Remember the days we had charm bracelets? I was looking through my jewelry box the other day for missing earrings when I came across this. How convenient that it showed up since my 50th reunion is on the horizon for next year. Mostly it’s a visual trip through the senior year and I suspect each one of these charms could be a prompt for a future story.
The drunk hanging on the street lamp at the corner of State and Madison streetlamp may have been added a few years later when we honeymooned in Chicago.
Yarn with knitting needles and scissors with the thimble represent hobbies. I made most of my own clothes.
Not so sure about the orange ball but I think has something to do with bowling.
Typewriter – yes I learned to type on a manual typewriter and my first job was typing address labels of all the private airports in the states. I think it was busy work given to me by a friend of my dads.
Faith, hope and charity – I am a preacher’s kid.
Not so sure about the corn cob – the trip through miles of corn fields from Michigan to California.
Diploma – obviously I graduated. Probably a gift from mom and dad.
The crutch – a little tobogganing mishap and a perfect excuse to skip P.E., my least favorite class.
Expo 67 – my senior trip.
What’s on your charm bracelet? Do you still have it?
There is a small disagreement between my sister and me as to who officially owns these dolls. I think the one on the left may be an original Barbie. The doll on the right is of unknown ancestry. Since I happen to have these dolls in my possession, for now we’ll just say one is mine and one is hers. Read the rest of the story and then you decide whose is whose.
During our Michigan years, Grandma Bull traveled by train across country from California to visit several times. She would plump down into the most comfortable chair in the living room and spend her days creating a generous wardrobe for me, my sister and our dolls. We’d fall asleep at night to the click of knitting needles and wake in the morning to the whir of the sewing machine. The clothes that best fit the doll on the left happen to match clothes I wore in photos from that era. Neighborhood girls envied my doll’s fashionable clothes which I stored neatly folded in a round pink zippered suitcase.
Backing up in time before the Barbie doll age, I’m going share a small secret. When my sister was about 3 years old there was a big box from Grandma under the Christmas tree with her name on it. With toddler exuberance she ripped open the package to discover a chubby cheeked baby doll nestled in a crocheted blanket. A complete layette of pink baby clothes filled the bottom half of the box. My sister wailed “NO NO NO,” tossed the doll across the room, and moved on to the next gift, something better suited to her already developing tomboy characteristics. We never told Grandma.
Which doll do you think might belong to me?