My sweet Eileen has such an adventurous spirit, except she only explores in the garden. She knows she is not allowed to leave the confines of the house, and stays put. I like it when the dolls listen to my rules.
Bright and early she got up. Full of energy and pep. "I want to play outside" she demanded. And so the day started.
In a shroud of blankets and still half asleep, I proceeded to boil water for tea. Some toast in the oven, butter out of the fridge.
"Can we have jam today? Pretty please?" she asked me with those all-seeing eyes. One look at her and the frosty jam jar came out of fridge.
I have no backbone for these woolen children. None at all.
The hungry pilgrimage to the breakfast table. The linens. The napkins. The cold butter and knives. Cups for tea. Sugar. All the necessary things to enjoy a spot of breakfast before the day turns us all over.
Eileen helped so eagerly. She asked where the napkins were and why they were so pretty. And could she please choose the fancy cups this time? Not the thick ones, the special ones with gold rimmed edges.
She requested sponge cakes, scones, blueberry muffins and crunchy granola. I told her all we had was toast. We were in dire poverty with not even an ounce of flour to our names. But not for long I reminded her.
We shall pay a visit to the magical grocery store where we can stock up (the savages ate it all this weekend!) and then I will see about those sponge cakes, and those almond-covered scones full of lemon rind. Maybe even blueberries too (though we have to use those frozen) and yes: crunchy granola is a must. We have a trusted recipe full of coconut flakes, maple syrup and dark chocolate chunks. Indulgence at every corner.
After the meagre breakfast was enjoyed and we had thoroughly licked our chops from the butter and jam, we got dressed and headed outside. What a welcomed sight.
A cloudy day!.
Oh! Shall we even attempt to wish for rain? Old people say that this year not even the peaches grew fat and that all the apple trees had such few blossoms that we are bound to dream of apple pie the rest of the year, all the way to Christmas.
But what are those adult concerns to a small wool child? A girl so full of life, of interest, bursting with so much curiosity that no mother shall appease her.
She promptly climbed the ladder and got on top of a branch to check on the peaches. Still much too green.
She started singing them a song, and telling them a story about a distant relative who got so huge that it grew out of its tree, and tumbled down the land, through meadows and farms, until it landed on the sea and bobbed its way, and flew! to America.
She told the peaches that we must always dream big and strive for growth and purpose. That it doesn't matter wether you are a low-watered peach or a single leaf, we all have our part to play and we all should do it gladly.
Such wise words for an early morning I thought.
And still those clouds do smell like rain. But I shan't think of it, or I will jinx it.
She then checked on the grapes. Oh! but such abundance! Such fatty disposition! What a great display of life and use of resources! she thought.
Comparing the grapes to the peaches, the poor peaches come out like pitiful heathens. No use to even call themselves fruit at this stage.
But Eileen uses kind words to all of nature gifts. In the same way she spoke gently to the underachieving peaches, she denoted pleasure and encouragement to the grapes.
"Do not saunter, and do not get high on June my dears. All in due time. Little by little your skin will grow thicker and your juices sweeter. And that is all well, as it should be. Take pride on the wonderful work you have done so far, such trusty and old woody vines you are. Over centuries you have provided your fruit, and over centuries people grow you and enjoy your presence. Thousands of pictures of your image adorn living rooms and many a dining room. You have been turned to bronze effigies and poems have been written on your name. The times of plenty have always been celebrated with your name, be it in wine or full form. Yet here you are, just growing and fulfilling your destiny, day by day".
I dare say, where does she get all that? surely not from me. I have no green thumb, nor place in the kitchen either, those have always been part of the many talents of my loving husband. He cooks like an angel and everything he plants grows as if mad.
Maybe Eileen absorbed some of his poetry too because you have to hear her to believe it.
And a poet she is. A poet that dreams of gardens and tending kitty cats. A girl who loves frills and full skirts, but also likes to get her hands dirty in the garden and play with the roots and the dried blooms.
A girl that will tend many hearts over her life, and hopefully bring many smiles too. I love it when dolls like Eileen remind me of how simple it is to feel happy.
How, though pain and turmoil can be in our lives, we all have a chance to blossom, to be kind and encouraging to others. No matter life circumstances.
Just something as simple as playing with dolls. Or reading a book. Or working in your garden.
Thank you so much Nikie, for allowing me the chance to see your Grandmother in my dreams and bring me so many memories of mine. I went to the past and came back with this little doll for you.
I hope she brings you comfort and a little peace from the hectic world. She is made with much love, just for you, and I took care to let her know so much of the great woman that inspired her. Hoping that a meeting happens for the two of them, one day, hopefully soon.
I hope her poetic nature keeps striking back, and that you allow her time to play in the garden. I also hope there is a furry friend around to keep her entertained and making all those catnip pouches she loves to sew. You know how making things for those she loves makes her so happy.
With much love, from my hands to yours!.