Bonnie & Barbie

ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

My Cousin Dodie's Bonnie Doll

A few months ago, my sweet cousin Dodie posted the above photo of her doll with a note to me: "Kitti, this is the outfit you made for my Bonnie doll when you were about 12, I think. The summer that I spent 2 weeks at your house, I think I was 10."

All I could say was, "Wow -- I did that? Precision detailing! I'm impressed with my former handiwork! And you've kept it all these years -- that is too sweet!"

Dodie elaborated, "I was impressed back then and even more impressed now. This doll is a special doll for many reasons and the outfit that you made is one of them. Aunt Judy gave me the doll; she is an 18" doll named Bonnie. I have two mentors / guardian angels in my life whose names were Bonnie. So I have always kept her in my sewing area. I guess it is one of those things a person keeps around as a reminder that they are well loved and their life is full of blessings."

Thanks Dodie!

In fact, here we are in Summer 1970
when Dodie came to stay for two weeks:
in back, my younger sister Di and me;
in front Dodie, holding our black cat Samantha
and my little brother Aaron, holding our white cat Phhht

A few years ago (2008), I was paging through one of Ben and Sam's high school English anthologies and discovered this gem from Sandra Cisneros, the perfect retrospective for anyone who ever loved a Barbie but was always a little bit behind the trend! The detailed outfits and ensembles took me right back to the Sears Christmas Catalogs of the 1960s.

BARBIE-Q
For Licha
by Sandra Cisneros

Yours is the one with mean eyes and a ponytail. Striped swimsuit, stilettos, sunglasses, and gold hoop earrings. Mine is the one with bubble hair. Red swimsuit, stilettos, pearl earrings, and a wire stand. But that’s all we can afford, besides one extra outfit apiece. Yours, “Red Flair,” sophisticated A-line coatdress with a Jackie Kennedy pillbox hat, white gloves, handbag, and heels included. Mine, “Solo in the Spotlight,” evening elegance in black glitter strapless gown with a puffy skirt at the bottom like a mermaid tail, formal-length gloves, pink chiffon scarf, and mike included. From so much dressing and undressing, the black glitter wears off where her titties stick out. This and a dress invented from an old sock when we cut holes here and here and here, the cuff rolled over for the glamorous, fancy-free, off-the-shoulder look.



Every time the same story. Your Barbie is roommates with my Barbie, and my Barbie’s boyfriend comes over and your Barbie steals him, okay? Kiss kiss kiss. Then the two Barbies fight. You dumbbell! He’s mine. Oh no he’s not, you stinky! Only Ken’s invisible, right? Because we don’t have money for a stupid-looking boy doll when we’d both rather ask for a new Barbie outfit next Christmas. We have to make do with your mean-eyed Barbie and my bubblehead Barbie and our one outfit apiece not including the sock dress.

Until next Sunday when we are walking through the flea market on Maxwell Street and there! Lying on the street next to some tool bits, and platform shoes with the heels all squashed, and a fluorescent green wicker wastebasket, and aluminum foil, and hubcaps, and a pink shag rug, and windshield wiper blades, and dusty mason jars, and a coffee can full of rusty nails. There! Where? Two Mattel boxes. One with the “Career Gal” ensemble, snappy black-and-white business suit, three-quarter-length sleeve jacket with kick-pleated skirt, red sleeveless shell, gloves, pumps, and matching hat included. The other, “Sweet Dreams,” dreamy pink-and-white plaid nightgown and matching robe, lace-trimmed slippers, hair-brush and hand mirror included.



How much? Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, until they say okay.

On the outside you and me skipping and humming but inside we are doing loopity-loops and pirouetting. Until at the next vendor’s stand, next to boxed pies, and bright orange toilet brushes, and rubber gloves, and wrench sets, and bouquets of feather flowers, and glass towel racks, and steel wool, and Alvin and the Chipmunks records, there! And there! And there! And there! and there! and there! and there! Bendable Legs Barbie with her new page-boy hairdo, Midge, Barbie’s best friend. Ken, Barbie’s boyfriend. Skipper, Barbie’s little sister. Tutti and Todd, Barbie and Skipper’s tiny twin sister and brother. Skipper’s friends, Scooter and Ricky. Alan, Ken’s buddy. And Francie, Barbie’ MOD’ern cousin.

Everybody today selling toys, all of them damaged with water and smelling of smoke. Because a big toy warehouse on Halsted Street burned down yesterday-see there?-the smoke still rising and drifting across the Dan Ryan expressway. And now there is a big fire sale at Maxwell Street, today only.

