FASHION - Bratz Paris!

One particular customer was creating a Dolls Around the World scrapbook for her granddaughter. She purchased NUMEROUS gowns from me. It was during a time when I was designing for a different country every week- Italy, France, Germany, England, Mediterranean, etc... This particular gown represented Paris. I am especially fond of decorating with flora and beads!

FASHION - Red Velvet!

Velvet gowns, and mock sleeves are always a big hit. American Model is sporting a removable Corsage.
Tyler is adorned with a generous wrap-around pearl necklace.

FASHION - Leopard Wild!

This is a two-piece skirt/top set with handbag, jewels, and sandals!

I had made myself a long skirt and had enough scraps to make my daughter a skirt and the doll this outfit.

One day my daughter and I were walking through the mall parking lot. A female security guard kept driving past us in her truck. After a moment she stopped and yelled, "excuse me miss!" I looked up and wondered what we had done wrong.

She smiled broadly and exclaimed, "I just HAD to let you know that I think you two look wonderful together in those matching skirts!"

I enjoy creating matching fashions for girls and their dolls, but rarely do I see mother's and daughters wearing matching outfits. Not sure if I enjoy the extra attention!

FASHION - Midnight Rose!

This ensemble was very easy to make. A simple skirt and halter top. I was really inspired by the sparkling confetti fabric.

FASHION - Monet American!

I'm sure this fabric would have impressed Monet himself!

The Telephone Operator

This true story was written several years ago and placed 3rd in a writing competition for Chicken Soup for the Soul. Dallas Texas, 1987



THE TELEPHONE OPERATOR

"This is the-"

"Please help me!" interrupted the man on the other line.

I froze in my seat.

"Please talk to me! I don't know what to do!" cried the man.

"What is your emergency sir?" I asked professionally, while grabbing a report sheet to document the call.

"I just want to die!" sobbed the man.

"I'm sorry sir?" I asked in bewilderment. I checked my computer. 2:20 a.m.

Wracking sobs poured over the telephone line. Quickly I scanned my computer for his location. Nashville, Tennessee.

"I'm sorry sir, were you trying to make a phone call?" I asked stupidly.

Ignoring me, the man continued to cry over the phone.

I didn't know what to do. 95 percent of my calls were from pay-phone customers. The other 5 percent were from kids playing around. This didn't sound like a prank.

"Sir, what is the problem?" I asked as gently as I could.

"I just don't want to live anymore. My wife has left me, I can't see my kids, and to make matters worse, I lost my job!"

I slumped lower in my seat. The last thing that I needed was to attract attention from my supervisor – according to regulations I was required to terminate the call. I felt compelled to listen to this man.

"I’m so hungry!" He coughed into the phone. "It’s cold outside."

I scanned through my computer. He was at a 7-11 convenience store -- using their outdoor payphone.
"Do you have a place to stay nearby sir?"

"No, I’ve been sleeping in the park, but tonight I have to find somewhere else to sleep! The cops have been running us out of the city!”

"I’m so sorry.” I replied. “Do you have any shelters for the homeless nearby?"

"They’re full, I already checked into it!” He cried some more. "It's no use! I messed things up!”

I wracked my brain to give him a reason to live. I decided to change the subject.
"When was the last time that you ate, sir?"

"Not since yesterday," he breathed into the phone.

I could almost picture the steam coming from his breath, and the snow on the ground.
"Do you have family, sir?"

"My parents are dead. My wife and kids are all that I have." He wept some more.

I didn't know what to do.

I decided to try a different tactic. "Sir, you just can't give up, you have your kids to think about." I guiltily looked around to see if my supervisor was watching. I fidgeted with my headphone and lowered my voice. "Sir, what happened to your job?"

"I couldn't handle the pressure anymore. My wife ran off with our savings and took the kids. Now I’m left with nothing!"

"I’m really sorry to hear that. Do you know where your wife took the kids?"

“I don't know.”

I paused at a loss for words.

I stared into my computer screen, wishing for answers. I didn't know what to tell this man. One thing that I knew for sure, I was in this too deep to tell him to hang up and call a counselor. All concerns over my job went out the window. I didn't like working the graveyard shift anyway.

