When I was younger, I was obsessed with miniature stuff. My Dad had made me a dollhouse. I loved it, with it’s little rooms, ladder to get to the second story, and red chimney. The only purchased items for it were wooden dishes and a Trivial Pursuit game. I made the bedding and furniture (with a little sewing from my Mom) out of old clothes and rags, wood scraps, and cardboard, hung up “wall decorations” made from magazines and old necklace pendants and the like, and made my little bear and rabbit families magazines and books to read. I still have all of it, even those little magazines and books I carefully cut out and stapled together and even wrote titles on. It’s all kept active at my parents’ house, where my niece now gets to live out her own little world.
I say I was obsessed, but I still kind of am. I don’t own or collect any miniature items or dollhouse furniture now, but when I find it at antique stores, I still take it in with a wide-eyed fascination.
Left: Departures and arrivals at the train station./Right: The train yard.