January 24, 2014
Dishes, Shmisses
I loathe, despise, abhor, hate, dread, and every other type of descriptive word that is negative, doing dishes. I have a dishwasher. It is quite old, not 1800's old, but old for a dishwasher. This means that before I place the dishes in the dishwasher I must wash them. I need the boiling action of the dishwasher to make certain that there are as few germs lurking on those dishes and silverware as possible. I'm immune compromised and use every way that I can to avoid becoming ill.
I am incredibly sensitive and allergic. I have heard many times in my life the unfortunate and unpleasant statement from an allergist, "You are the most highly allergic patient that I've ever worked with." This is NOT something that I take pride in. I would even prefer to be the 2ND most sensitive person that they worked with!
When I wash dishes the skin on my hands splits open. (Please do not suggest gloves, they make the situation worse. I have tried each and every type of dishwashing detergent...none are better than the others). I have nerve damage in my hands so these splits, sometimes so small that the naked eye can't see them, but trust me, I feel them. They throb sharply with each and every beat of my heart.
I have tried using paper plates but the sheer amount of waste that it creates sickens me. I wish to leave as little garbage behind me as I move through life. I recycle, and do my best to keep my "Thumbprint," on the earth a small one.
I wash the dishes twice, maybe three times a week. There are only three of us eating from our dishes and silverware so washing them only this much is sustainable. The other members of my family work hard, very, very hard. One member works three jobs, the other teaches school. If anyone thinks that you are done at the end of a school day they do not understand the demands of teaching. A writer, home all day, I am the logical person to wash the dishes. Nobody told me to do so, but I DO wish to help make my family dynamic as pleasant as possible.
When I was growing up one of my much older relatives told me that she enjoyed washing the dishes. She explained that she had grown up in a three room cabin. She had 5 siblings, and two parents eating from those dishes. Each and every morning she was dispatched with two enormous buckets to the nearby river (a mere 1/4 of a mile), to acquire the water that was needed that day for household chores. She began doing this task as a very small child and those buckets were incredibly heavy.
Returning home she had to light a fire in the wood stove to heat the water. Kindling first, and sometimes flint and tinder to create the beginning spark. (Matches were considered an expensive and unneeded expense). Logs were acquired and then chopped into small pieces for the oven box.
When the water was hot the heavy pan was carried to a makeshift sink. The water was poured into the sink, and soap flakes were cut from a home made cake of soap. The soap cake had a base of lye so the soap had excellent cleaning action on the dishes. It had excellent cleaning action on the hands as well...in fact sometimes when it was a little too strong it cleaned some of the skin right off her hands.
In her 70's she spoke of how she loved washing the dishes in the 20th century. She said that each and every time that she merely turned on the tap and hot water ran out, she was thrilled. Using a mild detergent on her dishes that did NOT eat the skin off her hands was also a great pleasure.
So, did you catch the steps that she used to wash dishes in the 1800's?
1. Haul water from the river
2. Chop logs into small enough pieces to use in the wood stove box, and find kindling to help start the fire. (When she was really small her older siblings did this task. When she grew older it was added to the dishwashing regimen).
3. Start a fire (usually there were no matches, so a flint and tinder had to be used to create the initial spark).
4. Boil the water.
5. Carry the incredibly heavy bucket of hot water to the makeshift sink and pour it in.
6. Scrape flakes from the homemade lye soap.
7. Wash the dishes.
8. Dry the dishes and put them away. (The towels used for drying the dishes were often made from flour sacks after the flour was gone, so making the towels was another part of the dishwashing routine).
This work was done three times a day. Meals had to be made three times a day as well. This meant that about the time that you had finished the laborious work of washing the dishes, it was time to cook the next meal, and then wash the dishes again.
I still despise washing the dishes...but I admit that washing them in the 21st century is MUCH more pleasant than it would have been in the 1800's!
I am incredibly sensitive and allergic. I have heard many times in my life the unfortunate and unpleasant statement from an allergist, "You are the most highly allergic patient that I've ever worked with." This is NOT something that I take pride in. I would even prefer to be the 2ND most sensitive person that they worked with!
When I wash dishes the skin on my hands splits open. (Please do not suggest gloves, they make the situation worse. I have tried each and every type of dishwashing detergent...none are better than the others). I have nerve damage in my hands so these splits, sometimes so small that the naked eye can't see them, but trust me, I feel them. They throb sharply with each and every beat of my heart.