"Thank you for listening to me, I don't feel so alone anymore."

My eyes watered. "That’s no problem. Just don't do anything silly and talk about ending your life anymore, okay?”
I could almost picture him shuffling his feet as he looked toward the ground.

"I'm sorry; I just don't know what else to do. It gets cold out here at night and my stomach’s always growling."

"I can imagine that!" Who was I trying to kid? I had a warm bed to go home to and a house full of food.

"You know, maybe I can find a job tomorrow or something." He sounded hopeful.

"Yeah, I think that's a great idea. Don't they have those labor jobs that pay daily there?"

"That's a good idea." He brightened. "I just hope I can make it through the day on an empty stomach!"

Suddenly I realized that what this man needed was more than just words. Once we got off the phone, he was going to be back in the same situation --- cold, hungry and depressed.

I thought about the $40 dollars that was in my pocket.

"Sir, I want you to go find a Western Union tomorrow. I’m sending you some money to buy you some food."

There was silence on the other end.

"Sir?"

"I'm sorry; you took me by surprise. I don't know what to say!" He started to weep again.

"Don't worry about it. I’ll be sending it first thing in the morning, as soon as I get off work. Now what is your name?"

He gave me his name all the while saying over and over, "I can't believe you’re doing this for me! How can I repay you back?"

"Don't worry, you can return the favor by helping someone else."

"I prayed for God to help me and he sent me YOU! I’m so glad!"

All of a sudden I felt like crying.

"Where are you at?" He suddenly asked.

"I’m here in Dallas, Texas."

"Texas? Wow! I had no idea!” He paused. “I thought you were in Tennessee!"

"Nope, I do operator services for payphones all over the United States.”

"Did, did you say OPERATOR?" He gasped with surprise.

"Why yes, didn't you know?"

For the first time I heard him laugh. I couldn't help myself and laughed too.

"I thought I had called a SUICIDE HOTLINE!" He marveled.

"Well, you got a telephone operator!!!" We both laughed together again.

I gave him the final instructions to retrieve the money and we bid our goodbyes.

"WAIT!!!" he yelled into the phone. "DON’T HANG UP JUST YET! I WANT TO TELL YOU SOMETHING!"

I waited.

"I LOVE YOU!"

I paused and blushed at this stranger. "I… I love you too.” I paused. “God bless you!"

I waited till the line went dead. I couldn't take another call just yet.

After my shift ended, I walked to my car and started it. The phone experience seemed surreal and I gazed tiredly at the road ahead of me. I started to think about the bills that needed to be paid.

The glaring sunlight brought me back to earth. My utility bill was past due. I really couldn’t afford to send that money. I mean, this person was a STRANGER! I will never meet him, I don’t k now him, and it’s not my problem. Yawning, I turned from the direction of the Western Union, and instead, I headed for my home.

I crawled into bed.

I pictured the man standing in the snow.

Waiting…

His head hung low.

I handed the Western Union clerk the money.

What that man did for me, money could not buy.

FASHION - Cissy Elegance!

Here's my Madam Alexander Cissy. She's able to share SOME clothes with the American Model. This gown is a stunning rose embroidery. This ensemble comes with gloves, belt, fully lined purse, jewelry and a removable corsage!

I very rarely use patterns on my creations, but will cut and sew as I go along. I have to remind myself to draft patterns from my ideas for another time!

FASHION - I Love Hawaii!

Of course, I couldn't resist giving Ellowyne a trip to Waikiki!

FASHION - Sophistication!

I designed for Ellowyne a sparkling black cocktail gown! Perhaps I should have modeled her against a sleek black piano, but I couldn't resist those tropical cocktails! I'd like a Mai Tai, please?

FASHION - Glam in Australia!

This picture was submitted by a customer of mine from Australia. Her beautiful Dollfie is modeling one of my sparkling red evening gowns. I just LOVE how she uses props for her dolls. We are having too much fun, aren't we?

FASHION - Boho!

