Update On the Dolls

After their wedding last year, Ned and Beauty lived at Graymont for a while. The whole family is more comfortable living in the country, and they talked and argued about selling the house close to town.

Little Maybelle Buff-Orpington is clairvoyant, or so she says. During one of the debates about selling the house, Maybelle took command of the situation.

"I tell you what's going to happen," she said. "Ned and Beauty are going to adopt me, and the three of us will live in the house by ourselves until Beauty's baby is born, and then there'll be four of us. We'll be a family."

Ned looked at Beauty. "Is there something you want to tell me, my dear?" he said.

"I--," Beauty began, but was interrupted by Maybelle.

"Furthermore," said the tiny autocrat, "I'm going to have flowered paper on my walls, and all the things I like best to furnish the house." Then she left the room, followed by indignant stares from the family.

That was several months ago. Now the Dolls' house is getting decorated for Christmas. The leaning column has been fixed more than once, but somehow leans again when no one is looking.

Beauty is decorating a tree in the living room.

The bookcase is out of the picture, but Ned is looking for a reference book he needs for his law studies. (That's another story.)

 

 

Maybelle is talking to Spot, who is one of the things she liked best and brought with her from Graymont. She didn't really change much about the house except for her new wallpaper, and a new bathroom set to replace the old noisy fixtures.

Tom Baker, My Favorite Dr. Who

His brother George played Tiberius in the 1976 "I, Claudius" TV series.

***

Yesterday I did get all the reno work done on the dollhouse. The new bathroom set arrived, but the new doll family is still on the way. Today I've been dusting and cleaning the furnishings, washing rugs and arranging furniture. And realizing that I can't possibly sell the dollhouse. Too bad, Dave. I'll give the new family to the little girls for a Christmas present, and I'll try to find a smaller house online and persuade Dave to buy it for them.

My decision is based partly on concern for the little girls' safety: There are so many nails and straight pins, not to mention tiny swallowable/chokable items in my dollhouse, it's not suitable for small children. Yeah, that's it.

***

Well, I guess I was wrong about Tom and George Baker being brothers. Wikipedia says George was born in Bulgaria, while Tom was born in Liverpool. It says George did appear in one Doctor Who episode; maybe that's what made me think they were brothers.

Frantic Friday

Tony said the fleas are in the yard, and that's the reason they're so hard to get rid of in the house. Someone from Cook's is coming over today to treat the yard, or to arrange a time to do it, I didn't understand which.

Yesterday I succeeded in getting the white cat into the pet carrier, and took him to the vet, wailing all the way--both of us: The cat wailed, and I sang to him. But however, the vet was closed, as it always is on Thursday afternoon, which I didn't know or had forgotten. So we wailed our way back home, and I set the pet carrier down on the patio. I called Ramey at the lib. and told her he was in the carrier, and we decided we'd just let him out for the time being. So I went outside to let him out, and the dear thing had got out of the carrier and was sitting on the deck rail. So I warmed him a bowl of milk, he drank it and left.

I've made progress on the dollhouse. All I have to do is finish papering the spare room walls, replace the floor, restore the baseboards and window moldings, and paint the upstairs hall ceiling. And put some curtains on the spare room windows. I'm determined to get it done today.

Yesterday I ordered a set of dollhouse dolls for Dave's little girls, because I want to keep all my people, which are too small and mostly fragile for children to play with anyway.

***

This is a poem I wrote in 1982, in remembrance of JFK. It doesn't seem to have much relevance to him except the name, but it's what I felt at the time:

November 22

 

The tide’s out, the tide’s in;

Watch ne’er so faithfully,

But nevermore comes Johnny,

Our Johnny o’er the lee.
 

The beckon light’s a glimmering

Half over to the sea;

And all the song that I can sing

Is Johnny o’er the lee.

More Or Less. . .

I've cleaned out and organized the chest of drawers in the foyer, and I don't know what all. Now the water from the kitchen faucet only runs in a tiny trickle, and a plumber is on the way. It's always something.

Dave and Mary Lou cleaned all the windows today, and Mary Lou cleaned all the mirrors she could find. That girl is a cleaning machine, and she's going to come back and help me some more in days to come.

I threw away all the old beat-up plastic blinds except the one in my bathroom. I rehung the dining room and kitchen curtains, and hung some old heavy drapes in the office. That leaves the living room and guest room windows that need some kind of non-sheer coverings. I'm thinking natural wood blinds for the living room. My bedroom is so dark, the woven wood blinds I've got in there will do for the present.

Dave still wants the dollhouse. His grand-daughters are aged three and seven now, and he said he'd pick up the house closer to Christmas. That'll give me time to fix it up some more. And give me some Christmas spending money. All the Doll family have gone to live at Graymont, anyhow.

