Gordie Doll

When I was very little, I got a boy baby doll for a present, and I named it Gordie Doll. I'm not sure why I even thought it was a boy doll, since dolls in the mid-Fifties certainly didn't have any telltale features. Gordie Doll didn't have hair like my Tiny Tears. His molded rubber head had a few textured swirls to hint at hair, but they were not colored. Okay, basically Gordie Doll was a bald baby. Being two, I decided he looked like my parents' architect friend, Gordie. I am not sure that the architect was flattered to have a namesake. Most of the time Gordie Doll just wore a white terry cloth bathrobe that my mom had made. The robe had "Dolly" stitched in red cursive letters on the back like a boxer's robe. Gordie Doll was not as high tech and interactive as Tiny Tears. It was not possible to give Gordie Doll a bottle of water.

Thinking of Gordie Doll brings up smell and texture memories even more than visual images. I have no memory of the actual architect, but I can smell the doll and the warm wood smell of the picnic table where it was probably left out in the sun all afternoon. Wonder what area of my brain synapses would light up in scientific tests!

An old buddy has been growing birdhouse gourds out at her farm. She's also been in chemotherapy this year. Janie knows I am into gourds, and the various ways they are used and decorated around the world. I'm wondering if my interest in gourds was triggered by my ancient fondness for Gordie Doll. Janie has gourds for my students to decorate for maracas or birdhouses. I'm excited anticipating a jaunt to her farm to collect the gourds Friday. Do we still make the same powerful sensory memories at age forty-nine as at age two? I bet the gourds will be as bald as Gordie Doll.