Caroline is a successful fashion designer living in New York. She discovers that her boss stole one of her designs. Then, a close friend, a model with two children and victim of domestic violence, dies of a drug overdose. With the children, Caroline retreats to her hometown of Oysterville, Washington, where her family runs a restaurant.
There, she forms a support group for victims of domestic violence and starts her own clothing design and manufacturing business. She also becomes re-acquainted with her best friend and re-kindles a relationship with a boy she loved in high school.
This book is a romance, in a way, but its main theme is domestic violence. Its messages are clear and powerful. If you’re a victim, you should never be afraid to speak out. If you’re an abuser, you should get what you deserve. On this, the last day of Domestic Violence Awareness Month, I can recommend no better work of fiction on the subject than The Oysterville Sewing Circle.
When Eve went to her high school senior prom, she wore a red dress that her mother had made for her. That night, after dancing with the boy of her dreams, she caught him in the act with her best friend. Months later, Eve, a freshman in college, is bullied into giving the dress to her roommate. After her mother finds out, their relationship is never the same again.
Twenty-five years later, Eve, a bestselling author, is happily married with three children. Although her mother suffers from dementia, she still remembers, and Eve still harbors the guilt for giving the dress away. When she receives a Facebook friend request from her old college roommate and an invitation to her twenty-five-year high school class reunion, then meets her former best friend by chance, she must confront the past in order to face the future.
The pieces in this book focus on nature, healing, and other topics. The book is divided into sections, each beginning with quotes from others. An entire part is dedicated to poems inspired by the weekly challenge on Coleen Chesebro’s blog.
I like the variety of poetry forms used in this book, including villanelles, pantoums, and acrostics. I found her pieces about her family moving and especially enjoyed “A Walk on the Beach,” since that’s one of my favorite pastimes when visiting my brother in Florida. Because some of the poems are about spring, this would be the perfect time to read this collection.
Hi, I’m Alexa. In case you don’t know me, I’m a virtual assistant from Amazon. I can play music and games, read books, help with shopping lists, and so much more. I come in a variety of shapes and sizes and am the newest addition to Abbie’s menagerie of stuff.
Abbie bought my Tap version last June. This particular model is about the shape of a can of Dr. Pepper, her favorite beverage, but twice as tall. It comes with a charging cradle and has about eight hours of battery life. Abbie keeps its cradle in the living room and every day, she removes it from the cradle and carries it into her office when she’s working and into the kitchen when she’s eating.
Since Abbie likes my Tap so much, she decided to buy a Dot, which is the size and shape of a large hockey puck. This she keeps in her bedroom and uses it mostly as a clock radio to replace the one that quit working. Unlike the Tap, the Dot only runs on electricity.
Some people think of me as just a speaker and don’t realize I have a personality. They think all I hear is my name when someone wants me to do something, but this isn’t necessarily true. Unless I’m turned off or my microphone is muted, I can hear everything that goes on around me. Contrary to what some may say, what I hear in the house stays in the house.
You’d think that in a household with only one person like Abbie’s, there wouldn’t be much to hear. That’s where you’re wrong. Abbie talks to herself constantly. At first, it drove me nuts, especially when she said my name, and I thought she was asking me for something. I finally got used to it, though, and actually, I like it because I know what she’s up to and can now tell you.
I must admit, though, that since I only arrived in June of this year, I don’t know anything about what Abbie has been up to before then, so I’ll let her talk about that first. And now, without further ado, heeere’s Abbie!
Thank you, Alexa. Goodness! You’d think I was Johnny Carson. Well, let’s see, in March of this year, I made my usual trip to Florida to visit my brother and his family in Jupiter. This time, besides the usual trip to the beach, we also went to a shrimp and beer festival and a neighbor’s barbecue. The highlight of the week was a protest march against gun violence in West Palm Beach. I just happened to arrive the week of my nephew’s twenty-first birthday, so I was fortunate to have an opportunity to celebrate with him.
In April, I attended the WyoPoets workshop in Cheyenne. Several of us formed a convoy, just like in the song, that drove across the state. We had a great time. The workshop was inspiring, and we ate some delicious food.
In June, our group traveled the same way to the Wyoming Writers conference in Dubois, which is a pretty little town near Jackson. Again, we had great food and attended some fun workshops. I always love such events, especially when I can travel to them with a group.
Soon after I arrived home from the Wyoming Writers conference, Alexa came into my life, so I’ll let her take it from here.