This is a very retro boho ensemble I had created for American Model. Lots of beadwork and attention to detail. The shoes and the "bone" necklace were made from polymer clay.

FASHION - Tyler in Style!

This particular Tyler is one of my favorite models. She's wearing a velvet wine gown with handsewn beads and sequins. I just love how her dark complexion brings out her stunning blue eyes!

FASHION - Ellowyne "Wild" not Wilde!

This is definitely on the wild side! Colorful and quite different. Ellowyne is fun to sew for. You can design serious, whimsical, or just plain silly.

FASHION - Tonner Himself!

This picture was sent by a customer of mine. She had the good fortune of meeting Robert Tonner in person! I've been invited to fly to Chicago so we could visit the next doll show together!

Here's a list of dolls I have in my collection so far:

* Madam Alexander Cissy
* Tiny Kitty
* Kitty Collier
* Gene Ashton Drake
* American Model
* Ellowyne Wilde
* Fashion Royalty
* Tyler Wentworth
* Silkstone Barbie
* American Girl
* My Size Barbie
* My Scene Barbie
* Kelly
* Barbie
* Skipper
* Ken
* Bratz

WISH LIST: Dollfies of all sizes

I must confess... I'm not a typical "doll collector"... Even though I design elaborate clothing for dolls - MY dolls are standing naked!

I have received MANY a raised eyebrow by unsuspecting visitors! What gives with all these naked dolls? They must think.

Perhaps I will sit down after the holidays and finally DRESS UP my dolls...

New year's resolution for 2008!

1.) DRESS MY DOLLS!

FASHION - Cat's Meow

Retro pink and ready for the runway! Tonner's AMERICAN MODEL is one of my favorite fashion dolls! This beauty stands 22" tall.

I especially enjoy creating tiny accessories - gloves, bracelets, necklaces, earrings, beadwork, and exquisite fully-lined purses! I have 3 sewing machines, 2 sergers, and yet I MUCH prefer sewing by hand!

FASHION - Colonial 1700

This month I've made 4 Colonial gowns and I'm working on my 5th! The dress is already cut out and ready to be sewn. By golly, I'm getting faster and faster at this. I'm my own Chinese sweat shop!

The gown pictured is the first Colonial Gown I ever made. What's lacking is a HOOP PETTICOAT! *SIGH*

FASHION - Heavenly!

Sometimes I'm inspired by the background pictures I use, before creating the designs I sell. THANK YOU Photoshop 7!!!

FASHION - Executive Chic!

This is an outfit I had designed for the Tonner fashion doll, Ellowyne Wilde. The deep vibrant colors of the fabric had inspired me to create something chic and professional.

The Empty Bed

THE EMPTY BED was published in the book, When Falls the Coliseum. I'll be posting additional stories of mine as time allows.

This particular story holds a special place in my memory.


THE EMPTY BED

I was driving through the neighborhood when I spotted a cardboard sign propped on the hood of a car. The front door of the house was ajar and people were already milling about. It was an estate sale.

I parked across the street and grabbed my purse. Adrenaline already pumped through my veins. The house was a modest white bungalow in a bad need of repair. The yard itself was barren of flowers and attention. By the time I stepped through the foyer, I had already guessed that the resident had been an elderly male. Estate sales can tell a lot about a person.

The gentleman had apparently passed on. Everything was price tagged and personal effects were up for sale – even the paintings adorning the wall. Haste hung over the room like a boiling cloud. Someone wanted the house cleaned out and quickly.

I stopped to browse at the bookcase. There were ancient leather-bound books and dainty figurines. Either he or his wife had loved to read. I wondered, as I pulled each dusty book from its spot, how long his wife had been dead. He must have missed her. She obviously was gifted with the needle. Embroidered doilies were draped over the furniture. An old worn photo of a young sailor hugging his sweetheart slipped out of one of the books. She was radiant in her bouncy curls and sweater. Was it them? I slipped the photo back into its place and headed for the hallway. The linen closet was open wide and I made a mental note to come back and browse.