The Good, the Bad (Flu) and the Precious

Sister Susan's Soup Night at the Yellow House yesterday was really wonderful. All kinds of good food, two gentlemen at the table (Jesse and Jed), two beautiful nieces (Andy and India), and we three sisters. The bad part is that Susy seemed to get the crud, the flu probably. I'm worried about her.

Jed and I are spending Christmas Day inside, probably. Salads and soups and pie for lunch, if I can get myself together enough to cope.

Two of my favorite dolls in the collection. My dear friend Miriam, and her two lovely girls Christy and Brittany, gave me the big doll, and I made the pink dress and named her Margaret after my cousin Margaret Isbell. The little doll is Charlotte Anne Tommicarr, that I rescued from a junk/antiques shop many years ago, and beautified her a little bit.

We're supposed to get thunderstorms today and tonight. Hope everyone stays safe and dry.

Pictures

Foyer

TV

Fireplace

Coffee Table & Raggedy Sofa

Little Tree With Topper



Kitchen Table

Hope and Trust

I've lost 30 pounds in the past couple of years, but getting back on the meds and supplements may reverse the process. I can't seem to get enough to eat, and believe me, I'm trying. Before long, I may be a roly-poly, merry fat clown of a person. Yeah.

Children, let me assure you that the world doesn't end on Friday. It doesn't leave enough time for all the other stuff to happen. Something dreadful may happen. What day passes without something dreadful happening? But it won't be the last time.

I've been hoping that the increased intake of nourishment would give me the rush of energy necessary to get the house and myself ready for the Christmas festivities. So far, it hasn't worked. But I've still got a day or two left, and a few cans of Progresso chicken-noodle. So glad that Christmas comes but once a year.

***

Curly Sue and the Nutcrackers are ready.

***

And to top it off, last night I got an order for an enormous "coffee-table" book, that will cost almost as much to ship as the sale price.

Christmasy Stuff

I long ago picked up an old raggedy tablecloth at a yard sale. I bleached and ironed it, and made the apron that this doll is wearing.

Mama gave me this old doll in the late sixties or early seventies. I named her Sylvia, after my cousin Sylvia Ramey, and because it's my favorite girl's name.

Later on, I made a bunch of Christmas stockings and gave one to almost everybody I knew. I kept these two:

The white one is made from the remains of the tablecloth, and the knit one from an old sweater.

***

Seems like every day, I wear myself out thinking of all the dirty jobs around the house that I should be doing. And I do tackle one of them, every now and then, but I don't last very long at them. It gripes my soul to admit that I'm old, but one has to take 156 years into consideration (I feel twice as old as I'll be on the 27th of this month). So, I guess I'll just muddle along, striking a lick at the house when I feel a modicum of energy, and letting the rest of it wait till some sunny day.

Little Joe

Miranda's new baby is a boy, which secretly pleases her. She respects her daughters but doesn't understand them, and she will always feel closer to her sons.

Daddy Doll of course is euphoric over having another son. There is much thoughtful conferring among the senior Dolls, concerning a name for the new baby. After siring two daughters, Alexis insisted on naming Peter for all the fathers and grandfathers--Peter Alexander Hugh Barry Doll, lest that be his only son. So he has to search farther afield to christen the new boy.

Grandma's cousin on her mother's side is connected by marriage to the English painter Edward Burne-Jones, who is connected by marriage to Mr. Rudyard Kipling. When the Kiplings lived in Vermont, Grandma and Step-Grandfather Buff-Orpington visited them at their new house.

Before his return to England, Mr. Kipling had gifted Alexis and Ned with signed copies of all his books that he wrote in New England, and these are collector items in the green bookcase in Daddy's study. All the Doll children have heard the "Just-So Stories," "Kim," and the "Jungle Books," and they entertain the childish notion that they will someday travel to India where Mr. Kipling and his sister Trix were born.

All this explains the names given to the new boy, Joseph Kipling Doll. (They left out Mr. Kipling's middle name, thinking "Rudyard" might prove a bit extreme and showy.) Daddy insists on calling him "Kip," but this doesn't last very long. Peter's brother will always be known as "Little Joe."

Wonderful Weekend

The Ramey sisters met here at "Rowanwood" for supper Friday evening, and as soon as he could escape the Atlanta and I-20 traffic, Jed arrived. Susan brought brownies and ice cream, and I declare, I would ask her for the brownie recipe, except I would mess it up. Let Susan make the brownies, and I'll stick to cooking the beans and cornbread. Or whatever.

Jed brought his "Dixit" game, which we played after dinner. It was so much fun, we gathered again Saturday evening and played Dixit into the large hours.

