My feelings exactly

Here's my grumpy old lady doll in progress.  She looks like I feel, except she needs an angrier face.  I can fix that.  Haven't we all just had enough?  We need a fairy godmother.  Or maybe a fairy dogmother.  I saw that on the side of a truck this morning.  I don't care which.  One or the other. Someone who can wave a magic wand and make our current depressing state of affairs go away.  

This is one of two dolls from a pattern by Sweet Meadow Farm.  I bought it a long time ago with the idea of making the pair to sit in my grandma's old rocking chair.  And now that I have no plans or deadlines....or cruises.....I have plenty of time to make these ladies.  And, hopefully, I'll get them finished before I am one of them.  Oh, wait a minute....

This one kinda reminds me of my grandma--the mother of dear ol' dad.  She lived up the street from us during my growing-up years. She had two friends who lived with her--one who she'd known since childhood--and they had the babysitting monopoly in town.  When they got so busy they couldn't accommodate their regulars, grandma would tell them, "but I have a granddaughter..."  That's how I amassed my impressive record collection.

Grandma always wore a flowered dress and little old lady shoes (size 4-1/2).  At one time those shoes were quite the thing among young women and she donated a couple of pair to my sister. How she was able to fit into them I don't remember, but they did have open toes. Grandma always carried a handbag with a ball of crochet thread and a hook.  She never went anywhere without her handwork. Rarely do I either. We were alike in many ways, well, except for the flowered dresses.

After Grandma was widowed she learned to drive.  The job of teaching her fell to my dad--bless his heart!  Grandpa had left her with a big old Plymouth sedan with a stick shift, and a skinny driveway with two hills.  Eventually she mastered the task--at least well enough to pass her driving test and to drive all of her friends to the senior citizens center once a week.  I don't remember ever riding with her.  After all, I had records to listen to.

A few years ago I was sitting around reminiscing with some of my relatives. My dad's cousin happened to mention that my grandma had a reputation in the family for being a little ditzy. I certainly don't remember that about her.  She was just Grandma who gave nice hugs, had a big toy box in her hall closet, and baked chocolate chip cookies.  Who knows what they'll say about me after I'm gone.  Is ditziness genetic I wonder?