The kitchen was a mess. I was surprised to find dirty dishes stacked in the sink. “If you need any help, I’ll be in the other room.”

I glanced up at the smiling man. He appeared to be in his mid-forties and looked familiar. It dawned on me—he was related somehow to the sailor in the photograph. I mumbled a thank you and continued to dig and sort. I was making quite a racket as I dug through the cabinets.

It looked as if someone were still living in the home. There were hard boiled eggs soaking in a pan of water. The butter had been left out. I snuck a quick peek in the refrigerator: milk, half a cantaloupe, and not-quite-wilted lettuce. Maybe he died suddenly. I spotted a roasting pan and held it under my arms.

In a bedroom I was greeted by huge smiles and warmth from a photo of the sailor and his sweetheart. It was a vision of matrimony and love contained in a beautifully carved frame. Children and grandchildren were scattered about, each contained in their own special frames. On the table beside the bed was a cup with a teabag string dangling from its side. There were crumbs. Someone had eaten a cracker.

The bed’s blankets were pulled back. Someone had recently slept there. There were even brown slippers at the side of the bed. I stood there momentarily eyeing the teacup. I was starting to feel strangely uncomfortable.

The relative appeared in the doorway and was accompanied by another man. They were discussing the closets contents and I couldn’t help but eavesdrop.

“Yes, we need to clear this all out by the end of the day.” The other man kneeled at some boxes and began attaching price tags.

The relative kept glancing at his watch. He wore a crisp polo shirt and white cotton shorts. He probably had a golf game. “Now, that box right there is for dad. He only needs a few undershirts. We can take it to the nursing home later tonight.”

The man checked his watch again. I glanced back at the bed. I pictured the elderly man being yanked from his sleep. I wondered if his sheets were still warm. What was he thinking right now? Did he know that strangers were walking through his house? I was still clutching the roasting pan under my arms. It grew heavy. I placed it on the dresser.

I hastily exited the house. Never had my hands felt so dirty.

A Day in Pearl Harbor

I wrote this several years ago in remembrance to my experience as a tour guide for the USS Arizona.

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen and welcome to Pearl Harbor. Today you're not only a guest of the United States Navy, but also the National Park Service."

I clutched my microphone and steadied my sea legs as the tour boat bounced and swayed. All eyes were focused on the starboard side of the boat, soaking in the beauty of the Island. Just up ahead was the USS Arizona Memorial. The arched white infrastructure loomed closer as our boat clipped and speared through the massive waves.

"Ladies and gentlemen, what actually hit and sank the Arizona was a 1,760 pound armored piercing delayed action bomb that lodged in the aviation fuel storage area, causing such a tremendous chain of explosions that the ship sank in less than 9 minutes!”

I watched the reaction of the civilians as they absorbed this information. Some of my passengers were war veterans, nodding their heads and drinking in the sights. The creases on their foreheads marking the fifty-odd years that spanned since their battles. Pools of memories reflecting from their eyes and the pride from the corners of their mouths as Old Glory swished and swayed from the stern of the boat.

All eyes were upon me as I announced that fateful day when the Arizona sank. The entombment of all those brave men, the fathers, sons, and brothers. I had probably done hundreds of those tours for the Navy, yet I had never come to grips with the realization that I was walking on a grave of a thousand souls.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you will please remain seated until the boat is secure..."

A short man at the back of the boat was snapping pictures rapidly from his camera. I watched his jet-black hair fan against the wind, and I fought back the prejudice that rose from my throat. How I wanted to reprimand him for stepping foot on MY boat. To ride free on our American tax paid dollars to what? Gloat? What irony it was for him to be allowed to even SEE the Arizona. After all, it was the Japanese that sank our ship, shattering so many dreams and wounding our servicemen and pride. Just the other day, we had to haul off some Japanese tourists that were mocking our flag.

I escorted my passengers onto the dock and watched as they entered the memorial. Cameras began clicking. It was a motley crew of a group. Men in straw hats and Hawaiian floral shirts, probably their first visit to the islands. There were women and cranky children, anxious to stretch their legs and to run for the open space. There were sweet old ladies who wanted to touch my uniform with their hands and to exclaim about how unique it was, that there were women in the Navy. I smiled politely and repositioned my beret.

