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Hollyhock Dolls, and an Apology

  • To: Multiple recipients of list <iris-l@rt66.com>
  • Subject: Hollyhock Dolls, and an Apology
  • From: norma@redrock.net (Norma Hensen)
  • Date: Mon, 17 Feb 1997 09:54:13 -0700 (MST)

Good Morning,
	 Judy, I am sorry.  I had already posted my note on how to make the dolls
before I read Clarence's post to you.  I didn't mean to take over and again
I am sorry.
	These are special memories of the summer we made hollyhock dolls.  The
memories make the dolls very dear to me for this was indeed a magic summer.
I think of it as the last summer of my childhood.  
	I like to tell this story and  maybe you will be interested.  If not, hit
the delete button.  (Thank heaven for Delete.)
	I was twelve years old and in my last year of elementary school.  The world
was a wonderful magical place that summer.  Lots of friends, grasshoppers,
good talk, swimming and evenings of Run Sheep Run.  There was only one cloud
in our world that summer.  That was the war.  Even though we were children,
we were aware of the horror, and that the war had just ended in Europe.  We
hoped that it would soon be over, and played with one ear tuned to the radio.
	In midsummer a little girl from Canada came  to visit her Grandfather.  She
was  younger than our group but we were enchanted with this little visitor
from another country.  She was a pretty, shy, timid, little thing and we
were protective of her.  One day
she had us all running down the alleys gathering the stray hollyhocks that
had escaped the confines of their yards.
	We brought a quilt out and settled on the lawn, under the window, so we
could hear the radio.  She showed us how to make the dolls that day.  Yes,
Clarence, I remember now, the simplified version was the one I learned
first.  Then later my mother taught us to make the toothpick doll.
	That summer we begged, borrowed, and I am afraid in some cases stole
hollyhocks.  We stripped the neighborhood, until at the end of August there
were no more hollyhocks to make our dolls.
	At times we would play a make-believe game of, "Mad Scientist."  This was
an invention of my fertile brain and was lots of gory and horrible
imagination adventures.  One day, Sheila(Canadian) said, "I can't play with
you any more if we play "Mad Scientist. It makes me have bad dreams."
	 Soon after that we dropped the atomic bombs and we knew the conflict would
soon be over.  There was no more running through the weeds, no more going to
the store for a pop, no more grasshoppers in bottles.  Now we sat in our
homes and listened to the radio.
	Summer was almost over, and we were getting ready to return to school.
Radios blared forth no matter where you went.  Everyone was waiting and
thinking of one thing.  The end of the war and the boys coming home.
	I had just left the beauty shop.  I was waiting for a bus. The news came
through.  Japan had surrendered.  Even now I cannot think of that moment
without tears and a lump in my throat.  If you did not live through this
time, you cannot imagine the joy and sorrow we felt at once.  The
celebration was so exciting.  We were in the back of a pickup and everyone
was yelling and laughing and kissing.  In the evening there was a great bon
fire in the middle of Center street and we had a great snake dance.
	Looking back, that was the day I left my childhood behind.

 St George, Utah       
 Zone 7/8  depends on what day it is.
"Language is a cracked kettle on which we bang out tunes to make
the bears dance, when what we long for is to move the stars to pity."
                                        Gustave Flaubert


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