Love Me Linda

So, a couple of days ago I started a massive project--to clean out my really big, overstuffed walk-in closet. Not only do I have an absurd amount of clothes crammed in there (for example, I counted and I had 27 pairs of black pants. Now, they aren't new, fashionable lovely black pants. They're probably every pair of black pants I've bought for the last 15 years. I do like black pants...but that gives you an idea the state it was in.)

I didn't just find clothes. I found not one but three, yes THREE sets of hot curlers PLUS one of those "molecular hairsetters" that were briefly the rage in 90's. I found a Polaroid camera. I found scarves, hats, belts, all kinds of goofy old stuff I didn't know was in there. I had over fifty pairs of shoes, and that doesn't count my rainbow assortment of Old Navy rubber flipflops.

It was just ridiculous, and it felt very cathartic to sort huge piles of give-away and throw-away things. I bought various bins and shelves to organize the things on the closet shelves. I got those slimline fuzzy hangers and threw out all the wire and plastic ones.

Anyway, it was all fun and games till I came across something I didn't remember was in there--my beloved Linda. Linda was my doll--the one I slept with every night and dragged around everywhere with me. I loved every hair off her head--she's bald as a cueball. Her original clothes are long gone, and she's attired in a dubious "dress" I sewed for her somewhere along 4th or 5th grade. I picked her up, shook the dust off her and said to myself, "You are 52 years old. It's time to let the doll go." SO I laid her at the top of the big outdoor trash bin full of clothes I had parked by the back door.

Later in the afternoon, I walked to the bin with another load of stuff, saw her lying there in her horrible homemade dress, and shocked myself by bursting into tears. I realized that 52 or not, I'm not ready to let my dolly go.

I remember when I saw her. It was Christmas Eve 1965 and my goofball dad was doing his annual Christmas Eve trip to the stores to shop for my mother. He did this every Christmas of his life, bless his heart. He actually liked to go out on Christmas Eve to shop. Lord knows how he found anything for her, but he always did. We were in downtown Ft. Worth, at the old Striplings department store (soon to disappear like every other family owned store in America, but still in its heydey then.) It had a beautiful toy department, with fancy, high-end toys. For some reason, I'd gone on my dad's outing with him, and I asked if I could go look at the toys while he shopped. I saw her standing on the counter in a doll stand as soon as I walked in, and I instantly loved her. She was a beautiful doll, with long hair, huge eyes and a blue calico dress with bloomers and tights. I stood there the whole time my dad shopped, gazing at her, but I when he finally came to get me, I didn't ask for her. We lived on a fairly tight budget, and Santa usually brought us one "big" gift, plus a few books and clothes or smaller toys. I had already asked for what I thought was a HUGE gift--a transistor radio. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to get any additional spectacular items.

But of course, you can guess the rest. The next morning when I woke up, there, next to the coveted transistor radio, stood Linda. I was so dumbstruck I couldn't even speak. Instead, I cried. I'm fighting a lump in my throat even now, as I type this. My dad has been gone fifteen years now, but looking at my doll brings him right back to me. It's not just that he got me my heart's desire, but that he read it on my face.

Anyway, I picked Linda out of the trashcan, went to the computer and started Googling. By Googling 1960's dolls, I eventually found her. She was a Vogue doll (they made the famous Ginny dolls), and her full name was Love Me Linda. After a little more looking, I even found an entire gallery of photos of her. (Click the link to see her--my Linda had the blue outfit, but she came in some others, too.) Apparently, some people still collect her. Also, I think I may have some hope of being able to one day find her original clothes on Ebay. Maybe I'll even have her hair rerooted.

Not just for me--but in memory of the special Santa of my childhood Christmases.

Happy Juneteenth!

For those of you who have the misfortune of not being born a Texan, here's an explanation of Juneteenth:

Per Wikipedia: Though the Emancipation Proclamation had been issued on September 22, 1862, with an effective date of January 1, 1863, it had minimal immediate effect on most slaves’ day-to-day lives, particularly in Texas, which was almost entirely under Confederate control. Texas was resistant to the Emancipation Proclamation, and though slavery was very prevalent in East Texas, it was not as common in the Western areas of Texas, particularly the Hill Country, where most German-Americans were opposed to the practice. Juneteenth commemorates June 18 and 19, 1865. June 18 is the dayUnion General Gordon Granger and 2,000 federal troops arrived in Galveston, Texas, to take possession of the state and enforce the emancipation of its slaves. On June 19, 1865, legend has it while standing on the balcony of Galveston’s Ashton Villa, Granger read the contents of “General Order No. 3”:

The people of Texas are informed that, in accordance with a proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free. This involves an absolute equality of personal rights and rights of property between former masters and slaves, and the connection heretofore existing between them becomes that between employer and hired labor. The freedmen are advised to remain quietly at their present homes and work for wages. They are informed that they will not be allowed to collect at military posts and that they will not be supported in idleness either there or elsewhere.^[10]

That day has since become known as Juneteenth, a name derived from a portmanteau of the words June, eighteenth and nineteenth.

Former slaves in Galveston rejoiced in the streets with jubilant celebrations. Juneteenth celebrations began in Texas the following year.^[10] Across many parts of Texas, freed people pooled their funds to purchase land specifically for their communities’ increasingly large Juneteenth gatherings — including Houston’s Emancipation Park, Mexia’s Booker T. Washington Park, and Emancipation Park in Austin.^[10] Juneteenth celebrations include a wide range of festivities, such as parades, street fairs, cookouts, or park parties and include such things as music and dancing or even contests of physical strength and intellect. Baseball and other popular American games may also be played.

The Sun!

It came out this afternoon and shone for hours--for the first time in two years. 

Ok, ok.  Two weeks.  But it seemed like two years.

It's graduation day

for Aforallie!

Condor and I attended Allie's graduation this afternoon.  She is now a Bachelor of Science in Psychology!  Congrats, Allie!

On this day in 1978

I made the transition from Miss to Mrs.  I was 21 years old, and so was Dave (although he became 22 shortly thereafter.)  What in God's name were we thinking?  Apparently, we mistakenly believed that we were all grown up and fully capable of making important decisions.  In retrospect, what a laugh!  Still, somehow or another it's 31 years later and here we  are.

In other news, I (along with my partner, Mona) won our marathon bridge group for the year, seventy-five bucks apiece.  We had slightly over 27,000 points for the year.  We narrowly missed winning the slam prize, too.  (A slam is placing a bid to take either all 13 of the tricks, for a grand slam, or all but one trick, for a small slam.  You really have to believe in your hand to bid a slam.)  

I love Mona dearly.  She is the most sensible person I've ever known in my entire life, and if I'm ever uncertain about how to proceed with anything in my life, I ask Mona.  When the kids were younger, if we had to go out of town they knew they were to call Mona if any problem arose.  She's always right.  And she's a damned good bridge player, too.

Happy Birthday

To my dad, who would have been 80 years old today.  It's kind of hard to imagine--he was a pretty youthful 64 when the pancreatic cancer got him.

Some years, I bake him a birthday cake (his favorite, chocolate cake with toasted pecan buttercream frosting), but the trouble with that is that I am the one who eats it.

Happy birthday, Daddy.  I still miss you every day.