Christmas Gift - Woolen Scarf

Ever So Warm, and Attractive, Woolen Scarf (for men or women)

With Christmas just around the corner in our real world, and in Celeste's fictional world it's a great idea to start considering what presents you are giving this year.  In Celeste's world she owns and operates a Sewing Shop, LePetit.  She is extremely creative but limited in cash.  So she decides to make the presents for her family this year.  The following is a pattern for a woolen flannel scarf.

MATERIALS NEEDED

1. 1 yard of woolen flannel (plaid or plain, either is nice)

2. 1 box of straight pins

3. 1 needle (I prefer them with larger eyes, easier to thread)

4. 1 spool of thread to match or contrast with the fabric

Cut two long rectangular pieces of fabric. They need to be slighter wider than you would like a scarf to make room for the side seams. It is helpful to measure it to the person that you are giving it to. If it is made to be a surprise you will have to use your own neck for measurement and then add several inches of fabric for a very large man. Put right sides together and machine stitch all the way around the long rectangle until you come to the very end. Stop sewing about 4 inches from the end of the fabric. Lay the seams flat and press along the seam to open it. You have to be very careful with the iron temperature...too hot and it will singe the fabric...too cold and it won't open the seam. It's helpful to use a press cloth, clean dish towel or pillowcase. Moisten that towel just enough to cause the iron to steam the seam. Pull the finished scarf through the opening. You may want to press the seams again if they did not open well to lay flat. Last of all tuck the ends of the opening in and blind stitch that fabric to finish the project. Voila! A warm, attractive scarf for a chilly day!

  

Mama - Writing

Caroljoy, it's time to do your homework.  ARGH!  Those words scraped across my young nerves more effectively than finger nails on a chalkboard.  My young rebellious soul did NOT like to be told what to do, or when to do it.  This frequently caused my Mom and I to be at odds.  She was a person that needed rigid structure within her day.  On our refrigerator were daily schedules, lists of chores, time the piano was to be practiced, and other items that gave her day, our days, form and shape.  I HATED rigid structure.  I wanted and needed to just let each day unwrap slowly like the best Christmas gift.

The problem with my way of living in each day was that often there was NO consistency.  I would not practice the piano for days (without her loving, firm insistence).  Homework?  I would do the bare minimum to get by. 

Add to this my chronic illnesses, allergy asthma, chronic bronchitis, and basically allergies to every substance on the planet.  I also had a compromised immune system.  This inability to plan ahead effectively also made my rather Bohemian outlook on life more understandable.

Mama...she got smarter as I grew up.  Instead of confronting me face on for example, "Caroljoy, it's your turn to do the dishes.  Get to it, NOW!"  She would use reverse psychology (I somehow did not realize that was what she was doing until I had children of my own).  "Caroljoy, I will do the dishes tonight.  I know that you've had a busy, hard day today.  Don't worry about them, I'll do them."

"Oh no you won't.  I will do the dishes.  It's my turn and I WILL DO THEM!" 

Looking back I can remember a little smile that she would have.  Wily and cunning my Mama was.  Loving and wise as well.  She knew that my health kept me from being consistent in my life.  That rigid structure was her way of creating a form of normalcy in spite of my health issues.

Let's move down the years to 2012, Mother's Day.

This Mother's Day held a golden moment for me.  I took my first novel, Beth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch to my 93 year old Mama.  I used her pen name Vivian Varlowe, (with her permission) for my series.  There was that name that so long ago she'd decided to write with proudly across the top of the book cover.

As she held the novel up her brilliant, brown eyes, (they still sparkle like diamonds), filled with soft, joyous tears.

I said, "Mama, it took awhile but you made it!  YOU and I are published!  I would never have had the talent, skill, or determination to write a novel if you hadn't been my fan club, my teacher, my structure creator, and my beloved friend."

Then came the warmest of hugs, and the sharing of long held love.  For me the achievement of a goal is ALWAYS sweeter when shared with my Mother!

There have never been extensive, comprehensive lists of chores to do, and times to get them done by, as we raised our two daughters.  Yet there WAS a sense of continuity.  A formatting of life's needs and directions was an important gift to our girls.