I have tried using paper plates but the sheer amount of waste that it creates sickens me. I wish to leave as little garbage behind me as I move through life. I recycle, and do my best to keep my "Thumbprint," on the earth a small one.
I wash the dishes twice, maybe three times a week. There are only three of us eating from our dishes and silverware so washing them only this much is sustainable. The other members of my family work hard, very, very hard. One member works three jobs, the other teaches school. If anyone thinks that you are done at the end of a school day they do not understand the demands of teaching. A writer, home all day, I am the logical person to wash the dishes. Nobody told me to do so, but I DO wish to help make my family dynamic as pleasant as possible.
When I was growing up one of my much older relatives told me that she enjoyed washing the dishes. She explained that she had grown up in a three room cabin. She had 5 siblings, and two parents eating from those dishes. Each and every morning she was dispatched with two enormous buckets to the nearby river (a mere 1/4 of a mile), to acquire the water that was needed that day for household chores. She began doing this task as a very small child and those buckets were incredibly heavy.
Returning home she had to light a fire in the wood stove to heat the water. Kindling first, and sometimes flint and tinder to create the beginning spark. (Matches were considered an expensive and unneeded expense). Logs were acquired and then chopped into small pieces for the oven box.
When the water was hot the heavy pan was carried to a makeshift sink. The water was poured into the sink, and soap flakes were cut from a home made cake of soap. The soap cake had a base of lye so the soap had excellent cleaning action on the dishes. It had excellent cleaning action on the hands as well...in fact sometimes when it was a little too strong it cleaned some of the skin right off her hands.
In her 70's she spoke of how she loved washing the dishes in the 20th century. She said that each and every time that she merely turned on the tap and hot water ran out, she was thrilled. Using a mild detergent on her dishes that did NOT eat the skin off her hands was also a great pleasure.
So, did you catch the steps that she used to wash dishes in the 1800's?
1. Haul water from the river
2. Chop logs into small enough pieces to use in the wood stove box, and find kindling to help start the fire. (When she was really small her older siblings did this task. When she grew older it was added to the dishwashing regimen).
3. Start a fire (usually there were no matches, so a flint and tinder had to be used to create the initial spark).
4. Boil the water.
5. Carry the incredibly heavy bucket of hot water to the makeshift sink and pour it in.
6. Scrape flakes from the homemade lye soap.
7. Wash the dishes.
8. Dry the dishes and put them away. (The towels used for drying the dishes were often made from flour sacks after the flour was gone, so making the towels was another part of the dishwashing routine).
This work was done three times a day. Meals had to be made three times a day as well. This meant that about the time that you had finished the laborious work of washing the dishes, it was time to cook the next meal, and then wash the dishes again.
I still despise washing the dishes...but I admit that washing them in the 21st century is MUCH more pleasant than it would have been in the 1800's!
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Celeste's Journal
Joyous day. I spent the day with Blake, Red, Jamie, and Eric at the beach. I love the feeling of the cool sand between my bare toes. The roaring of the ocean washing forward and back, forward, and back, forward and back makes me feel peaceful, happy, serene.
The best part, of course, was being with my family. Red is a brother, the boys my children, Blake? I still do not know what to call Blake. I don't wish to call him a friend for he is more than a platonic friend. We kiss, and I feel hopeful that someday he will make me his wife.
Jamie and Eric had such fun racing the waves. They would run out when the waves went out, and then race to the beach trying to reach it before the wave reached them. Red, Blake, and I all joined them. I had on a "Bathing Costume," that I made for myself. It consists of a blouse, then a strange garment that is rather like long underwear only there are no sleeves, just straps, and it does not go all the way to my ankles but about calf length. I made it out of lovely fabric that does NOT become invisible when it is wet. I have a cap that matches that keeps my hair from getting filled with salty water.
The beach was deserted today. It's late in the summer and the days are getting shorter and colder. It was wonderful to have that stretch of sand just for us, for my family. I am so grateful that I have a family.
Eric is so strong, so calm. He always can make me smile with his loving, thoughtful ways.
Jamie...Jamie is a busy boy...always wanting to test things...always wanting to see how things work. It takes all three of us to keep Jamie from hurting himself!