I've got a drawer full of Timex and similar wrist-watches with dead batteries. Well, the drawer isn't full, but cluttered with 'em. Several weeks ago, Jed took my newest dead-battery watch, and the works out of my dollhouse grandfather clock, to Atlanta to get the batteries replaced. Apparently there's a mall over there where you can stand on the corner, look around you, and find a shop that does impossible things, like removing the backs of watches without using hammer and chisel. Anyway, he brought my timepieces back this weekend. I thank him. All my dollhouse dolls thank him.

While I'm posting pictures, here's Barbie who got sold into eBay slavery a few weeks ago, with her voluminous handmade wardrobe. All of which I won't show.

Yesterday I read a book that Jed brought, About a Boy, by Nick Hornby. If you laugh and cry easily, and want to read a book that makes you do both all the way through, this is a good one. I read a review of the movie, and apparently it followed the book up until the best part, then simplified and changed the ending to something sort of bland and uncomplicated.

This Sunny Day

I feel no more than 154 years old--well, maybe a few months older. I'm aware that it's a blessing. I woke up sometime today while it was still a.m., and eventually managed to get out of bed. Knowing what was ahead--and still is: clean the litter box, feed a bunch of cats, pack the eBay sale, take a shower, go to the P.O., hop over the hills to pay my water bill which somehow has slipped through a crack. And now it's nearly 2:30 p.m., and all that is still ahead.

Are we downhearted? No, no, no! When all that is done, I've figured out a way to repaper the wall(s) of the dollhouse. Something to look forward to. Something to which to look forward.

"This is utter nonsense, up with which I refuse to put." -- Sir Winston Churchill

*

Sold another doll on eBay. I crocheted this dress a long, long time ago. Bought the doll for a dollar at a dollar store.

September High

Funny, I still feel that rush of excitement on the first day of September, that I felt as a child. Looking forward to the first day of school, seeing lots of people instead of moping around by myself. Sometimes a new dress and/or a new pair of shoes.

So far I've sold two of the dolls on eBay:


Red Venus

Shirley

 *

Back in the spring, the carpet cleaners left the big area rug in the living room placed wrong, with a big streak of the carpet pad showing in the front. I had tried many times to reposition it, but the rug was too heavy and the pad was sort of stuck to the carpet underneath. Yesterday I made up my mind to fix it or set fire to it. So I rolled up the rug, put the pad where it's supposed to be, then rolled the rug out on top of the pad. It wasn't nearly as easy as it looks. My arms and shoulders are sore.

Family Tree of Dahls/Dolls

"Daddy" - Alexander Hugh Dahl (a.k.a. Alexis Hugh Doll), born 5/2/1876

"Mama" - Amanda Miranda Marquez y Ortiz Doll, born 6/30/1882

Camilla - Maria Camilla Doll, born 7/27/1904

"Dolly" - Dolores Juanita Doll, born 12/31/1907

Peter - Peter Alexander Hugh Barry Doll, born 11/30/1911

"Grandma" - Dorothy Jane Kemble Dahl (2nd marriage: Buff-Orpington), born 3/10/1857

Maybelle - Maybelle Buff-Orpington Doll, born 10/12/1903

"Ned" - Mycroft Edward Dahl, elder twin to Alexis/Daddy Doll, born 5/2/1876

Servants: "Beauty" - Alice Joan Smith, parlor maid, born 4/10/1892

"Cook" - Kenya Beauchamps, cook, from New Orleans, born 10/23/1881)

"Beau" - Beolius Beauchamps, Cook's baby, born 4/4/1911

Lucinda - Lucinda Brown, upstairs maid, born ca. 1870

"Billy Bones" - William Praise-God Bare-Bones Bonnet, handyman, born ca. 1876

Mrs. Gudenov - washerwoman

Katryshina - Mrs. Gudenov's daughter

Deceased Persons: Daddy's father, Peter Alexander Dahl, born 11/3/1849, died 1/1/1880

Daddy's step-father, Sir Donald Barry Buff-Orpington, born 12/10/1859, died 2/11/1906

Pets/Dogs: Tiny, Airedale terrier mix
Spot, some kind of spaniel
Sooner, Echo and Belman, three greyhounds that Daddy thought would make good hunting dogs.

Pets/Cats: Missah, blonde Persian. Dolly was trying to think of a name for her and kept saying, "Miss--ah--Miss--ah...."
Bob and Not Bob, Missah's kittens
Kitty, black-and-white DSH with long hair

Pets/Other: Aesop, turtle, belongs to Dolly
Hook, parrot, belongs to Billy Bones

If at first/second (ad infinitum) you don't succeed--

The procedure for restoring my printer to life gets longer and more complicated. Yesterday, in desperation, I tried removing the ink cartridges and replacing them, and that worked. I shake my head.

