The Coca Cola Kid

I was made to be the Coca Cola Kid.
    Good looking was I, and I know it's true
Cause that's what my mother said.

Until one day, when I lost my head,
     And lost my looks and favor when
Mama banished me to the shed.

Then she wrapped me up safe from harm,
    To travel to a place unknown.
My head was placed in a bowl to get warm.

I had to lose my wig and pate to see within.
    Then find out why I came part
And how to put back together again.

Surprise and wonder without fail
     Now I am uncovered and partially bald.
I've been held together with a twist tie and a nail!

On my neck are found some numbers

Which make me very unique.

Only a few dolls are Coca Cola Kid members.

Now begins the mending:

head, shoulder plate, body.

I  am so hoping for a happy ending

The Coca Cola Kid is now the bomb!

But I just can't wait

To go home to my mom.

The Pierrot Clown

Many years ago perhaps in 1989 or 90, my youngest daughter had become interested in the pierrot clown and she wanted me to make her one. Now for me this was cause celibre as neither of my daughters ever showed more than a passing interest in dolls growing up. Duncan Ceramics had put out a series of animal doll heads/ arms/ legs about this time and I was avidly buying them up as fast as I could. It was great fun dressing them and putting them into interesting poses.

When Duncan came out with what they called their Pierrot clown, I could only see a doll with a pretty face. I was later told that this was the German Mein Leibling doll that this mold was made from. I had much on my plate at this time, several dolls in greenware on my shelf, husband and kids, not to mention a full time teaching job. So months went by and I would periodically think about the clown and how I would dress him/her. Even the gender wasn't decided at that point. Life went on in its dependable little groove as life does and the predictable events lull us into a suspended state of complacency. Easy to put things off because there is always tomorrow. My daughter, Carolyn died quite unexpectedly on April 22, 1992 . There are no words to describe what we went through as a family, and this is the doll' s story so I will leave our family tale untold for now. Suffice it to say my doll making came to a screeching halt I couldn't even think about picking up a paintbrush. Then about a year and a half later I saw the doll head on my greenware shelf in the garage. I remembered the promise I had made to make a pierrot and thought that its time had come.

I cleaned the greenware and fired it, but the more I looked at that beautiful face, the less I saw a clown.  Sometimes a doll much like characters in a story, want to tell their own tale.  Try as you might it is useless to fight them, they always seem to get their own way.  So the clown idea was shelved while a new road began.  I had made many blue eyed blondes so started looking for a brown or red wig.  No soap.  Next I searched for some big brown eyes, none were what I wanted.  When I started the search for the dress pattern, what I thought I wanted and what I wound up with were very different.  When it all came together, it felt exactly right.  It was only when it was completed that I realized I had  re- created Carolyn as an  Angel.

My Aunt Mabel continued

When she arrived in Minneapolis,Mabel was greeted by Matron Agnes at the train station. Greeted, was hardly an apt description, as the grim faced wizened woman barked orders and rules all the way to the hospital. Mabel was too excited to care however, and stared in awe at the five story building the horse cart had pulled up to. The next three days were a flurry of checking in, meeting house mates, and more rules upon rules. The most important and oft repeated seemed to be that nurses at Minneapolis General were under no circumstances to fraternize with any male staff. This was the least of Mable' s concerns.I  She began to worry about her first work day and if she would be able to measure up. Her parents had put so much faith in her to be allowed to travel so far. Mabel had always helped with the younger children. Now a new brother had just arrived and she was miles away. Try as she might, sleep eluded her that night.

By the time she had finished her shift and returned to her quarters the next day, Mabel' s legs felt like two sticks.  She had started out tired in the morning and had had no time to stop all day.  The nurses in charge had every minute of the day filled for the trainees with bedpan duties, linen changes, floors swept, bathrooms cleaned.  The hospital was very large and cleanliness was of paramount importance.  Another trainee named Mollie was also sharing quarters with Mabel.  "It's like bein a maid in a bloomin' hotel." She whispered to Mabel.  Student nurses weren't supposed to carry on any idle chatter.  They could only speak to each other  about hospital or patient related matters. "I wonder when we get to work with patients."  Mabel whispered back.  A matron started down the hall and they quickly returned to their duties.

When Mabel returned to her quarters she found a package had arrived from the farm.  Mollie was as excited as Mabel to see what mysteries lie within.  Mama had sent preserves, some pickles, a chocolate cake and fruit from the peach tree.  In the bottom of the package a new winter coat was wrapped around an odd shaped parcel.  "High buttoned shoes!" Squealed Mollie when they fell onto the floor.  Mabel was speechless.  They must have cost an awful lot.  On the farm all the children received one new pair of shoes every year.  Mama would buy one size larger for each child.  One year Mabel' s little sister Kitty had a growth spurt and the new shoes were too small.  Mama had her sit with hot towels wrapped around her feet squeezed into the shoes.  Mabel felt herself tearing up, she felt very homesick.

Granddaughter's Birthday

My granddaughter is having a birthday party on Saturday and I've decided to make up one of the doll kits I have that she admired in the past. Sorry Aunt Mabel, you'll have to wait for a couple of days.

Well only a half dozen mistakes and plastic pellets all over the floor, but she's finished, and ready to get dressed.

I came home after school all ready to choose a pattern and some clothing to our little orang. I really like some s dolls I have seen in mixed patterns. So I dug through my stash and came up with some yellow and blue prints that seemed to go together. The blue was actually two fat quarters I had picked up at a sale. If it wasn't' sufficient I was going to have to go to plan B and hit the stash again. By the next morning I was having all kind of second thoughts. It clashes, it doesn't work, it clashes with the doll etc. I was partly tempted to go with just safe pink. Then I got brave and charged forward. I finished her tonight and she gets her new mommy tomorrow. It's been fun.

My Aunt Mabel

The doll I have begun working on is from a 1975 pattern I sent away for. It was made it for a doll convention. It's been waiting for me for thirty nine years. Here is the pattern leaflet. Today I finished cutting out arms, legs body and head. I'm calling her My Aunt Mabel, but this doll' s name is actually Mae Belle. Our story begins before Mae Bell's time. Mabel Anne Swensen was the second of twelve children born on a small farm in Marysville, Minnisota. It was a loving home, and though they weren't wealthy, there was always good food on the table and their needs if not all their wants were met. The oldest daughter had married and moved away to North Carolina. Mabel was next in line to March down the aisle, but she had other plans. It was just past her seventeenth birthday and she had heard of a nursing program for unmarried girls. Room and board would be provided while on the job training was undertaken. She broached the subject to her father,the more lenient of the parental duo, and he thought for a long while before he owned he must discuss with Mama. Mama was not keen on the idea at all, but after exchanging long letters with the matron in charge, permission was given. Mabel was going to Minneapolis, and she was going to be a nurse!

Dolls With Stories

Whether we keep treasured dolls from childhood, found dolls we have refinished and reborned,antiques we struggled with ourselves before parting with a heart stopping number of dollars, or dolls created from imagination and hour's and hours of hard work. These objects of our affection all have back stories even if you don't realize it. How long have you had this doll, why did you come to possess it, what memories, emotions does it call up? This is just scratching the surface. On this blog I'll share my doll making journeys and I hope any reader/ passers by Will do the same. All dolls have some story, some thanks to imagination, others from the poignant capriciousness of real life. My hope is that the telling will provide as much enjoyment as I know the reading will.