shit always comes back to find you.
So, last week I went to see the daughter of some friends of mine who I'm helping with english. As I was walking to my car with my friend and his little daughter my friend said, "oh! I forgot to show you the gifts that the Befana brought our daughter! They are two little dolls that have tags on them saying 'fatto a mano da Lynn'. Do you knit dolls?"
Well, the answer is "of course I knit dolls." And of course they are mine because, well,1) not too many people around here KNIT dolls. And 2) there CERTAINLY aren't too many people around here who knit dolls who are named Lynn. So, as this is running through my head, I was remembering those dolls that I made so long ago and, well, I was wondering if I wanted to take responsibility for them. You see, even though 8 years ago when I made the dolls I had already been knitting for almost a decade, I'm an immensely better knitter now than I was then. I also have much higher standards for myself about what is an acceptable finished product. So I say,
"What do they look like?".
My friend said, "one has dreadlocks and one is an old lady. But, well, they MUST be yours! I mean, how many people KNIT dolls and how many of those knitters are called Lynn?!"
"Yeah, I suppose. They must be mine." I mumble.
I went back today to meet with my friend's young daughter, and there they were, sitting on the table in their living room just waiting for me like little Frankensteins, two of my little dollies.
"um, yep. those are mine."
For the record, I do actually think they are beautiful because I'm their mom but if I knew then what I know now, I'd never have let them out of my studio. By the way, the one on the right is called Sally, named after my grandmother because they have the same hair. I'm not sure about the one on the left. If I had to guess based on her hair and her clothes, her name just might be Lynn.