Ramey and Reed stopped by yesterday to retrieve Gretchen. Seeing Reed for the first time in many weeks was a real treat. He spent most of his summer vacation in Los Angeles, and now he's bound for first grade. I took him on a tour of Graymont, while he's still young enough to appreciate miniature stuff.

Great Weekend

Jed had a business meeting in Birmingham Friday morning, so he stayed here for the weekend, just left going back to Atlanta. We watched the movie "Capote" last night, although it was hard to watch. It softened my opinion of Truman into pity. For Harper Lee, too. Neither of them ever published another book after "In Cold Blood."

I ended the eBay auction for my Pinkie doll. It got down to one hour, and none of the watchers had bid. I know what they were doing--I've done it myself. Wait till the last minute to bid, and get the item for the starting price. But not this baby. I think it's a keeper. Just wish I had a grand-daughter, or grand-niece. Why don't any of these nieces have girls? Though I love the nephews. Boys are more fun, but they probably don't want your doll collection.

*

Regarding the Dolls: The painting that Ned found in the old stable looks like an El Greco, something like this:

The night after they found it, lightning struck in the woods and burned the remains of the old stable to the ground. After the family recovered from hysteria and running around in circles, they sent Ned off with the painting to have it examined at Christie's, authenticated if applicable, and an attempt made at establishing provenance.

Second Thoughts?

I've listed my Pinkie Baby doll on eBay. It's 1936 vintage and in almost perfect condition. There are no bids yet, and I'm beginning to hope it won't sell. I washed and ironed all the clothes. I always meant to make a really fabulous christening outfit for this doll, but of course I never did. It has been in my closet most of the time for about ten years. If I could decorate my house in "my style," it wouldn't have dolls sitting around for show. So why do I need this huge doll collection, sixty or so items?

Of course, I have acres of storage room--not! And the dolls take up a great portion of the space I've got. So bye-bye 6 Gene Marshalls, 9 Madame Alexanders, 3 Barbie types, one Shirley Temple, one Ling Ling, and all sorts of nameless, homemade, junk shop and yard sale specimens. That's if anyone will buy them.

Demo Is No Fun

Getting the house fixed up before Ned and Beauty's wedding.

A Walk In the Woods

Daddy Doll, Billy Bones and Brother Ned take the three greyhounds for a stroll in the woods. Ned suggests that the dogs may even learn to chase squirrels or something, but Daddy knows they're too lazy and housebound to do much beyond lying in the shade. In fact, before they've gone very far, Sooner has disappeared--gone back to the house, Billy opines.

In a clearing, 'way out beyond the Temple spring, they find a ramshackled stable, the boxes all caved in, the roof fallen sideways, and the tack room stuffed with--stuff.

Daddy, the perpetual worrier, remarks, "Billy, we need to get this mess cleared away. Looks like a fire ready to start."

"We could bring marshmellers and winnies," Billy says, "and start it ourselves."

"Whatever," says Daddy. "We'll have to find out if Mother and Miranda want to save the pictures or anything."

Ned scratches his head, looking puzzled. Something is tugging at the edges of his memory. Something about a manger. He wanders away.

The only sound or sudden movement from the dogs occurs when Echo flops down in a patch of grass, and a rabbit jumps over him and makes a beeline for cover. Echo gives a muffled yip and streaks away homeward.

"That was a gigantic rabbit!" Daddy exclaims.

"Looked like a big old Loosiana cane-cutter," says Billy.

"No wonder the dog fled," Daddy says. He is always quick to defend his dogs.

Ned reappears from behind some leaning beams and loose planks, bearing a large flat canvas-wrapped, cord-bound object.

"I think I may have found something," he says. "I pulled up a corner of the wrap, and it's a painting."

Rabbit by me.

An Important Announcement

Ned has summoned everyone to the living room. He announces that he has proposed to Beauty, and she has accepted him. They're going to be married!

Troubles come "not single spies, but in battalions."

In the last twenty-four hours, Daddy Doll has received the tax bills on Graymont and the other house. His contractor has just telephoned to say that the ceiling has been restored and other repairs made but that, for various reasons, the attic cannot be made liveable. And, adds the contractor, he must have money to pay off the workers. And himself.

This means that the family are stuck at Graymont; they can't possibly all fit in the little house near town. It also means that after paying all these bills, Daddy will be poorer than the legendary church mouse. In fact, he'll have to borrow money. Go into debt, just to pay everything he owes.

On top of these worries, he has recently been bothered by the children--well, by Maybelle, at least--chattering about "servants" who, Daddy knows, don't exist. Even Ned has mentioned seeing a man working on the grounds; Daddy thinks it must have been a tramp or passer-by, up to no good. Heaven forbid that anyone who worked for Granny Gray thinks he's still a family employee!