Lazing around over christmas led to extensive ebay searches and growing obsessions with Shirley Temple paraphernalia and 1930's composition dolls - (30 inch babies by effanbee and arranbee - and debuteens with little roller skates and swiss dot pinafores).
I spent alot of my time chanting 'baby doll, baby doll....' and squealing over listings of dollies with rosy knees, whose faces retained their perfect paint job and were not ruined by 'crazing'. (small spidery cracks in the paint.) Of course, this behaviour garnered many rolled eyes and shaken heads from my family. How old am i? Yeah, i'm not sure either.
I also decided that the very best job to have would to be an official doll doctor. Someone who sews on dangling limbs, replaces roaming glass eyes, re-roots mohair wigs and polishes the complexions of dusty dolls back to good health. This was actually a well regarded profession in the past, and i wish with all my heart that it still was a viable thing to do. I don't think there are any doll hospitals left in Sydney...
Last week, a little dream came true - i can't afford to spend $200 on a very old babydoll, so instead $2 well spent got me an envelope full of Shirley Temple clippings that span the years. I'm going to pin them up on the wall because honestly, she just makes me happy. I just sent my childhood tap shoes to the charity bins though, so i guess that stage of my life is over. I think i'm stuck in an adult childhood.
Living in a dreamland. It's better when i'm encased in these things.