The Wee Peeple Newsletter     

February 2009                       Issue 24




     Mother and Child Dolls

"Even with slender means, the sentiment of the heart can be expressed." 

  -I Ching (Sun/Decrease)

Hand crocheted finger puppets


The Dollmakers of Mexico

a grandmother Dollmaker sits on the steps of the market with her grandson


 Two Dollmakers stood in the sun warming themselves on a winter morning

 on opposite ends of the town square in the ancient city of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. 

 One of them wore a dark cape

which did not really disguise the fact that she was a tourist.

The other Dollmaker wore traditional skirts

 which matched the colorful handmade dolls she carried in her arms across the cobblestone street,

 with a Disneylandesque church behind her

and flocks of pigeons in the air and on the ground around her.

The two Dollmakers were about to meet. 



They actually walked past one another at first,

when suddenly the Tourista Dollmaker did a double-take

and the Native Dollmaker heard the English word,


The flashing lights came on, the beep-beep sounds,

and the Smithville Dollmaker backed up.

The Ancient-Traditions Dollmaker was hip to this body language,

and was already taking dolls out of her bag for show and tell,

in this case more show than tell,

since neither could speak the other's language.


It was the dolls who did the talking anyway.

The Mother-and-Child, Madonna and Blessed Virgin of Guadeloupe imagery

 runs deep through the heart of Mexico.

The American Dollmaker found shrines in Mexico to the Mother

everywhere she turned.


Here is the Market Madonna, right in the middle of the market,

with horns beeping and bicycle bells jingling and dogs and music and little children and old women...

 she is there

right in the middle of it all...

...the other picture shows the Bus-stop Madonnas.



a niche

How nice to see the celebration of the Divine Feminine,

thought the American Dollmaker, who was a mother, herself,

 and could deeply appreciate the representation of the Divine Feminine

through the mediums of public shrines, Doll Art and Tin Art.



Tin Art

This artisan is out in front of his shop on the sidewalk

 cutting a sheet of tin to make a little tin niche.

His wife paints the work when he is finished

and lays the finished pieces out to dry between newspapers.



....some of the Tin Art from this couple's shop...

A Celebration of COLOR 



The artisans of Mexico build their whole world with COLOR.




You can see this saleslady is driving the Wee Peeple Dollmaker wild. 

Are you kidding! Of course the Dollmaker bought it!

She still really doesn't know exactly what it is! But just LOOK at it!





I will always remember the COLOR in Mexico.





The Carousel

By Shandi Howard

ã 2009


She fell in love with the horse the first time she ever saw him. 

Black as night, teeth bared, mane and tail blown back in the unfelt winds, he was tacked in gold -

his saddle carved with roses in every shade of pink and red,

 his bridle and barding gold and also covered in roses.

Of all the brightly colored horses frozen in place,

some charging, some prancing, some just standing and waiting, it was him she chose.

He was ready, leg raised, and eyes shining, awaiting her.

 Her father helped her up into the saddle

and she felt a tremor as if he had taken a breath, when the carousel began to move.

The girl didn’t hear the music, she was transported

and in her heart the horse broke free of the platform and they ran,

oh how they ran, their hair blown back, the sheer joy!

Too soon the ride was over, but before her father helped her down,

she reached down and wrapped her tiny arms around her horse,

and, pressing her cheek to his neck, she whispered,

“Thank you”.

For many years she was treated to a ride on the carousel.

Of all the horses, she always chose him- her “Rose Gold”.

As time passed, his paint faded and became worn and chipped,

but she always saw him as he had been on that first ride.

As she grew up, she’d sometimes dream of him, all black and shining,

when her heart was weary or life seemed too hard.

He would come into her dreams and they would ride

and all her worries and burdens would fade away.

Time moves on and one day she looked up and she was old;

she had children and grandchildren and she was happy.

The carousel was long gone but she sometimes thought of him,

 he always seemed to be at the edge of her dreams

and as time passed, she longed for the dreams of her youth when they would ride together.

One Christmas Eve, her grandchildren, in bed and restless, wanted a story.

She had been lost in dreaming and “Rose Gold” danced across her memories.

"Okay", she said, "Get settled and snuggled in and I’ll be right back."

 She came back in with an old faded black and white photograph

 of a tiny child with pig tails and a grin from ear to ear riding on a carousel.

"See this here? "She asked, her eyes bright. "That was me when I was your age."

"Now this is a story about a magical horse named “Rose Gold.”

 She shared all of their adventures, story after story, until the kids were asleep.

The moon was full and the snow began to fall.

That night she was wide awake, standing at the window watching the snow fall so softly.

There in the bright white of the snowy night she saw something black.

 She pulled her robe close and opened the back door. She stood there watching the snow fall

and didn’t seem to feel the cold- it was so beautiful and so quiet.

Then something moved again and she stretched out her head and squinted up her eyes

 trying to see and there in the soft white snow she saw his golden saddle.

 She could smell his roses. She stepped out into the snow, her slippered feet making no sound.

“Am I dreaming” she whispered. Her trembling hand reached out and touched his warm neck,

“Are you real?"

“I am." he breathed,  “Come my friend, ride with me.”

“Oh no," she whispered, "I’m too old now, my time for riding is long over.”

“Oh no my friend, your time has just begun!”

From one breath to the next, her age and mortality fell from her

as she placed her slippered foot into the golden stirrup.

Her soul leaped free, and she and “Rose Gold’ bounded into the night sky.

She passed away that night,

sitting in her favorite chair, legs curled under her, with a faded old photo clasped in her hand,

 and a smile on her face.

Her family was saddened but she was a very old woman and she’d lived a very full happy life.


The End.






til next time.......




Contact Information

  Phone Kandra:   



  Write:   PO Box 326 

  Smithville, Tx. 78957

  Email:   BigKandra