My vintage Barbie's new outfit honours my parents' hard work

Unearthed after six decades, 'Baltic Barbie' wears clothes that represent special memories When I found out that an original 1959 Barbie doll sold at auction for $25,000 I was shocked. Maybe my old Barbie might be worth thousands too? Maybe she could finance a trip to Portugal? I headed down into our basement storage area in search of her. My Barbie, an early 1960s birthday gift from my parents, had once worn a lovely, shimmering silver ballerina outfit, and had been much cherished. I didn't play with dolls the way that other girls my age did, I just looked at them in their specially arranged places on the dresser. My parents had been Estonian war refugees who had eventually emigrated to Canada from Sweden in 1953, with three suitcases and a two year old daughter. Me. They struggled and worked hard in those early years to create a new life far away from family and everything that had once been familiar and dear to them. Even at an early age, I seemed to sense how precious, hard-earned and fragile personal treasures could be, including my Barbie. It was my unspoken job to take care of her, no matter what. When I was about 12 and spending summers with my cousins at an old farmhouse near Hanover, Ont. , the 19th century furnishings and history of the homestead inspired me to make my Barbie a hand-sewn romantic outfit, old-fashioned, with leg-o-mutton puffed sleeves, and a long, billowing skirt. The making of such a fashion doll ensemble provided an engaging hands-on and very do-able creative challenge for a soon-to-be-teenager. I pored over fashion history costume books at the public library and purchased some pretty teal coloured taffeta fabric for the task ahead. Much to my delight, Barbie looked elegantly at home wearing her new dress amid her Victorian era surroundings, positioned in the centre of bed-pillows in front of a massive carved wooden headboard. Alas. I did not take Barbie home with me at the end of the summer. The sophistication of high school beckoned from the horizon. She stayed behind in the farmhouse once everything had been closed and shuttered for the winter. Arriving at the house on the Victoria Day weekend in May revealled Barbie lying without dignity underneath the bed in the dust. A creature, perhaps a large mouse, had fought with Barbie's clothing and hair, and had tried to eat her vinyl face. Her tiny nose was missing, and there were deep scratches across her once flawless face. With a heavy sigh and through some deeply disappointed tears, Barbie's Victorian dress and underpinnings were thrown away. Naked Barbie was carefully washed and shrouded in clean white tissue paper before being placed with adolescent reverence into a sturdy shoe box, a solemnly customized miniature coffin of sorts. And here she remained preserved for 62 years, in storage, through many cross-country moves and in the back of many closets. The will could not be found in all that time to abandon her, sensibly, in a thrift store bin, even during several necessary decluttering and downsizing purges. Six decades seemed to dissolve away instantly as I opened the shoe box in the basement, now tucked behind crates of accumulated Christmas decorations. Barbie had been wonderfully suspended in time. As I held Barbie now, with much affection, in my wrinkled and unsteady hands, a cheerful idea took shape. Barbie needed some fine new clothes. Why not make her another outfit? How about a micro-sized Estonian folk costume, in memory of my parents and the gift they gave to me, with much sacrifice, as young parents in exile? This would also be a small act in celebration of Estonia's return to freedom and independence after 50 years of brutal Soviet occupation, the reason my parents had to flee for their lives with nothing. And so it was done. The chosen traditional Estonian dress style was from Parnu parish in their homeland. I purchased new fabric and a week was spent creating a one-of-a-kind Barbie outfit. The same hopeful expectation and creative enjoyment moved the needle and thread through every seam and hem as they had done when I made her Canadian Victorian ensemble in my childhood. As I photographed the result, to send to my faraway nieces, I realized that my heirloom 'Baltic Barbie' would never be on an auction block, or be listed in an on-line marketplace. She would instead be on permanent display within daily view and care, on our central bookcase at home, as long as I would be here to remember. Vintage collectors' items might go for incredible dollar amounts these days, but some special memories are truly priceless, and can never be up for sale.