Today, while waiting in the waiting room for my mother’s physical therapy session to end, an older woman walked inside and quickly made her way to the reception desk to check in. When asked for her name, she responded by saying, “Elizabeth”. She then sat down and waited for the nurse to call her name.
Elizabeth. When I hear that name, it sparks so many memories for me.
Naturally, the first person I think of when I hear this name is my daughter, Elizabeth. It is a little odd when you see an older person, and immediately think of your own daughter. When asked one day why I chose her name, I wasn’t quite sure how to answer her, because I honestly don’t remember. I do remember it was either Elizabeth or Jennifer. . I do remember the day that I decided on her name. I was in the backseat of my father’s car, and my parents were driving to a store in Salinas that sold baby bassinets. My daughter was due that week, and I still could not find one in town. As I was looking out the window of the car, it’s when I decided that Elizabeth would be my daughter’s first name, middle name, Rose after my grandmother. I said my daughter’s name out loud in the car for the first time to my parents, and it immediately got her grandparent’s approval.
But, why “Elizabeth?”
Perhaps I named her after my first doll, Elizabeth. She had very blonde hair, with pink ribbons on both sides of her head (actually, it had white hair) and she had big blue glass eyes with long black eyelashes. She also wore a white gown, with pink ribbons interlaced in it, with matching white socks. She was my “special” doll. It was a doll that was rarely played with and always kept nice and fancy either on my bed, or on the bedroom dresser. Why did I call this doll, Elizabeth? I honestly do not remember, but it may have been chosen after my grandmother’s neighbor, Beth.
Beth, and her husband, Fred, was an elderly couple who lived down the street from my grandmother’s house. They were friends of my grandmother, who would often pay visits to her. They moved to California from the South, and I remember sitting in my grandmother’s living room hearing about their love for catfish, and ballroom dancing in their southern accents. I remember Fred as being a thin man, with dark rimmed glasses, who often enjoyed smoking a pipe, and Beth as a tall older, elegant woman with striking red short hair, pale blue eyes. Oh, and Beth had a doll. Not just any kind of doll, but a very special doll.
Beth and Fred would often invite me over to their house just to see this doll. It was almost expected of me to come visit each time my family would visit my grandmother.
“Julie, don’t forget to visit the doll.” Beth would say.
“Julie, Beth’s doll has been missing you..” Fred would say.
“Are you going to visit the doll today?” My parents would ask.
I would come visit Beth and Fred to see this doll. There I would sit, waiting for the doll to make it’s appearance to me, as I sat in Beth and Fred’s living room, on the large red velvet bunk chair, under the coo coo clock. Tick, tock, tick tock… I can still hear the steady loud tocks from that clock today, and the musky smell of tobacco. Fred would be sitting there on his overstuffed chair with his pipe, looking at his newspaper, and there was sweet, old Beth, busily preparing the doll for my visit. Again, this doll was no ordinary doll; it was a doll like no other, and it was Beth’s doll. More than doll, I think it could be referred as Beth’s BABY. I never resisted when hearing about how Beth got her doll. I would just sit there, in a dazed state, holding the doll on my lap as I heard the story being told and told again. Even though I was only 7 years old, I could tell how happy it made Beth feel when she told me this story. Fred would often smile at her as she retold the story, and it gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling all over.
Beth had first encountered this doll years before, soon after she and Fred had married. Beth was out window-shopping in the city with her sister, Judy, when they came upon the doll. The doll was of course, beautiful. It had shoulder length red hair, with tiny delicate freckles painted on it’s nose, peach colored lips, and matching rosy cheeks, and cool blue clear eyes under red eyelashes. Beth literally fell in love with this doll, and could not stop talking about it. Beth’s sister Judy told Fred about this “doll encounter”, and Fred, being the sweet man that he was sought out the doll and presented it to his wife on her birthday.
Being as young as I was, I was never told why Beth and Fred did not have children. It was apparent that they both loved children very much. As I sat there, Beth would often tell me other childhood stories. Sometimes she would even start ironing the doll’s clothes in front of me, and then help me dress the doll afterwards. She kept the doll immaculate, and she seemed to love that doll as if it was her own child. And how she must have longed for her own. The doll looked a lot like her. They both had blue eyes, and red hair. I once told her this. She smiled and quickly left the room, came back holding a long white jewelry box. She opened the box, to show me the braid of red hair, tied at the end with a red ribbon. When she was 12 years old, she had her hair cut, and it been saved by her mother. This all kind of freaked me out, and I did find it a bit strange, but now that I look back, I can understand how important it must have been for her, and how special it was to share it with me, as I sat there sitting there holding this doll.
I wasn’t the only little girl in the neighborhood that was invited to sit there and hold this special doll, nevertheless, when I was there holding this beautiful doll, I felt honored, important, and very special. I regret today that I don’t remember the name of this doll. But, as I sat in the waiting room, watching the elderly woman named Elizabeth sitting there, it sparked a memory of Beth, Fred, my grandmother, Rose…my daughter. It’s interesting how lives intermingle, and the impressions they leave on you if only for a short time. I don’t know what happened with Fred and Beth. As years went by, my visits to their house stopped. I had other interests that didn’t involve holding dolls in elderly people’s living rooms. Then, my grandmother passed away, and we hardly went down that street anymore. But, when I did, there would be an automatic glance over to their house across the street, as I would try to catch a glimpse of one of them in their living room window, and yes—and the doll. I wonder what Beth would of thought if she had known I might have possibly named my daughter after her, although, I have never called my daughter "Beth". I wonder where this doll is today? Was it handed over to another child, or was it thrown away and discarded? If Beth and Fred are no longer among us, I wouldn't be surprised if I hear the doll was buried with them.
P.S. I once stole a doll from the TG&Y. I was six. I'll write about that later..
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