So what if we didn’t get our new Bendable Legs Barbie and Midge and Ken and Skipper and Tutti and Todd and Scooter and Ricky and Alan and Francie in nice clean boxes and had to buy them on Maxwell Street, all water-soaked and sooty. So what if our Barbies smell like smoke when you hold them up to your nose even after you wash and wash and wash them. And if the prettiest doll, Barbie’s MOD’ern cousin Francie with real eyelashes, eyelash brush included, has a left foot that’s melted a little-so? If you dress her in her new “Prom Pinks” outfit, satin splendor with matching coat, gold belt, clutch, and hair bow included, so long as you don’t lift her dress, right?--who’s to know. ~Sandra Cisneros

Naturally, I had to share this essay with my cousin Dodie, and she wrote back to share the most astonishing coincidence -- she really did have a burned Barbie! -- and so many other insights as well:

"Thanks for sharing the Cisneros essay! You know Barbie and I are the same age -- she came out in 1959. The first time I ever saw a Barbie doll was when I was 4 or 5 and visited Aunt Judy. Our cousins Glenda and Carrie had them and I was enthralled! I loved them so, that they sent me one for Christmas. I got so few new "cool" toys that I was thrilled. I swear I would still have that Barbie if she had not burned up when our house burned when I was 10. She had dark "bubble" hair. Barbie's were always my favorite toy.

"These days, girls have tons of Barbies. I had one Barbie and one Ken when they burned. I got one more, maybe two after that. My girls have, and I am NOT exaggerating, at least 15 if not 20 different Barbies. And they really play with them, really love them. Miranda will close her room door and forbid any of us to disturb her, while she plays out elaborate stories or something in there. I would love to set up a video camera so I could see it all!

"I too remember the mean eyes! Thanks for the stroll down memory lane!" ~Dodie

Even without daughters, I knew what Dodie meant about the plethora of Barbies, because I had seen them everywhere at my friends' houses! For Ben and Sam, not so much, but there was the summer (1995 - 96) when we went to the store to pick out pool toys and I suggested Sparkle Beach Barbie and Ken. Whether or not they were waterproof, they were perfect for going to the beach or floating around in the pool or the bathtub:



As early as 1st grade I had my first Barbie, but she was a fake version of mean - eyed Barbie. Of course, Barbie never meant to look mean, it's just that her eye makeup was so badly drawn; and, believe me, however mean real Barbie looked, fake Barbie looked even meaner! By 3rd or 4th grade, I had upgraded to a new, improved fake, at which time my sister Di received a fake Midge as well as a real Skipper, both with red hair to match her own. Over the years, Barbies have become so accessible and inexpensive ($3 at the grocery store) that no one really needs a knock - off version, which I'm sure we had only because they cost less.

Skipper & Stacey

When we were a little older (5th / 6th grade), I got my first and only real Barbie and Di got a real Stacey (another one of Barbie's cool, modern cousins, I guess). We never did have any Kens; as Cisneros says, that would have been a waste of resources! But sometimes we did borrow a couple of GI Joes from my brothers and squeeze them into some of Barbie's pantsuits (cross - dressing!) and make them get married to Barbie and Stacey. Oh what fun!

Here is my beautiful, kind - eyed 1969 Barbie in her wedding dress, made by my mom, from the same fabric as my sister Peg's highschool graduation dress. And again in a pink vintage ensemble, created by my grandmother in 1965, based on a skirt and blouse -- same fabric and similar design -- that she had sewn for my mother in the 1950s. You might also notice that my Barbie Case features the same "Red Flair" Ensemble worn by the Barbie of Cisneros' friend:

A few closing thoughts after reading "Barbie-Q":

My friend Diane to me: "That's a great article - it does bring it all back! I think I only had one Barbie (and probably a hand-me-down) that I dressed up in hand - made clothes that my grandmother made for us, and I built her houses out of wooden blocks. I remember building houses WAY too late in my years to be "normally" playing with dolls. And I seem to remember my younger sisters getting many more dolls and accessories than I did. But I'm not bitter. Sure wish I had some of those hand-made outfits now -- bet my grandmother had fun doing that!"

Me to Diane: "I know my Barbie years lasted throughout 6th grade (with my friends Cyndee and Kathy) and probably into 7th & 8th. While I remember very well all the store - bought outfits from seeing them in catalogs, we didn't own any of those things. Instead, like you, we dressed our Barbies in outfits made by my grandmothers. I marvel now over the tiny stitches they made for us. How did they do it? They were way older then than I am now, and already my eyesight is so far gone, I can barely get the mending done!"

For the love of Barbie!

I sent this Barbie to Diane
after we saw "Wicked" in 2006.
Some of the subsequent Elphaba Barbies
had mean eyes, but not this one!


