When I was six years old, my grandmother came to stay for a few months while my mother had surgery to look after us both so mom could recover. I had never been a difficult child to entertain, but I was prone to worry, and that made me fidgety.
My grandmother does NOT like fidgeting. As the daughter of an Appalachian farmer and a Sicilian immigrant, she had a cure for it too. Sewing.
During her stay, my grandmother would sit with me while my mother rested. She'd me how to tie roughspun muslin into knots to make cloth doll bodies. We'd even turn my old clothes that no longer fit into doll clothes for them.
Years later, I worked as a children's guide at a small local history center, and I would teach the kids to make those same dolls. We'd draw faces on their light brown faces with crayola markers and I would stitch yarn to their heads for hair.
I don't know who taught my grandmother how to make those dolls. Our family history ends with her because her own mother took it to the grave. But I like the idea that dolls like these habe been made for as long as humans have had fabric, needle, and thread. I like the idea that when our children are bored, or worried, we give them a little friend to project their joys and desires onto. I like the idea that when we, as adults, are scared or lonely, we think back to the treasured little toys we loved and which loved us back just the way we needed them to.
I know I can come across cynical and angry at times, but at the end of the day, I truly believe people are fundamentally loving. I truly believe it is worth loving and being loved in turn, even if only by something as fleeting as a cloth doll. I believe that if we love what we can, nurture what will have us, and make space for the wholeness of humanity, we can all continue to heal and grow. I look forward to learning with you all what that will look like.