If the camera in my mind was (yet) able to record images with the blink of an eye and then transfer them to the computer, I would have chronicled first seeing this little lady at the Friday church thrift shop on a shelf where other old dolls were being snapped up and she was not. You could see how her dress was dirty and her apron stained. How her complexion had suffered, perhaps from a bath. How she got folded up carefully into a carrier bag and came home with me. How she got placed in the arms of another doll; that gave me some comfort because I had no idea what to do with her. I had not thought much beyond bringing her home.
Well, her dress and apron and lace jabot got washed, dried and sewn back onto her and in the process I noticed her red raggedy hair and perky bow, the rosettes on her apron, the heart at her throat, the striped drawers, the sweet expression and the button eyes.
