His Name Was Blinkie

LuAnne Johnson Age 6

When I was a little girl we lived on a farm in Cherokee, Iowa. We were poor however, we always had lots of food to eat. Did we keep warm, not always. Our farm house was ancient which means calking if there ever was any, had long disintegrated. So it was hot in the summer, cold in the winter. But, my mama was the best cook ever! She baked for a grocery store in town. She cooked to please my father. He did not like rare meat. He did not crave vegetables which he got anyway because Mom said they were good for him. We had fresh lettuce out of the garden in the spring. Never  "store bought" salad fixings or bread; all raised at home. That includes butter, butter milk, cottage cheese, and of course, all of the baked goods we could eat that were full of fresh cream from our cows. This included cream for our mashed potatoes. She even made her own Mayo out of her fresh eggs and cream. Mercy! No one ever mentioned cholesterol at our house because we didn't have a clue what that was.
Toys, also, were in short commodity. I really didn't care, my mother made me share when we had company and I thought that was the most evil thing I had ever heard of. I had a big doll which I never played with, but it was mine. I had a little black doll whose name was Eleanor. I am of Caucasian D.N.A and have no memory of anyone visiting us that wasn't. The name of my little black doll was also very interesting because my mother had a cousin whose husband was very influential in our community. Her name was Eleanor. I wonder if my mother hid that doll when they visited. I don't remember them ever being at our house to tell the truth. They were very wealthy. That doll also was mine. There was no need to share. I had one other toy. To tell the truth I think Blinkie was a hand-me-down. He was ugly as sin. He was fuzzy kind of. In this day and age we would say he was "pilled." What color was he,  hmm, ugly gray/lavender dirty looking wonderfully soft and my friend. He had no button eyes, but paper eyes that were permanently adhered to his fur. When I read that last sentence it makes me wonder if even at the tender age of 6-8 I had a dry sense of humor. Why else would a child name a toy with non-blinkable eyes, Blinkie?  He had no arms, just a head kind of oval shaped, with no nose, a body, and two legs. I was a reader and an avid one at that. I also took piano lessons and enjoyed playing songs that were too hard for me. I can't even imagine the pain my mother went through with my mini rebellion stage. She was patient beyond words. She would knead bread and count, 1,2,3, 1,2,3. I begged for a metronome, but she admonished me and said you know there is no money for that. I'll be your metronome as long as you need one. 1,2,3. Blinkie generally sat with me when I was reading my Laura Ingalls Wilder books. He sometimes sat with me while I practiced my lessons. He went to bed with me occasionally, but not often. He was my friend, not my cuddle bunny. I might add, readers, I never once shared Blinkie with any of our occasional company with children. He was My friend!
I have no clue what happened to Blinkie, but I'm sure he, like many of my other long ago friends has a new friend/s that he can listen too and accompany them on their new adventures.