One lady was in total awe. With amazement her eyes scanned upward at the 184-foot memorial structure and said, “WOW! What part of the ship is this?”

A teenager asked, “Where are the glass elevators that lead to the bottom?”

"Yes sir, the ship is still leaking oil." I confirmed the man's inquiry as we both peered intently over the rail. The rainbow swirls and geometrical patterns floated and bobbed as the waves rocked the pier.

I directed my finger at the ship's tubular mast. A group of passengers were huddling closer as I pointed out the shapes that were casting shadows from below.

One passenger was asking about the beach area. "You are looking at Ford Island." I replied.

It was time to go and I ushered the passengers out of the memorial. Some were still scattered and hesitant to go. I watched the strays that were standing at the wall, reading the names of the dead aloud...searching. The Japanese couple were standing at the railing and peering out at the sea. The man turned and faced me. I stared in wonder at the tears on his cheeks. His wife smiled meekly as they paused at my side. I glanced down at his shirt,
USS Oklahoma, and recognized the name of his ship. I was standing in front of a bona fide American. This Japanese-American man looked into my eyes-unashamedly, his hands extended for mine. I shook his firm grasp and then his wife's. He wanted to talk about the war and the friend's that he had lost. His final trip to pay his respects. He had cancer.

I stared out at the ocean, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Our boat pulled away from the pier and we headed back for the visitor center. I clutched my microphone. I could already see a swarm of people, gathering at the parking lot of the Arizona Memorial. I braced myself for another tour and another walk on the grave. I lifted my face into the wind, closing my eyes and drinking in its heavenly scents. The salt...the wind, carrying voices from its past. I could hear Old Glory, flapping in the wind... with promises for another day.

Remembering Pearl Harbor

What better way to start this blog rolling than to pay tribute to PEARL HARBOR!

It’s been over 20 years since I’ve shook the hands of a Pearl Harbor veteran. Each year these returning veterans are dwindling in numbers… One of these days no more handshakes…

How can I ever forget their eyes, their hugs, their tears…

I was being trained to drive President Hoover’s private yacht. A charming wooden boat similar in size to the 50-foot gray boats I had been driving in Ford Island. My earlier job was transporting military personnel from island to island. Back in the 1980’s there were no bridges to connect the islands, so my job consisted of radio dispatching from the boathouse, training personnel, and transporting passengers night and day, rain or shine, storm or gale. Other than dependency on boats to get around, the only other option was to hop the ferry at the end of the island.

I loved driving the President’s yacht and transporting 50 passengers at a time to the memorial. I had been upgraded from the dusty boathouse and blue dungarees, to full military dress whites, shiny black shoes, and black beret. What an honor and privilege. Before long, the Navy upgraded Hoover’s yacht to two shiny white 75-foot twin engine tour boats enabling us to transport 200 passengers at a time.

But, my heart yearned for the boathouse again… I missed getting my hands dirty, waving at the passing submarines, radioing incoming ships, and saluting the officers. I was meant to wear my blues… I loved the rare times when my boat was empty and I was racing across the harbor. Those quiet moments on the bow as my partner manned the helm. I felt like I was on the Titanic, looking over the waves, feeling on top of the world. Every so often, catching sight of a sea turtle, the wind blowing against my face and the scent of nearby palms… how heavenly the islands smelt!

I’d catch a glimpse of the white tour boats as they transported the visitors to the memorial… How I loved Pearl Harbor…

To this day, I cannot smell diesel fuel, or taste the sea on my lips, without remembering the boats… the veterans, or the history…

Within a year or so, I will be returning to the islands with my own family. My own memories creased upon my forehead, the pride as I watch Old Glory swishing over the stern.

I don’t like changes. With sadness I will gaze over Ford Island. The new bridges, the housing, the landmarks gone… The only thing unchanged is the Arizona. Still embalmed, still intact… A grave reminder of our past.


Water Transportation - Boathouse - Ford Island






From the airplane