Other favorites:
Liddle Kiddle Kolognes from Little Brother Aaron
Honeysuckle for Me and Rosebud for Di


Liddle Kiddle Lockets from Grandma Carrie
and Penny Brite Dolls from Grandma Peggy


Disney Watches from Big Brother Dave
Alice in Wonderland for Di & Snow White for Me

Postscript from my sister Di: "I loved that Little Rosebud Kiddle. I remember smelling it constantly. Held it's scent for a long time -- maybe still -- just don't know where it got to."

My response: "Me too Di! I feel sad that I don't know where our originals are -- I copied the pictures for our perfume & locket Kiddles and the Penny Brite and the Disney watches and figurines from the internet. It's almost as good to go to google and have a walk down memory lane, looking at all the old treasures that are no longer with us in person -- but not quite. Heaven knows I've hung on to enough old stuff, but sort of wish that I'd hung on to just a bit more (a topic to be explored in greater depth next time)!

And from another Diane: "I think you may have tagged me in error, but I am glad you did. Here is my Kiddie Cologne - Lily of the Valley. It was always precious to me because it was a gift from my godfather whom I truly loved. I love lily of valley to this day b/c of this gift. As for Barbie Dolls - I had my share and would play with them for hours. I used Dixie cups and other household items as furniture.

SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Saturday, May 28th

Between now and then, check out THRIFTSHOP BARBIE
and take a look at THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

What Women [Don't] Want

WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Seated Woman in a Red Dress, 1920s
By Irish Painter ~ Roderic O'Conor, 1860 - 1940

“What Do Women Want?”
I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what’s underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I’m the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment
from its hanger like I’m choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,
it’ll be the goddamned
dress they bury me in.

by American poet ~ Kim Addonizio, b. 1954
see also ~ "Aquarium"

Awhile back I heard a very good sermon about the "middle way being the hard way." The old proverb (certainly what I was taught in Sunday School) is that the middle way is for lazy opportunists who can't commit and want it both ways and haven't given their hearts to God. But this speaker was saying the opposite -- that the extremes are easier because they require less introspection, less observation, less compassion. The middle way is hard because it demands all of these things, and that's why the church should walk the middle path.

Around the same time, I also heard a very troubling sermon about abortion. What would Jesus do? Maybe he'd choose a different topic. All I could think was "Here we go again." It's bad enough on the television and in the House and in the Senate and every where else you turn your head, but even from the pulpit? When will it ever be considered unacceptable to violate the sanctuary of women? When will male ministers and lawmakers ever stop singling women out and talking about their bodies -- the very essence of objectification. Did Jesus do that? I don't think so. Being pitied and talked about like case studies -- this turns women into objects. The assumption that someone else can know which women need abortions and for what reasons -- this turns women into objects. What about self - determination? What about getting to be the subject of your own sentence?

I wince at the harsh pronouncements against all abortion, but I'm also suspicious of the so - called more generous stance that we have to consider the special cases of rape and incest. The unctuous reliance on this cliche fills me with dismay. What it says to me is that the church doesn't really want to help women but it will if it has to in the extreme case. The incest / rape exception makes me feel uneasy, not because it isn't valid or necessary, but because it's someone else's arbitrary decision, and a very harsh one at that, despite being presented in the name of compassion. Instead, how about acknowledging that the issue is too complicated for the existing exceptions and rules (the very thing that Jesus says NOT to rely on).

For those who claim the right to decide not only for themselves but for others, I want to hear their plans for helping expectant mothers who are carrying their children in fear, worried about money, health, nutrition, insurance, education, emotional support, rent, mortgage, heat, abuse, neglect -- and myriad other issues that we cannot possibly know in full, different in every case. How do these right - to - lifers plan to help care for each and every child who is born to a distraught mother? I want to see their directives and budget allotments for welcoming every newborn and nurturing every mother and every child. And I don't mean a cute hat and some diapers -- I mean non-stop tending until that child is safely through college.

There was one spark of hope in the sermon: the observation that, yes, you might meet a woman thirty years on who regretted her decision to terminate a pregnancy but on the other hand --

Okay, at this point I thought I was going to hear that you might also meet a woman who was relieved that she had the option to choose. But NO!

-- on the other hand -- there has to be help for college girls who get drunk and end up pregnant.

Some abortions end in regret; some begin in drunkenness. Thus did the sermon, which I did not find to be particularly helpful to women, come to a close. No acknowledgement that not all abortions begin in drunkenness or end in regret, no other examples, no mention of a considered choice, no middle path. Did it help anyone to make women sound so pathetic, to second guess their decisions, to sensationalize their distress with descriptions of crying and bleeding, to omit the possibility that women might know their own bodies and their own minds? No, it did not. It was offensive. Women don't need pity; they need a level playing field. Women resent the weary sexist conclusion that abortion is fair game for sermonizing -- because it's such an attention grabber. In fact, it's just one more way of putting women on that old familiar pedestal and looking up their dresses. How long, O Lord?

