We were far richer then, I think.
As children outside, devoid of toys made from foreign oils’ plastic and anything resembling a dollar. We made our own dolls from the wide hibiscus shaped hollyhocks that grow in profusion along sunny garden walls. They grew in clumps of a dozen or more, so a mistake was not so serious a matter. Then, honeybees clung to the rich golden pollen, hardly mindful of a spare human.
The full 50’s style poodle skirts blossomed from the wide cup shaped flower. The small budding heads held Audrey Hepburn necks with the originals in pink and lavender hair. Though the Holly Dolls were known for talking somewhat condescendingly to the lesser dressed Snapdragon. Fine dolls worth hours of play and sinking their skirts at sunset harmlessly back into the earth.
The game could be played again and again for Hollyhocks and Snapdragons reigned throughout the hot plains summers where we managed without discount stores.
Now there are shelves of identical plastic dolls with finer dresses than those. But there are no honeybees, no children who know the craft of conversing in Holly Dolls and Snapdragonese.
They are literate in computer games, guitar heroes, and dungeons with dragons, and texting. The Holly skirts swirl shut on their 6 foot stems, quieter now without the voice of a generation of childhood’s ventriloquism. Seedless, though, without the simple honeybee.
We were richer, then, I think.
story contributed by Judy S.