When I was in high school, my dad came home from a business trip with a gift for me. he bought me Linnea in Monet's Garden, the book and the doll. And even though I was too old for them, he said it reminded him so much of me that he had to get them for me.
For years, I had them basically in pristine condition until my daughter came along. And, like my Barbies and some other girly toys I had hung onto, I gave her the doll and read her the book and they became hers. Linnea's hair recently was loved off and had to be hot glued back on. Her hat has been lost. Her pinafore is stained and tattered. But she has loved it in a way that has meant a lot to me.
This weekend, the Monet exhibit opened at the High, on loan from the Louvre, and we went so she could see the paintings from her book up close. She brought Linnea and dragged her around by the foot as we wandered around the museum. Now I'm dying to take her to Paris to show her the gardens for real.
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