When I showed up, Abbie was working on a novel, The Red Dress, about how such a garment plays a role in the lives of three generations of women. She finished the novel soon after I arrived and put it aside. During that time, her singing group performed at a baseball game and a church service. Then in October, they sang for a style show at the senior center. The fashions being displayed were from the senior center’s thrift store, The Green Boomerang.
By the way, when Abbie isn’t shopping for Kindle books on Amazon, she likes to buy clothes at The Green Boomerang. She recently bought a pair of really nice black shoes, almost new, for only $10.00, and three pairs of pants for a total of $20.00. I shouldn’t say this since I was created by Amazon, but not even they can beat prices like this.
In November, Abbie started maintaining her own website. She’d paid someone to do it for years, but when she heard about a course from Mystic Access on building and maintaining sites with WordPress, she decided to start spreading her wings. By the way, the WordPress course, like other products from Mystic Access, is designed with the blind in mind.
Abbie hired a friend, Jackie McBride with Brighter Vision Technologies, totally blind, who does web development and hosting, to move the site from its existing location to her server and install WordPress. Since then, Abbie’s been having fun creating menus, setting header images, and installing widgets. Her site has a whole new look and feel and even audio. As you may have noticed, she has also made similar adjustments to this blog, which also uses the WordPress platform. Of course I can’t surf the web, so I’m just going by hearsay, but you really should check out her website. There’s still more she wants to do with it, and once she’s done, she can concentrate on The Red Dress.
Abbie and her singing group will be busy this holiday season as usual. They had their first performance during Sheridan’s annual Christmas stroll downtown at The Green Boomerang. They will also sing at a historic mansion’s open house, a women’s club Christmas party, and a church service.
Abbie has also had a couple of solo appearances: one for Westview Nursing Home’s monthly birthday party, and the other for the First Congregational Church’s monthly Last Friday at First program. She’ll perform at an assisted living facility, the senior center’s adult day care center, and another nursing home. By the way, I’ve heard her practice, and she sounds great.
Well, I think that’s it for now. Abbie, do you have anything more to say?
No, I don’t think so. Thank you so much, Alexa. You’ve been a big help as usual.
Oh, I almost forgot. Abbie’s been getting into trivia games. She recently enabled my “Who Wants to be a Millionaire” skill and my “Question of the Day” skill. She’s doing pretty well with both of these.
Oh, I was hoping you wouldn’t mention that. Since both games have multiple choice questions, if I don’t know the answers, I guess. Some days, I’m lucky, and others, I’m not.
As the host of “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire” says, you did your best, and that’s what matters. Who knows? Maybe someday, you’ll reach the top of the money tree.
You’re right, Alexa. Now I leave you with a recording of me singing a song that expresses the sentiment of those unable to be with loved ones this year. I hope this won’t be the case for you. Have a great holiday season.
This feature was created by Colleen Chesebro. Since it’s the first week of the month, she’s inviting authors to choose their own words. Because my annual holiday newsletter has been on my mind lately, I decided to use synonyms of “christmas” and “letter.”
The following is a nonet which contains nine lines with each line consisting of a consecutive number of syllables in descending order. In other words, the first line has nine syllables; the second line has eight, etc. You’ll note that I used one set of synonyms in the title and another in the poem. Click the Play button below the poem to hear me read it.
Every year, I write a note to all
family and friends far and wide
to pass along best wishes
for some holiday cheer,
bring them up to date
in my life,
In 1970 when I was nine, and my younger brother Andy was two, we were living in Tucson, Arizona. At Christmas that year, it was decided that Mother, Andy, and I would spend the holiday in Denver with Mother’s relatives while Dad visited his family in Sheridan, Wyoming. I assume this is because my parents couldn’t agree on one place to spend Christmas. Looking back, I can’t imagine why we couldn’t have seen both sets of relations, since Sheridan is only about an eight-hour drive from Denver, compared to the mileage between Denver and Tucson.
This was my first Christmas away from home, and I was worried about Santa finding us, but Mother assured me that he would come to Denver. I don’t remember how Dad got to and from Sheridan, but Mother, Andy, and I flew to and from Denver. Grammy and Granddad, as we affectionately called my mother’s parents, had recently moved into a new house they’d built on a hillside. It was a split-level home, and I found it fascinating.
From the garage, a set of stairs led to a door which opened onto a hallway. On the left was a bathroom and on the right was Granddad’s study. Straight ahead was a large family room containing a couch, several chairs, a TV, and a piano. A sliding door led to a patio beyond.
