Rainy days

I always get nostalgic on rainy days. Runnemede wasn't exactly the rainy-est place in New Jersey, but I recall several nice rainy days growing up. Of course, it didn't matter if it rained, we had the front porch and the back porch on which to play.

I know I've written about that front porch many, many times, but days like today just bring it all back. Playing with my doll and the little doll buggy I had -- which I believe was my grandmother's. It was repaired several times by my mom. It was basically a sling held between two bars -- one bar being the handle, the other bar being the lower part of the buggy, and then it had three wheels.

I used to have a picture of me with that buggy, but I don't know what ever happened to it. I do remember the last time my mom fixed it, though. She had some green upholstery material left over from slip-cover material she used on an old chair we had in our living room. It wasn't very pretty material, but it was sturdy.

I would put my doll(s) in that sling, cover them with a blanket, and walk back and forth across the porch singing my baby to sleep. Where I got the idea that one had to sing their baby to sleep, I don't know. I dont' remember my mom singing any of us to sleep, but perhaps she did, and in my baby-mind I recalled that as I sang to my dolls.

And, of course, as I got older, weather permitting, I would just sit out there and read. I always loved to watch the storms coming in and they usually came at us from the northwest or west, both directions were easily visible from the porch.

I also remember having to sweep the porch once a week -- a job I really didn't mind -- and then sweep the steps and the walk that led to the street. I was proud -- yes, the kind of pride that goes before a fall type of proud -- of the job I did when I cleaned the porch. I felt like I accomplished something. And once the walk was cleaned of debris, I could sketch my hop-scotch blocks back onto the walk. said sketch would last until it rained.

So, tomorrow, I'll take my computer out on my porch here in Kentucky, and enjoy being outdoors, but dry while it rains. Or, maybe I'll read another Louis L'Amour book -- I picked up three more at the library the other day. Or maybe, I'll clean the house -- nah -- can't see well enough on cloudy days. How's that for an excuse?

Toys

What brings up this topic is that my grandson Adam will be 8 in a couple of days -- at least I think it's 8, I'm really not sure, and I have to take apart the packaging that the toys I bought come in.

First there were just toys -- that's what my parents thankfully had to contend with. There were no bicycle put-together parties the night before, and no puzzling toys with instructions written in a foreign language, mostly Japanese or Chinese, etc. Then there were toys that came in pieces and had to be assembled before they were used (including bicycles) -- that's what Alan and I had to put up with. Did you ever put together a big wheel from instructions written in at least 6 languages, and the English instructions were just three sentences. Now, you knew there was more to it than those three sentences. My word, even a moron could see that the Spanish instructions were three pages long.

Presently, there are toys that you (1) have to assemble that come in a package that you need to disassemble, often with a screw driver and/or hammer. Or if you didn't understand the previous sentence, let me be perfectly clear -- you have to disassemble the package before you can assemble the toy. Not fun, I'll tell you.

And, why, you ask, do they put these toys in such hard to get through packaging? Well, there are two thoughts that run through my mind -- first, they are sadists -- those toy packagers, or second, they are trying to prevent theft of the toys. Well, duh! Just put one of those plastic thingies on the toy like they put on ladies clothing. You ladies know what I'm talking about. That plastic device, that if not removed in the store, you can never, ever wear the article of clothing you purchased because it has that thing attached.

So, what's next in the make the parents and grandparents look stupid department? Who knows? But I'm sure some childless genius will figure something out.

Dolls

It's another beautiful day here in northern Kentucky. That has nothing to do with dolls but I just wanted to start out on a positive note.

I've written about my dolls before, but I finally found pictures of what my mother called bashful dolls. They weren't really bashful dolls, but because the head was turned a little downward and you couldn't get a right-in-the-eye look at the face, I suppose that's why she called them bashful.

So, I've included pictures of three of those dolls which I had (finally found them on-line) and you will notice the pretty dresses. Each dress had a snap in the back so removal of the clothing was very easy even for tiny fingers. Under each dress the doll had on a pair of pantaloons. the shoes were painted on.

These are not samples of the dolls I had, but actual copies of the dolls I had. I especially loved the one on the left with the dark hair. Her dress was such a pretty blue.

I learned to sew by hand when I had these dolls because I wanted more clothing for them. Mother would give me scraps of material and I would design and sew dresses, vests, even slacks for these dolls. I loved them and collected them for several years. I had more than three in my total collection because I would get one for my birthday and one for Christmas -- two per year. And I probably got them for five years.

I do recall that I saved money so I could buy one that had a Scotish outfit.

I don't know where they went, I suppose I threw them away when I became a teenager, or gave them to some child in the church whose parents couldn't afford toys. Perhaps my sister inherited them and then they were given away. I do know that both my sister and I took very good care of our toys (dolls) because we received such nice gifts so rarely. The dolls cost $2.98, which may not sound like a lot of money, but you have to remember that back in the "old" days, you could buy a loaf of bread for 10 cents, and a pound of American cheese for 39 cents.

I certainly have very fond memories of those dolls.