|Like The Queen
Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
One year when I was seven or so I made everyone in my family bookmarks out of notebook paper, and on Christmas morning I was so ashamed of them I ran up and hid and cried in my bedroom, 'til my sister coaxed me back out. One of my first crafts-gone-wrong. Perhaps that's why I'm not into the scrapbooking and other paper crafts these days....
Merry Christmas Bess!! May it be a glorious one.
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Saturday, December 23, 2006 Ha! Christmas sock #2 is done. I’m going to block them today and wrap them tomorrow. Whew.
Of course, Mama’s and BD’s Christmas sock #2 are destined for other gift occasions, so there’s still a bit of sock guilt hovering about. Hey - it comes with a crafter’s territory. I wonder why I am so insistent that HomeMadeGifts are the only Real Gifts - sort of like sweaters being the only real knitting. I suppose some of it must be DNA - after all, Martha Stewart was born, you know, not assembled. And some of it might stem from never having much $. Or perhaps, not knowing how to manage money very well. But for dozens of years the actual buying of gifts was pretty much beyond our means. I believe the total Christmas budget was $100 and I could keep to it. So I can manage a tee tiny bit of money - just not large sums. And even if I could stay within a no money budget that doesn’t mean people didn’t think my gifts were cheesy or creepy or ugly or embarrassing. I have always given with the blithe confidence that none of my gifts would ever sink to as low a level as my youngest sister’s gift, the year she was in 1st grade, to Mama.
The class all made candle holding arrangements for their mothers, gluing leaves and sweet gum balls and acorns around a soda bottle cap on a paper plate. The whole assemblage was spray painted gold and allowed to dry. The actual wrapping of the decorative object was left to each child, in the comfort of her own home. Evidently my sister was so impressed with her artistry she didn’t ask anyone for help with that last task. This was going to be a surprise to wow the whole family. She put the gift in a cardboard box my dad’s shirts came home from the cleaners in - an oblong that was a good deal too long for her golden gift. To keep it from sliding around inside, she padded it with the trash from the bathroom trash can. Lipstick blotted tissue from the teenaged sister, a Reece’s peanut butter cup wrapper from me, a tangerine peel. I can only suppose she thought the bathroom tissue looked soft and fluffy, and maybe the fruit peel would give off a nice fragrance. She always did look at the world from a quirky angle.
I can still see my mother’s face on Christmas day when she opened the box-of-trash present. I can still laugh about it till tears stream down my cheeks. I am still mightily impressed at mother’s rebound off the floor of disgust onto the pedestal of maternal wisdom. I could see her brain working like some precision instrument and in a twinkling she had reassembled the bits of golden flora into something of an arrangement. She thought the bottle cap was part of the “packing” though, and sister had to tell her, through her tears, that it was supposed to hold a candle. I believe sister only cried a little bit but we all still giggle about that morning.
This is shaping up to be so not a social Christmas; no parties, no guests. Instead it shall be a curl into the nest and sleep or knit or read sort of one. I am beginning to think maybe I live on another planet. Fortunately, I don’t have TV reception so I’m not constantly reminded that I’m not behaving appropriately Christmassly festive. I still don’t have a tree up - boo hoo - but I by golly, no matter how much it’s raining, we are going to get one today. It is, fortuantely, as warm as Florida today - even the spring birds are singing out among the bushes. Getting wet won't matter. I have to go into town this morning very briefly, for a hair cut and to pick up at least one more Christmas movie. Other than that - I foresee a quiet weekend.
Oh - and M, the library fines come to about $750 a year - enough to do some serious book buying. At a nickle a day this means folk are mighty lazy getting their books back around here. When libraries don’t have late fees, it’s because they have to turn in that money to their local government, where it goes into the general fund and they never see it again. No point in collecting it if you can’t keep it. Happily, we get to keep our $, probably because it never occurs to the county that they could lay claim to it.
May your days - and your vacuuming - be merry and bright! posted by Bess | 7:26 AM