Favorite Thing No. 71

There used to be a weaving shop up the road where you could watch the proprietors at their looms. On any given day they were either teaching their students how to weave, or working on their own projects.  There were beautiful rugs, mats, towelling and scarves for sale.  And there were also dolls. Unique, charming, love-starved dolls, made of scrap materials, with yarn hair and satin faces. Each doll came with a name, bestowed upon her by her maker.  (And like ships, I think it may be bad luck to change the given name of a doll.)

After lusting after these dolls for months I finally bought one. Her name is BOP and since arriving at the house she has demonstrated a magpie-like tendency for acquiring things that don't belong to her.  Heart-shaped sunglasses, a concertina, and several strands of mardi gras beads.  The second doll was a gift.  Her name is Bokoo and has a haircut very like mine. The third doll, also a gift, came to me during a long illness, and is called Sweet P. Over time she, too, has helped herself to a gold turban, a rosary, and a red-foil Chocolate Kiss brooch.  (I think she has some voodoo hoodoo going on.)  

Bop is the larger—and bossier—of the three. In fact a friend of mine complains that she has way too many privileges.  That may be true but ... there you are.

 Sweet P, Bop, and Bokoo