These cloth dollies used to reside on my grandmother’s bed. When she went to sleep at night they’d be moved to her headboard. She made two, and my mother made two (I don’t know who made which). Some cold mornings, when I was very small, I’d pad into Grandma’s room and get into bed with her (I just heard her voice in my head, “You awake, Tiffy? Come get in here with me.”). We’d lay there and talk for a while, and I’d play with the dolls. She never let me take them out of her room, and ALWAYS when she made the bed, she’d put them back in their place among the pillows.
After Grandma’s funeral, I visited with my Uncle Fred and his girlfriend Simone, who were by that time living in Grandma’s house. I took home two very important mementos that belonged to my grandmother – her recipe book (which is DEFINITELY a “thing I love”), and this particular dolly, which had always been my favorite:
She rode home on the airplane on my lap. I held her and paged through the recipe book and cried. My poor seat neighbor didn’t know what to think.
Not too terribly long afterward (I know I wrote an entry about it but I can’t find it), Uncle Fred sent me a box of stuff. Among the ribbons I won in horseback riding competitions (a satisfactory complement of blues, among the reds, whites, greens, and yellows), a few knick-knacks from my childhood bedroom, and some grade-school papers, were the other three dollies. Simone convinced Fred to part with them, which is tough to do because he’s fiercely protective of anything belonging to Grandma or my mother.
They don’t live on my bed – too much ribbon and lace to tempt the cats into mayhem. They reside in an upstairs closet until the day that I have a guest room, and then they will live on that bed.
They make me happy.