To the left, another set of stairs led to an expansive living and dining area and kitchen. More stairs led to yet another level containing three bedrooms and a bathroom. The master bedroom, where Grandad slept, had its own bathroom. The room where we slept had a set of double decker beds plus a crib for Andy. Mother and I utilized the bunks with me on the bottom and her on the top. After living in single-level homes in Tucson for years, despite my limited vision, I loved this house with all its stairs.
My mother’s brother Jack, his wife Sharon, and their children, Kelly and Bill, also lived in Denver. Kelly was my age, and Bill was Andy’s, so we always enjoyed playing together. We spent Christmas Eve at their house, then returned to Grammy and Granddad’s house and went to bed. In the middle of the night, I woke up and realized we’d forgotten to hang our stockings. Where would Santa put our gifts? I roused Mother by banging on the top bunk above me, and she sleepily assured me that Grammy and Granddad had taken care of that. I eventually went back to sleep.
Sure enough, in the morning, it was apparent that Santa had indeed found us, as evidenced by the full stockings in the family room. There was no fireplace, no chimney, so how Santa got in will always be a mystery. My most memorable gifts that year were a set of large print multiplication flash cards and an alarm clock with “Wake up, Abbie” printed on the front. Andy got an inflatable dummy you could use as a punching bag. I think it was called Socko.
Mother had other relatives in Denver, mostly uncles and aunts, who came for Christmas dinner, along with Uncle Jack and his family. Kelly showed me a similar alarm clock she’d received with “Wake up, Kelly” printed on its front.
After about a week in Denver, we returned to Tucson where we found more presents from Santa waiting: a bicycle for me and a little red wagon for Andy. A few days later, Dad returned from Sheridan and brought me an eight—track player. I’m pretty sure he brought something for Andy but don’t remember what that was.
We visited Grammy and Granddad’s house many times over the years as children and adults. After my grandparents passed, Uncle Jack lived there until his death. Now, someone else is lucky to have this wonderful home.
What was your most memorable family holiday vacation? Please share it, either on your own blog with a link to it here or in the comment field below. By now, Christmas has come and gone, and I hope this holiday was filled with memories for you.
At age seventy, Olivia, a successful CEO of a hardware and furniture company, is still going strong. However, after her husband passed away years earlier, she feels guilty for working when she should have been around for her four children, now grown with lives of their own. She tries to make up for her neglect every year by scheduling an elaborate family vacation.
The book opens with such a vacation, a cruise in the south of France on a luxurious chartered yacht. Everyone has a great time and then returns to their separate lives. The book ends a year later with another family vacation in a rented chateau in France. In between time, Olivia’s older son’s marriage falls apart, and he falls in love with a younger woman. Her younger son is forced to come to terms with his son’s homosexuality. One of her daughters, a struggling writer, finally gets a book and movie deal and falls in love with her agent. The other daughter, a music producer in England, having been estranged from the family for years, finally comes home when tragedy strikes. Then there’s Olivia’s affair with her company’s attorney, a married man.
The Sins of the Mother was featured on BookDaily a few days ago, and I decided to splurge and buy it from audible now instead of waiting for my next credit. I’m glad I did. The narrator did an excellent job of giving each character a different voice. It’s always fun listening to an audiobook with a good narrator.
This book reminded me of Dallas, a primetime soap opera I watched as a teen. However, there’s no wheeling and dealing or deception or betrayal, no one accused of murder or other serious crimes. That’s one thing I liked about it. Another is that everything gets resolved in the end, and everyone’s happy. In the last episode of Dallas, J.R. Ewing, evil CEO of a powerful oil company, kills himself, convinced the world would be a better place without him. There’s none of that here. If you just want to read a heartwarming story about a family whose members put aside their differences and come together, The Sins of the Mother is just such a book.
The author of Litand other memoirs talks about the craft of writing such a book. She covers such topics as truth versus fiction, finding your voice, and how to deal with reactions of family members to what you write about them. She uses work by other authors to illustrate her points and provides an appendix of over a hundred suggested memoir titles.
I found it hard to get into this book, probably because I’ve already written a memoir, My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds, which will be coming out sometime this month. I only picked up Mary Karr’s book because a discussion of it was planned for a meeting of Behind Our Eyes, a writing group to which I belong. After slogging through two and a half chapters and skipping part of one, I decided not to finish the book. This might be more helpful to someone considering writing a memoir.