Month: November 2006

Paper and Money

Karen


Christmas Paper Dolls

When I was eight, I wasn’t getting an allowance or any money of my own. I don’t remember even thinking that it was a possibility to ask for money to buy something. It just wasn’t within my realm of experience at that time. So you can imagine my incredible glee when, as I was walking home from school, dragging the inside of my foot along the gutter in order to kick-up the leaves, I spotted a one dollar bill. A one dollar bill! I was so excited, I scooped it up and ran the rest of the way home.

“Look Mom! Look!” I breathlessly yelled to my mother as I proudly held the crumbled bill up for her to see. She was very happy for me and told me to put it in a safe place.

From the moment I got that dollar I couldn’t stop thinking about how I was going to spend it. Maybe I could buy some Barbie clothes, or some candy. Maybe I could get a 45 record like my older friend, Gail.

The next time Mom went shopping, she took me to the variety store in the little strip mall. I walked up and down the aisle. I had never really gone shopping for myself before, and I must have taken a long time checking the inky adhesive price tags on every little thing. It soon dawned on me that most of what I had originally wanted to buy was beyond my reach financially. But then I went to the coloring book section, and there on the top shelf, spread out in all their glory, were the smooth, colorful covers of the paper doll books. I don’t remember which ones I bought, but I do know that they were only a quarter a piece, and that I ended up buying four of them — one for me, and one for each of my sisters. Mom must have paid the tax . . . or maybe there wasn’t any tax. I really don’t remember.

I do remember that when I got home to my sisters and pulled the paper dolls out of the brown kraft paper bag, I got my first memory of what it felt like to buy something for someone else and how good it felt. We played with those paper dolls for hours. And even though my youngest sister was a little too young to cut them out, I helped her, and we had a lot of fun.

Other times, I would take the old Sears catalog and cut out the pictures of girls and their fashions and try to turn them into paper dolls. I even would try and make those tabs around the edges to keep them on the “dolls.” But the paper was too floppy, and it never worked out very well. Still, I could spend hours just cutting and trimming and giving each girl a name and a family and a history.

I loved paper dolls when I was little, so when I saw some French paper doll sheets for sale at a flea market a couple of years ago, I bought them, thinking I could use them in my art. And then I found some more in some old editions of Ladies Home Journal that I had purchased. So I decided to scan them, clean them up a bit, and put them on the Public Domain Images page on my web site. Now I have about fifteen pages of Paper Dolls and other vintage paper crafts on my web site.

As I was working on these images on my computer, I kept wanting to get back to making my Gothic Fairies. It occurred to me that when I’m making these little collages I’m cutting and pasting paper dolls again, and giving them names, and families, and stories, just like I did when I was a little girl. So I guess that love for paper never went away.

Today Is My Birth Day

Karen

Today is my 50th birthday! H•A•P•P•Y B•I•R•T•H•D•A•Y to me!

Michael wanted to take me out for dinner with the boys tonight, but I asked him to make his delectable baby back ribs for me instead. With corn on the cob slathered with butter. And salad. And of course, garlic bread. When he’s done with those ribs, the meat just falls off; it’s so tender and wonderful. Yes, I am a happy carnivore.

The big FIVE-OH sounds so momentous. Everyone who loves me tells me I don’t look fifty, whatever that means. I’ll take it as a complement. Although I did have a crisis of vanity the other day and bought a slew of make-up–something I NEVER do. I guess that if that’s the extent of my mid-life crisis I’ll have to consider myself fortunate.

My dad turns the big EIGHT-OH this month, and I swear that he doesn’t look eighty. So maybe I inheritated his youthful genes. I definitely inherited his “keep busy” attitude. I think that helps me to feel young, as does spending my days surrounded by twelve year olds who keep me humble and constantly amused. But I swear– if I have to keep teaching until I’m sixty-five, I know I’m going to end up like my least favorite teacher ever–my crotchety fifth grade teacher Mrs. Shelasky. My lasting memory of her — thick support hose in sensible shoes and her not calling on me although I had my hand raised with my elbow propped up on my other hand on my desk waiting for what seemed like forever.

I feel pretty good, except when I’m sick like I was last week. All better now– thank goodness. I’d like to start taking vitamins. We have a drug dealer at our school. You know the kind. He moonlights as a vitamin and supplements peddler. You sign up and pretty soon they’re sending you vitamins every month whether you finished the last bottle or not. And soon you’re drowning in bottles of the stuff. And they just keep coming and the credit card keeps getting charged. I told him that I wasn’t very good at the whole taking pills routine. “Why don’t you get one of those little pill cases?” he said. “Why don’t you take them before you go to bed or right after dinner?” I guess I could. I know I should. But I probably won’t, so I discontinued delivery.

A few months ago I started getting notices from AARP. Oh my gawd! AARP!! WTF! Does that mean I get a senior discount at Denny’s now? With my luck they’ll raise the age because all us boomers are going to drive them into bankruptcy getting our senior discounts.

If I make it past my dad’s age, I’ll consider myself lucky. Mom died before 80. One grandfather and two grandmothers died before 80. Two of my aunts died before 80. On the other hand, my dad’s still going strong, as is his sister. She’s 85 and still works out with weights and does yoga!! Of course, the way I look at it, I could get hit by a semi on the interstate tomorrow. So I try not to think about these things too much, although the fiftieth anniversary of my arrival here seems like an appropriate time to contemplate my mortality.