Today while we were eating Jamie ran on his stout, chubby little legs right into the water. He would have been carried out to sea if Blake did not run so fast. Blake grabbed him out of the ocean as Jamie began to sink.
It took quite awhile before my heart went back to beating normally after that experience. Blake paddled Jamie's bottom. I cried, but it did not take very long before Jamie again ran into the waves. This time Red saved him, and then paddled him.
Honestly, that little boy has caused Red, Blake, and I more than a few gray hairs, and he's not yet 5 years old! I worry for the future!
Eric in the meantime is contented with building cities out of sand. He builds roadways, homes, stores, and arranges fields for growing crops, raising livestock, and then peoples all of those places with humans made from sand.
I can't decide if he will become a great artist, or a city planner! Whatever Eric does I know that he will make this world a better place.
Jamie...well in the immortal words of Mark Twain, "He will either become President of the United States, or he will be hung..." Dearest diary, please understand that I laugh as I write this. Jamie will be a GREAT man. He will be a leader more than a follower. He will not let a small thing like fear keep him from achieving his dreams!
Well good-night diary. I must sleep. Tomorrow I am back at work..and sigh, I have an appointment with Lucille Bond. I know that she loved Ardis, Blake's first wife, and that is part of the reason that she hates me, because she feels like I'm trying to replace Ardis in Blake and the boys lives. Her constantly smug and superior way is almost too annoying to be born!
Well now I am WIDE awake! Maman always told me to pray before sleep. She said that it calmed you so that sleep was more restful. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen"
The best part, of course, was being with my family. Red is a brother, the boys my children, Blake? I still do not know what to call Blake. I don't wish to call him a friend for he is more than a platonic friend. We kiss, and I feel hopeful that someday he will make me his wife.
Jamie and Eric had such fun racing the waves. They would run out when the waves went out, and then race to the beach trying to reach it before the wave reached them. Red, Blake, and I all joined them. I had on a "Bathing Costume," that I made for myself. It consists of a blouse, then a strange garment that is rather like long underwear only there are no sleeves, just straps, and it does not go all the way to my ankles but about calf length. I made it out of lovely fabric that does NOT become invisible when it is wet. I have a cap that matches that keeps my hair from getting filled with salty water.
The beach was deserted today. It's late in the summer and the days are getting shorter and colder. It was wonderful to have that stretch of sand just for us, for my family. I am so grateful that I have a family.
Eric is so strong, so calm. He always can make me smile with his loving, thoughtful ways.
Jamie...Jamie is a busy boy...always wanting to test things...always wanting to see how things work. It takes all three of us to keep Jamie from hurting himself!
Today while we were eating Jamie ran on his stout, chubby little legs right into the water. He would have been carried out to sea if Blake did not run so fast. Blake grabbed him out of the ocean as Jamie began to sink.
It took quite awhile before my heart went back to beating normally after that experience. Blake paddled Jamie's bottom. I cried, but it did not take very long before Jamie again ran into the waves. This time Red saved him, and then paddled him.
Honestly, that little boy has caused Red, Blake, and I more than a few gray hairs, and he's not yet 5 years old! I worry for the future!
Eric in the meantime is contented with building cities out of sand. He builds roadways, homes, stores, and arranges fields for growing crops, raising livestock, and then peoples all of those places with humans made from sand.
I can't decide if he will become a great artist, or a city planner! Whatever Eric does I know that he will make this world a better place.
Jamie...well in the immortal words of Mark Twain, "He will either become President of the United States, or he will be hung..." Dearest diary, please understand that I laugh as I write this. Jamie will be a GREAT man. He will be a leader more than a follower. He will not let a small thing like fear keep him from achieving his dreams!
Well good-night diary. I must sleep. Tomorrow I am back at work..and sigh, I have an appointment with Lucille Bond. I know that she loved Ardis, Blake's first wife, and that is part of the reason that she hates me, because she feels like I'm trying to replace Ardis in Blake and the boys lives. Her constantly smug and superior way is almost too annoying to be born!
Well now I am WIDE awake! Maman always told me to pray before sleep. She said that it calmed you so that sleep was more restful. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen"
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Celeste's Journal
So many things to be grateful for in this New Year. I can't believe that once again an old year has gone to it's rest, and a New Year has given me the chance to start over! We are given so many new chances in this life. For example every day is a renewal opportunity, every week, month, year, each of those bring the chance to change our choices.
