2-Golly

I have been making sock dolls for many years.  But the first sock doll I ever made was the result of a request coming from my therapist saying to me, “I want you to go home and make yourself a sock doll.”

I found the beginnings of Golly by opening my sock drawer and pulling out an old pair of felted wool socks – of the undyed oatmeal variety.  She began to take shape as I stuffed her with whatever was readily available, forming her head, torso and legs in short order only beginning to struggle as I attached her arms and became engrossed in giving her a thumb and four fingers and perhaps even a life line in the palm of her hands.

To make her something to wear, I found a knitting sample I had made from yarn scraps – folding it in half I cut a hole big enough to squeeze her head through.  It turned out to be a little short, bordering on the edge of unrespectabilty, which has been unsettling for me all of these years.  Her hat came from the toe of the other sock, decorated with a little embroidery and a tassel.  Her hair and face were not very well executed, myself being a novice at sock doll making.

When she was finished and I looked at her, I felt an immediate bond with her.  I recognized who she was and what she carried inside.

Over the years, she has acquired two friends, Molly and Pauly.  Molly is a happy country girl with bangs and pigtails.  She comes from a more gentrified stock (sock) and wears a pretty dress with puffy sleeves, gathered skirt, and an apron.  Pauly is a cute little guy with dark skin and a bowler felt hat with an oversized bow tie that matches his hat band.  He is wearing a fully tailored white linen shirt with tiny red buttons and some old blue jeans with an oversized buckle on his belt.  He is dapper and very sweet.  The three of them spend their days together (except when my grandchildren are visiting) in a small 1940s wicker rocker that I have also not resisted in my temptation to embellish.

It was at the most recent visit of my grandchildren, when Golly, Molly, and Pauly were out and about, that Nina, my middle grandchild – now seven, said to me in earnest, “Golly needs a new outfit.” There it was plucked out of all possible word utterances.  How could anything be so true and simple?  After I took off her old outfit, I studied her carefully to see what was there.  I had to ask myself who she was and what suited her – nothing fancy or frivolous.  She looked at me seriously, wanting to let me know she had integrity and was not to be taken lightly.           

After having worked tirelessly on her new outfit, I can now admire Golly seated in the chair next to me.  Her hands are reaching out in a welcoming gesture, and on her feet, she has a cute little pair of shoes made of navy blue felt with a band across the ankle fastened with a tiny red button. She wears a calf-length dark blue knitted skirt and a white linen blouse with a colorful silk tie.  She also has a very classy-looking shoulder bag that fastens with a vintage button.

All that remains is a bit more hair-styling and her new knitted cap with tassel.  When her new outfit is finished, I will still see the original Golly looking at me with the same face I have always known and same hands ready to go to work.  But very importantly, I find she is to be regarded for her many worthwhile contributions.