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Showing posts with label dolls. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dolls. Show all posts

Thursday, January 26, 2017

The Baby Doll


Nora has played with wooden toys once loved by her Daddy but even though she had seen this doll, only a few days ago did she begin to play with it and "mother" it. She has rocked the baby to sleep in her wicker rocking chair, wrapped her in a blanket and carried her around.  This doll was mine when I was a little girl, and although her face and hands and feet are well preserved, her cloth body is worn and stuffing is showing. This baby is like the skin horse in the Velveteen Rabbit book, she is "real"- she has been well loved, a good thing when you are 70 years old!

I was older than Nora when I got this doll, 7 yearrs old. My best friend and I were in second grade.  We played after school, had sleepovers, dressed her kitten, and talked our mothers into getting us matching dolls. Mignon got hers first and named hers Wendolyn, called Wendy. I named this one Gwendolyn, called Gwen. We played with the dolls and treasured them.  We also loved being friends, and still are to this day!  I do not know if Mignon still has her doll, but this one continues to delight a little girl.  

I will do my best to repair the cloth tears and keep her stuffing in because Nora asked me to fix her!

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Nana's Doll

Nana's Doll           

When she was a little girl
 my mother was proud
of a doll whose smooth porcelain face
shone pinkly beneath her chestnut curls
twinkling blue eyes that went to sleep
 when Opal laid her down
Dressed in rosy dimity
dainty with a fine lace peplum
her bonnet matched
Modesty satisfied, her sheer skirt
 hid crochet- edged petticoats and pantaloons
Tiny socks and shoes, a precious
embroidered velvet pouch
on a chain to hang on her wrist.

When I was a little girl
the doll lay in what was left of her box
wrapped in an old white sheet
stored in Mother's quilt chest
I begged to see her, fascinated
 by her age and her outfits
oh, so many!
 handmade by Grandma Terrell
and Great Grandmother Curley,
my French great grandmother.
full length coat with buttons
made of blue twill and paneled -
soft pink rose patterned percale.
folded in neat stacks: print dresses, tucked bodices,
 gathered skirts, nightgowns, a cap and a blanket
all discolored by age and smoke
 from a family house fire.
Why didn't I ask her name?

When my granddaughters ask
to see the doll, they are intrigued
 with the story, awed
at how old she is
They feel sorry that she lives in a box
I am glad no one asks her name
but I am trying to follow instructions
written in flowing pencil script
on the tattered piece from her first box:

“Take Care of Her”     Santa Claus



  ~ Mary Ann Parker, written March 2013

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Playing Dolls

I went with my daughter in law and granddaughter this week to a newly opened store in Houston, the American Girls doll store. Skye's doll, Molly,  went along because she was going to get her hair done - the doll, not the girl!  The store was packed with little girls carrying a variety of American Girl dolls.  It was a beehive of  girls, complete with shrieks and giggles.  We watched as the doll was strapped into a miniature salon chair and covered with a shampoo cape.  A stylist (one of several)  spritzed and brushed out all the tangles that several years of play had created, then braided Molly's hair and tied on new ribbons.  I was proud of Skye.  The huge store is filled with tantalizing dolls and all their pretty outfits and accessories, everything from teepees to canopy beds and garden tea sets.  So many things to ooh and ah over.  Skye's mom and I did our share of admiring.  But Skye stuck with the budget and left with only the new hairdo for Molly. It was tempting, and maybe someday we will go back.  But there is a lesson here for many of us much older than 10 years:  delayed gratificaton, sticking to a plan, and enjoying what we can afford without complaining.  Good for you, Skye!