If human anatomy and physiology is sermon material, then lets move away from the insulting cliches about female reproduction and pick some topics that affect both sexes equally. Take colonoscopy, for instance. There's something that both men and women have to go through. Everyone has to have a first one sometime and no one wants to. You don't see much of a spiritual context to the colonoscopy? Well, then, give it one! I have lots of ideas: How about the low success rate of trying to make other people do the right thing? How about leading a horse to water but not being able to make it drink? How about not even being able to lead it to water? How about responsibility? How about worry? How about fear? How about violation and taboo? How about people dying unnecessarily of colon cancer? As you can see, it wouldn't take me long to write a sermon on the topic! In fact, I think there's a veritable mission field out there of people who need to hear the message and be brought into the fold.

Or what about whole body screenings for cancer of the skin -- our body's largest organ! That affects everybody. God made the sun. Right?

How about the need for free STD testing at all college and university health centers? I don't know the cost, but some students find any fee at all prohibitive and / or embarrassing if they have to file an insurance claim. Maybe free STD testing is not an ENTITLEMENT in this country; however, if we take a look at the big picture instead of the small, we might see that free testing helps EVERYONE on campus, not just those who come in for a lab test or an exam. Who knows, a more generous policy might result in safer sex and fewer abortions.

I'm not necessarily suggesting these as ideal topics for Sunday morning, but then I wouldn't pick abortion either. Or if I did, I'd ask why the discussion of unplanned pregnancy is so one - sided. Little is ever said about the man who participated in the conception. I rarely hear any presumptuous suggestions or patronizing restrictions concerning what he should do next, now that he has fertilized a human egg. Where is the analysis of male anatomy and the massively hurtful potential of testosterone? I'd point out that a great many of the "birth control failures" that girls and women take responsibility for (sometimes by terminating a pregnancy) actually boil down to having been relentlessly pressured into having unprotected sex. Could women insist on birth control every time unless they want a child? Yes, of course they could and should. But that still doesn't explain why the men who love (?) them are pressuring them in the first place. Men and boys -- Stop. Doing. This. Make yourself part of the solution rather than part of the problem. Respect women. Respect your sperm!

Of course we have compassion for victims of rape, incest, and drunken mistakes -- those are the extremes; those are crimes! The difficult thing -- apparently! -- is compassion for normal women leading normal lives that become complicated because the evolutionary odds are stacked in such a way that women bear the biological risk for both recreational and procreational sex. What saddens me -- besides having to hear a discussion better left to me and my doctor or me and my girlfriends or me and my husband -- is to hear a public speaker take the predictable political path, in the name of "socio - cultural relevance" or "ethics" instead of a soul - searching, sermon - worthy middle path.

Even some of my favorite writers seem at times to get it weirdly wrong. In Margaret Atwood's novel Surfacing (1972), for instance, the narrator becomes obsessed with the feral conception of a child in reparation for a previous pregnancy that her art professor pressured her into terminating. The new child, conceived in the wild, will be a living apology to the unrealized child. In Ruth Ozeki's novel All Over Creation (2003), a similar irrational, formulaic approach is expressed by the high school history teacher, twenty - five years after his affair with a fourteen - year - old student: "We took a life, Yumi. From the universe. And the way I figure it, we owe one back. Life is sacred. I want to make amends. . . . I want us to have a child (386). Yumi, who has returned to town for a visit, along with her three children, says oddly and crassly of them: "Three wonderful grandchildren ought to more than make up for one lousy abortion" (240).

What's going on here? Must these women be forever making amends? Are they never allowed to leave mistakes in the past, to grow and learn, to pay the price of experience and move on, sadder perhaps but wiser? How about the creation of heroines who gain dignity and emotional maturity, confident in their choices and the points to which they've come? Instead, first Atwood and then Ozeki (writing three decades later!) use their characters to express the view that abortion goes hand in hand with shame, guilt, bitterness and perpetual indebtedness to the universe. In each case I remain mystified by the author's placement of her heroine on such a regressive life path.

A more supportive and realistic view appears in Curtis Sittenfeld's novel American Wife (2008). Unlike Atwood's extreme reversion to nature or Ozeki's tone of self - deprecation, Sittenfeld allows her narrator, Alice to think rationally and walk the middle path: " . . . my entire political outlook could have been summarized by the statement that I felt bad for poor people and was glad abortion had become legal. . . . I live a life that contains contradictions. Don't you?" (204, 473).

Yes, I do.

***************
Additional Reading: Reality Check & Thriftshop Barbie

SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Tuesday, October 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ Roe v. Wade
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogspot.com

Contradiction
by Patti Spires Hamilton