Barbara J. Hamby

Hollyhock Dolls

Ever since I took up writing again when I retired, I’ve maintained that writers are among some of the most interesting people around. At my first class Wednesday, I sensed that this group will continue to prove that premise to me. All are writing stories about their life experiences. As we shared little segments of our stories, we noticed something that I’d noted before. Other people’s vignettes bring back memories to each of us that we’ve buried for years.

Several years ago, another writer mentioned hollyhock dolls in one of her tales. I’m sure I hadn’t thought of those tiny dolls made from hollyhock blooms for at least fifty years, but hearing about them brought the memory back.

Wednesday I read a short piece about acquiring a dog that my son and I shared for several years. I told about my consternation when he insisted on naming the dog “Handsome.” I complained I didn’t want to run around the yard calling out, “Here, Handsome.”

That triggered a memory of the class instructor who had a cat that ran away when her son was young. The cat’s name was “Baby Doll.” She tried to send her son out to look for the cat and he said, “If you think I’m going to walk around yelling ‘Baby Doll,’ you’re crazy.”

I’m definitely looking forward to future sessions of this class. Not all old memories are fun, but they are all familiar and worth revisiting.