As I was preparing dinner the other evening, I heard a gasp in the dining room. The kind of sound that comes when someone comes face to web with a giant spider, crashes her bike into the mailbox, or catches a pinkie in the car door. My heart skipped a beat as I rushed into the dining room, where my daughter, clearly overcome with shock, read aloud the words of the catalog she was holding. "They're retiring Felicity!!'' she gasped.

OK, it was a bigtime overreaction, but once I put down the first-aid kit and scolded her for scaring the heck out of me, we quietly flipped through the pages together.

By "they'' she meant American Girl, the company that's made millions upon millions through the sale of dolls representing various periods of our country's history along with their extensive accouterments. And I mean extensive! There are also "Just Like Me'' contemporary dolls that resemble the little girls who play with them as well as books, videos, children's clothing, beach towels, games, accessories -- you name it, they've got it. We've enjoyed a stage show and afternoon tea at the AG restaurant in Chicago and, just last month, took in brunch at the Fifth Avenue store in New York City. It is, indeed, doll heaven on earth! (In November, Hands-on House Children's Museum will once again stage its American Girl fashion show fundraiser; we've attended twice! Check it out at www.handsonhouse.org .)

Over the years, my daughter has amassed several of these dolls -- something I said would never happen. These are pricey playthings, that have come her way thanks to Santa, grandparents and aunts and uncles. And the announcement of Felicity Merriman's departure, along with that of her American Revolution-era friend Elizabeth, still gives gift-givers time to snatch up what's left of these dolls in anticipation of the holidays. And snatch they will.

I was sad when I learned that Felicity was going the way of Samantha, an early-19th century doll who was retired a few years ago. Partly because Felicity was among the first in this long line of dolls. But partly because my daughter's once-obsessive interest in these 18-inch friends -- let's just say we got our money's worth -- is retiring as well, leaving us with hatboxes stuffed full of small coats and shoes that serve as reminders of hours upon hours spent together. Playtime that began with the dolls eventually pushed our imaginations beyond their limits -- empty boxes turned into furniture adorned with tissue blankets. You know how that goes.

Thanks for the memories, Felicity!