Just as Mama contributed to my writing with her patient teaching, reverse psychology, and a terrific pen name, I hope that I have given a similar gift to this next generation...our daughters.  Then I hope they pass along those skills, those ideals to their children.

Celeste's Journal

I put my journal in the bottom drawer of my bureau and have ignored it for a very long time.  I just wanted to stay in the shallow part of the ocean.  In other words I didn't want to think very deeply.  I just wanted to live in the day to day to dayness of life.

I find that when I pick up a pen and paper suddenly my thoughts and feelings go deep sometimes so deep down that I can't see the sky.  I know that some people who write in journals or diaries use them as simple chronicles of the circumstances of their day.  An example, "Got up.  Ate oatmeal.  Sewed for the Bond's.  Skipped lunch.  Dinner was toast, coffee and chipped beef.  Sewed until bedtime.  Performed my nighttime ablutions.  Went to bed at 9:30 pm.  I think I just drifted off to sleep reading that as I wrote it.  SO BORING! 

People living after me may read this.  Probably not.  I won't have any children in this world.  Madame's enforced slavery took that away from me.  Eric, and Jamie are my foster sons but when I die they may not even look through my things.  They probably will just give my clothing to the poor and throw out the rest.  Well that was a great way to depress myself!

I'm feeling empty tonight.  I don't know why I pulled out my journal on a gray, winter day in Calkington.  Actually I DO understand.  I need somewhere safe to vent.  I need blank pages in a journal to write the words, I'm lonely.  I want a family.  I want to feel like there is more to my life than working so that I can eat and live in shelter, only to work again so that I can eat and live in shelter. 

I'm trying to accept what Blake has to offer.  There is certainly no other man beating my door down to get to my heart.  Well, Red was infatuated with me for awhile.  The thing is that I would rather lead this empty, sterile life than to marry someone only for company.

Well I now feel much worse than when I started this entry.  Back the journal goes to the bottom of my bureau, buried under layers of clothing.

Online Writing Interview

I'm SO EXCITED today.  I have an online interview about my writing at ariverofstones.com  This interview is under my pen name of Vivian Varlowe.  I'm learning new and different things about marketing.  I have met some amazing people in my writing experience.  I would like to give gratitude to them in this post.  Cozette at Aunt Addy's Country Closet has been so helpful, and positive.  We share the unfortunate connection of being widowed.  Both of us are doing our best to keep living but to say it's hard is to far understate it.
 
Kathryn Elizabeth Jones the founder of ariverofstones.com, is a lovely woman.  She has been writing for a long time.  She also has a publishing company.  She is a writer/marketer who loves to give other writers a helping hand up.  I purchased her book, "Marketing your Book on a Budget."  It's incredibly helpful, and she charged the minimal amount of $5.00 for the book.

M..dear indie writer friend.(don't know if she'd want me to name her on my blog), is a brilliant writer.  She has written multiple series of books.  I can easily see her books as movies.  She generously, lovingly, supports other writers as they stride on this path.  M has so willingly shown me the ropes of being an Independent Writer.  She has also brightened my life when my beloved husband died at 54 years of age.

The last people I wish to thank are my two daughters AND my beloved husband.  They have been loving, supportive, and willing to help me in any way possible.  Our oldest daughter is a professional editor and researcher.  She edited my first novel, and did the computer things to publish my book that I'm not quite literate in yet.  Sarah my youngest has been free in her support and love.

My husband has been gone for almost 2 years now but I still hear his voice in my head.  When I struggle for a word or explaining a specific concept I hear him.  He wrote two published books "Flagpole Fighting and Other Lessons My Mother Taught Me," and "My Child My Love."  He told me once that I was a good writer.  For me that was high praise!  He was a gifted writer.  I fell in love with him because of his writing skills! 

My Papa has been gone for 23 years now.  He a was a brilliant writer. He wrote amazing poetry in Iambic Pentameter...YIKES...in case you don't what that is...it's a specific rhythm of five counts.  I struggle just to write simple rhyme, "I love my doggy, love him so, love my doggy, don't you know, I love my doggy, love him so!"  YUP...Papa wrote in Iambic Pentameter.

