Friday, December 24, 2010

Cajun Corner Vol. 2, No. 50

Cajun Corner – Vol. 2, No. 50 – December 24, 2010

Bon Jour! Welcome to Cajun Stitchery’s weekly email and welcome to our family.


Don’t forget to visit our catalog at and often.

We still have towels, pillowcases, jackets, and handkerchief orders to embroider but the before Christmas orders have been filled. I’ll probably work on a few things today but I’m not pushing to get them done before Christmas. Of course, if they are done, I’ll see if the customer wants them for Christmas presents. Technically, Cajun Stitchery is closed until Monday. The problem, as usual, is that I love doing the designing and embroidery and will probably keep at it all weekend.

Next week is when I start reflecting on the past year and making plans for the New Year, but I must admit that I’m reflecting now on this past year. I’ve met and befriended some pretty wonderful people to join my cache of wonderful friends and family. Cajun Stitchery has tried some things that have flopped; and, some things that were successful. Our niche is sort of carving itself. George and I are learning more and more about the business of embroidery everyday.

One of my favorite Christmas memories was when I was a little girl, living in Lafayette, LA. Mama worked for Judge Saloon. Daddy had a printing shop. Times were rough. Mama and Daddy had gone into the printing business with a man who took the money and left them high and dry. They owed everyone and were bound and determined to pay every penny owed. They ended up renting the old Beadle’s Feed Store building, across from the courthouse. Mama worked just a few doors down, Daddy had his print shop downstairs and we lived upstairs. It was an old rickety building. Mama and Daddy always told Nancy and me not to go on the balcony because it wasn’t safe. We did, anyway. That’s another story. The point of the Christmas story is that times were financially rough for them, but they were doing whatever it took to pay off their debts. I was very young, probably 5, 6, or 7 years old. I was too young to understand the financial difficulty they were having. I loved living at Beadle’s Feed Store because it was such an adventure. Anyway, that Christmas Mama and Daddy were broke. Mama was afraid that she would not be able to afford much, if any, Christmas presents for her two little girls. Christmas Eve they tucked us into bed. We didn’t even have a Christmas tree. That evening, after we were asleep, their friends and family came by, one by one, bringing presents to put under the tree. In fact, somehow, someone even brought the tree. When we awoke in the morning we had all sorts of presents, including a Christmas tree. It was simply the best magical Christmas ever.

This is probably a Thanksgiving memory, but one year when we were living in Orlando, I was trying to learn how to cook. My boss’s wife was a very dear friend and an excellent cook. She used to tell me that she grew up in the holler next to Loretta Lynn. Whatever the occasion was, I decided to make a pumpkin pie from scratch. The pumpkin was purchased and my friend, Pauline, told me to cut open the pumpkin and scoop out the pumpkin. Then you cook it in water until tender. Then you can mash it and begin making pumpkin pie. The pumpkin sat on my kitchen counter. The knife went in and the darn thing was hollow. Nope, I had never in my entire life looked inside a pumpkin. Carving jack-o-lanterns had never happened at my house. I stared inside that pumpkin wondering what to do. The instructions were to open the pumpkin and scoop the vegetable out and boil it. The only thing that I saw in there were strings and seeds. I scooped every last string out of that pumpkin, carefully separating the seeds. When the pumpkin shell was empty, that got tossed in the garbage. I boiled those strings but they never turned into anything that looked like pumpkin in a pie, but, perhaps there’s some chemical magic that occurs when you put it with the other ingredients and into a pie shell. Then I proudly told George and the boys to eat the first pie I ever made. They all refused. In tears, I called my friend, Pauline. I had no idea what I did wrong. When I told her, step-by-step, what I had done, she was laughing so hard she couldn’t explain that I threw out the part I was supposed to cook and I cooked the part I was supposed to throw out.

My single claim to cooking fame is cookies. I have made cookies since I was a young girl. In fact, George’s sister, Kathie, would spend the night with me on most Friday nights, when we both lived in Atlanta. We would bake cookies. Usually they were peanut butter cookies. Then we would open the sofas into beds and watch the Friday night scary movies while eating our cookies. We had many wonderful Friday nights. George only remembers that he would get leftover burnt peanut butter cookies the next day.

My favorite time of the year to bake cookies, of course, is Christmas. When the boys were growing up, they would help me bake the Christmas cookies. I remember one Christmas in Orlando when Jeff and I were baking cookies. He loved to cook. Both of the boys loved to cook, really. But that particular day we baked our cookies and wrapped them in containers for our neighbors and Jeff began his deliveries in the neighborhood. I stood at the front door watching him and he had two distinct, white hand prints on his rear-end where he had flour on his hands. It was one of the cutest sights and such a pleasant memory.

Enough of my meanderings down memory lane.

George and I wish each and every one of you a very blessed and Merry Christmas.





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C’est tout, mes amis

Peggy Henshall

Cajun Stitchery

(850) 261-2462

P.S. You are always welcome to stop by and look at all of the catalogs and pass some time with me, cher.

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