The Dolls

Oh, yes, the dolls...,or as my children used to refer to them: "those creepy dolls Grandma used to have in her dining room."

They weren't really "creepy" they were just... unique and definitely an acquired taste. Mom had come upon them on an outing with my dad to some little hill country town or other. They weren't the kind of dolls for playing with, but rather were an artist's rendition that was more artwork than anything else.

What you would need to know about my mother (and I suppose really about my dad too) before reading further, is that she was a very no nonsense, frugal kind of person. She was frugal when it came to herself, but both she and my dad were very generous when it came to anyone else in need, and they cheerfully gave to family, friend, or stranger alike.

My dad's spiritual gift I am certain was actually "giving." My parents weren't wealthy by any stretch of the means, except in the Lord, but nothing delighted Dad more than sharing what he had. This was particularly true of his family, and especially my mother.

He would always tell her to "buy something nice for yourself" when we'd head out for our shopping Saturdays together, but Mom was more than content to hunt for treasure in the thrift stores, and, boy did we enjoy doing that together!

Then there was this one time, the time they drove out to the hill country and came back with the dolls.

They were a pair of little old people, obviously farm people from the early decades of the 1900s. They were old, weathered, wrinkled, but dressed in their Sunday best; he in his starched overalls and plaid shirt, straw hat neatly sitting atop his gray head; she in her calico dress with a white pinafore and matching bonnet. Her stockings puddled at her ankles just above the "sensible" pair of black lace-ups she wore on her feet. They both donned gold, wire-rimmed glasses, a sign both of their age and their practicality.

I think the thing my mother loved best about them though, and likely the thing that most captured her heart, was the delicate lace handkerchief clutched in the woman's hand. It was her left hand, wedding ring visible, and it was placed lovingly on her husband's right knee as they sat together on that little, wooden bench.

The first time my Mom showed them to me she was almost apologizing for making SUCH an extravagant purchase. The dolls were $300, and as she put it, "the most frivolous thing I have ever spent money on."

Knowing my dad though, I can't even begin to imagine the sheer joy it brought him to buy her something she dearly loved. The little, old lady doll had reminded her of her own grandmother, and there was NO WAY my dad was letting her leave that place without them.

For years they were displayed in my parents' dining room, sitting within a small, glass case. After my mother was called homeward, my dad brought them to me. He wanted me to have them... something my mother had loved so much. I didn't have the heart to tell him I didn't share the same affinity for those dolls. I couldn't, so I took them and placed them on a shelf in my closet with a protective, plastic bag over them.

A number of years passed, and then one day, I happened to mention the dolls to a friend of mine. She seemed fascinated by them, and when I showed them to her, she too fell in love with them. I finally felt it was ok to send them on... to someone else who would truly love and appreciate them just like my mother had.

Well, that friend has just downsized, and she no longer has room for the dolls. She called the other day to tell me she was bringing them back.

But... this time I guess I don't really mind. I mean, they will probably go back on the closet shelf with another plastic bag atop them, but somehow... on this side of grief... they have new meaning. They, along with my mom, have taught me that it's ok, even more than ok, to every once in a while splurge on something that makes your heart happy, just because, even if it's considered frivolous.

It's also taught me to allow someone whose spiritual gift is giving... to do just that, for the same precise reason... the sheer joy it brings to do so.

Will I ever look at those dolls with the adoring eyes my sweet mother had? Probably not, but "through her eyes" they have come to mean something...

more.