Often, I envision my Father and my sweetheart standing on either side of me, giving me a missing word, or a great idea.  After all it was Nyle who gave me the name of the ranch that my series would revolve around, "The Drifting Anchor."

So this post is a gratitude post.  I'm grateful for the outlet of writing.  I 'm grateful for the people that have supported me along the way (that includes all of you who are reading what I write), I'm ever so grateful!

Celeste's Journal

I found this dusty thing under my bed this evening.  I guess I had thrown it down years ago on that awful Christmas.  The Christmas when I realized that I would probably spend my life alone.  I want so much to marry Blake and be a real full-time Mother to his children.  That simply will not be.  So, I'm learning to push those emotions/feelings away from me.  After all, loving the Calkin's long distance is better than NOT loving them at all.

My shop has really picked up momentum since the last time I wrote.  It is still annoying to me how rudely Lucille and her Bond Brat's (also known as children) treat me.  They come pounding on the door two or three hours after I've closed for the day and completely expect me to open the door. for them.

The problem is, they are my best customers, money wise.  Which forces me to put up with their rude behavior.  Lucille is very, very proud of her two little girls.  Her home is her castle.  She keeps it spotless.  (I have only heard about that since I've never been invited anywhere near her residence).

Jamie and Eric are such bright, beautiful boys.  They are a constant joy to me.  They are well mannered, and polite.  It's so much fun to teach them new things.  They grasp new ideas, and information so quickly.  I have fallen head over heels, madly, dizzily, in love with Jamie and Eric.  I'm grateful for their part in my world.

Red is my brother.  Blake?  I'm not quite certain what or who he is to me.  Sometimes he's loving, holds my hand, kisses me in the moonlight.  Then other times he won't touch me, and he acts very distant.  I'm trying my hardest to just be ME...to not let Blake's emotional roller coaster pull me down.

I was able to plant a small garden last summer.  I was amazed at the size of the fruits and veggies that I grew.  Everything grows well in this fertile soil. 

Well, once again I'm going to try hard to write consistently in my journal.  I'm bringing it out from under the bed...good night journal!

The Christmas of Crying

The morning was perfect!  Little Jamie and his wide-eyed wonder as he opened presents.  We had to help him open his gifts.  His small fingers are not quite able to tug at paper and string.  Jamie is growing up, so quickly.  It seems from hour to hour he changes and grows.

 Eric is such a darling boy.  There was only three presents for each boy.  Red, Blake, and I are not  financially blessed at this time.  I made Eric a warm plaid flannel nightshirt with his initials monogrammed on the top in a masculine block lettering. (He opened that last night).  I also made him two new pairs of pants. Two shirts, and a suit coat.  I think he was more excited about the string tie I also made him than the rest.   He grows out of his clothes so rapidly right now.  I swear that he's grown a foot since last Christmas.  (OK, maybe not actually twelve inches.  I do take after my Mother in my exaggerations of life).  After Eric opened the present from me (I wrapped all of the clothes together) he ran to me and threw his chubby arms around my neck.  "I wuv you Maman!  Will you be my Maman forever, and never ever leave?" 

Considering that Eric has lost two Mother's and he's not quite ten yet it's a valid question.  I pulled him into me, his warm cuddly little body warming, touching my heart.  I kissed him on the cheek and said, "Eric, I will never, ever leave you!"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Blake get THE LOOK.  You may ask, "What is THE LOOK?"  I'll tell you.  The Look is a facial stillness.  Blake's eyes grow more open and he bats his eyes...faster, and faster.  Then two spots, one on each cheek reddens.  When he's especially upset his entire face colors to crimson.

The crimson this time moved so rapidly that I was nervous.  Yet Blake said nothing.  We continued opening and admiring our presents. 

When we were finished Red had the boys come into the kitchen to help him finish making breakfast. I think he had also seen The Look.   Alone with Blake and The Look, I tried not to look at him.  I began gathering up the wrappings, and general clutter around the Christmas tree.

Blake took me by the arm.  He led me to the settee.  "Celeste, I know that you meant well but you simply can not make such a foolish promise to Eric!"