I've made a resolution this year to love those boys, those Calkin boys, like I am their Mother. They truly are my children in my heart. If Blake never marries me, at least I have the joy and love of mothering those dear, dear, boys.
Last week there was a small knock at the door. I opened it and there was Eric. He had gotten permission to walk to town and visit me. I was astonished. He's still so young to walk so far. He also had permission to stay overnight with me. Red is coming to pick him up tomorrow.
I could not have had a surprise that excited me more. I cooked for my boy, we played checkers in front of a roaring fireplace, I told him stories about France. Then I tucked him into my bed and I slept in a bedroll on the floor.
He protested having me sleep on the floor and him in the bed. I told him that the bedroll was really comfortable. He said, "Then you won't mind that I'm sleeping on it." He refused to get in the bed sweet boy. Then he said words that I will cling to my heart forever. "No Mother of mine will EVER sleep on the floor when I sleep in a bed!"
Ferociously, this boy of ours, Blake and mine, correction, Ardis, Sarah, Blake, and mine protects and watches over me. How I love him. I tucked him in with French lullabies his Grandma used to sing to me. Then I sat for a while just looking at the handsome young boy so quickly becoming a handsome young man. I prayed for him. Prayed that God would grant him protection in life. I wish him to be protected from the hardest things that life can hand him.
Then as I dressed for bed and climbed in I realized that those very "Hard things," in life had the power to make him stronger, more empathetic, a better man. So I changed my prayer. This time I prayed that Eric would have the strength to bear life's hardest sorrows. That Blake, Red, and I would have the wisdom that we need to help him face whatever life gives him.
I still don't know that I believe that God listens to anything that I might tell him. After all, humans are like grains of sand at the ocean. There are so many of us. Why should a God who created all of the intensity of the universe care a bit about me and my little life? It doesn't feel like he cared about me or my family on the vastness of the ocean, or in Astoria.
I tell myself you will do anything that you can to make your son's life better. Even if you pray to a God that you don't really believe in. If God DOES care then he will help my son through life. I will NOT pray for myself but I will pray for Eric, for Jamie. I will do everything in my power to make their lives rich, warm, and safe!
I am tired and tomorrow will come far too quickly.
I've made a resolution this year to love those boys, those Calkin boys, like I am their Mother. They truly are my children in my heart. If Blake never marries me, at least I have the joy and love of mothering those dear, dear, boys.
Last week there was a small knock at the door. I opened it and there was Eric. He had gotten permission to walk to town and visit me. I was astonished. He's still so young to walk so far. He also had permission to stay overnight with me. Red is coming to pick him up tomorrow.
I could not have had a surprise that excited me more. I cooked for my boy, we played checkers in front of a roaring fireplace, I told him stories about France. Then I tucked him into my bed and I slept in a bedroll on the floor.
He protested having me sleep on the floor and him in the bed. I told him that the bedroll was really comfortable. He said, "Then you won't mind that I'm sleeping on it." He refused to get in the bed sweet boy. Then he said words that I will cling to my heart forever. "No Mother of mine will EVER sleep on the floor when I sleep in a bed!"
Ferociously, this boy of ours, Blake and mine, correction, Ardis, Sarah, Blake, and mine protects and watches over me. How I love him. I tucked him in with French lullabies his Grandma used to sing to me. Then I sat for a while just looking at the handsome young boy so quickly becoming a handsome young man. I prayed for him. Prayed that God would grant him protection in life. I wish him to be protected from the hardest things that life can hand him.
Then as I dressed for bed and climbed in I realized that those very "Hard things," in life had the power to make him stronger, more empathetic, a better man. So I changed my prayer. This time I prayed that Eric would have the strength to bear life's hardest sorrows. That Blake, Red, and I would have the wisdom that we need to help him face whatever life gives him.
I still don't know that I believe that God listens to anything that I might tell him. After all, humans are like grains of sand at the ocean. There are so many of us. Why should a God who created all of the intensity of the universe care a bit about me and my little life? It doesn't feel like he cared about me or my family on the vastness of the ocean, or in Astoria.
I tell myself you will do anything that you can to make your son's life better. Even if you pray to a God that you don't really believe in. If God DOES care then he will help my son through life. I will NOT pray for myself but I will pray for Eric, for Jamie. I will do everything in my power to make their lives rich, warm, and safe!
I am tired and tomorrow will come far too quickly.
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