I saw her so rarely, I don't even remember her name.

Relatives in Poland—or Polish relatives of family friends—sent me an exquisite doll in 1960. The doll wore Polish folkdress, and she had a porcelain face.

The doll spent most of her time in the linen closet because my Mom and my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, thought she was too fragile for daily play. I always was delighted to spend time with the doll when she came out for an airing.

A few days ago, I mentioned this doll to my Mom, and she had no memory of what happened to her. I think the doll may have enlisted in the Salvation Army when Mom sold the house.

Suburban Chicago, October 1961. The cherished Polish princess and I share a moment at my play table. One of the handpainted chairs I mentioned a few days ago is visible here.