"Foolish Blake?"  Now my temper began to rise.  My Maman fought lots and lots with her hot temper that matched her fiery red hair.  I have the same battle.  I struggled at that moment to control it.  "I do not consider a promise to a child that I will always be with him, foolish!  I will do everything in my power to keep that promise!"

A single tear ran down Blake's cheek.  "Celeste, if anyone knows what it's like to not be able to keep such a promise it should be you!  Did your parents have any 'power' to keep their promises to you?"

Celeste began to cry.  "Blake, I know that you can't keep a promise to a child that you will always be able to care for them.  Yet did you see the security come into that boy's eyes thinking that I will always watch over him?  For that precious moment he felt secure, safe, protected.  If the time comes that I have to leave, and can't keep my promise...well I will face that and deal with it then.  Blake in doing your best to face the worst situations before they happen you're robbing today of its joy!"

Blake was silent, head down. 

I continued gathering the debris that remained from the joyous Christmas morning. 

I was startled when Blake pulled me into a rough, passionate embrace.  "Celeste, you are so wise.  How are you so wise when you are still so young?"

I opened my mouth to speak and Blake claimed my lips.  The kiss was dynamite.  I actually felt an explosion of emotion rush through her.  Pulling Blake closer I returned passion for passion.  Then Blake surprised mte.  He went from intense passion to gentleness, tenderness.

When Blake pulled back I felt like someone had removed the oxygen from the room.  I fear that for a brief moment I looked like a guppy opening and closing my mouth slowly.

"Celeste, make me the same promise that you made Eric.  Please promise me that you will never leave me, or Red, Eric, and Jamie.  Promise that you will stay.  Promise!"

I threw my arms around Blake and began to kiss him.  He returned my kiss with the same passion.  "Blake, I will marry you.  I will!"

Then the air seemed to change.  A sharp shock of awkwardness filled the room.  I pulled away from Blake.  I realized with a sick, sinking feeling in my stomach that Blake did not mean he wanted me to marry him.  He just wanted me to stick around in the same situation we have now.  I felt like such a fool.

So I rushed to say,   "Well, I guess that I'd better go home.  I have lots of things to sew before New Year's Eve.  Have a Merry Christmas Blake.  Oh and I won't be at the party tonight."  (Every Christmas Blake and Red have an enormous Christmas party.  They invite all of the workers and everyone from town).

I felt escape necessary.  I could feel the tears building up behind my eyes.  I wouldn't shed them, couldn't shed them.  Not here, not now.  I pushed Blake's restraining arms away.  "I must be going."

"Wait Cely.  What do I tell the children?  We should talk about this!" 

"Tell Eric and Jamie that their Mommy loves them and will see them on Sunday after church."

"You did promise Eric to never leave."

"I won't leave.  I'm at my shop if Eric or Jamie need me."

"What if I need you Celeste?"

I shook my head and sighed enormously.  "Blake, I love you.  On the other hand, I just embarrassed myself enormously.  Please be kind and let me make my escape, quickly."

Blake leaned forward to hold me.  I picked my skirts up and ran.  When I got to the stables I pulled out my trusty old horse.  I didn't even bother with saddle or bridle.  Red has been teaching me how to ride a horse better.  Since we only had an ancient, enormous plowhorse when I was small riding a younger horse with ideas of his own had challenged me.  Today I didn't care.  I couldn't be patient long enough to saddle and bridle.  I pulled my horse to a box on the floor.  I clambered up on the box and then jumped on.

In minutes we were riding, galloping, with me lying low over the horses neck.  I still kept those annoying tears of embarrassment and sorrow tucked away.  I would not ride into town with a blotchy face, and extremely red nose from crying...I WON'T!

Home finally, I brushed my horse.  I put a blanket on his back, and gave him a feedbag.

I went into my home, my business, my sanctuary.  I closed and locked the door behind me.  Next I climbed the stairs.  Reaching my bed I flung myself down...and then allowed myself the release of tears.  I cried until I fell into a restless, dream filled sleep. 

I will overcome my embarrassment tomorrow.  I'll return to the boys, and to Red.  I will back away from Blake.  I MUST back away from Blake.