Dolls and doll houses were always favourites of mine as a child. Even when I was almost thirteen years old, an age when some would think it too old to be playing with doll houses, my parents bought me a beautiful doll house, the most elaborate that I had ever had, just because I wanted it. I really wanted it as the miniature furniture seemed so realistic and there were even tiny lights inside. I found it both charming and fascinating. And a little family of four within its walls completed it.
At that age, I didn't really play with it although I don't remember how little girls played with doll houses. I liked rearranging the furniture and admiring it once in a while. I liked the way it looked. I liked the idea of possessing a quality doll house - I appreciated its beauty, I think - and I seem to remember that it was on display on top of the mini fridge that was in a corner of the dining-room. To the best of my knowledge, I don't ever remember getting rid of it or giving it away and I wonder if my mother still has it somewhere. Part of me hopes she does.
I am now once again attracted to doll houses. The idea of doll house kits, taking the time to painstakingly put it together, decorating it with all sorts of miniature furniture, doing each room at a time and making sure that everything fits, seems very appealing to me. Whether it is a hobby for the artistically-inclined or for the very patient, I don't know, but it would be interesting to find out. I do know that I actually enjoyed painting into the nooks and crannies of a wooden street sign with a small brush. It was a bit of a challenge but I found myself enjoying it. I discovered that I liked working with details.
When I was very young, I'd often wished that I had a doll house that I could play in. Playing house was something that children often did, especially little girls. There was a very nice looking miniature house on the manicured lawn of a hotel that I remember seeing every once in a while and I envisioned it as my very own doll house that I could actually step into. I don't know what it was used for but I remember thinking that it was big enough for me to play in, to make-believe that I had my very own home.
And I think it would be nice, as a novice adult collector, to be able to put together a doll house, to take my time with it, painting, decorating, to see it come together slowly but surely. It would be another accomplishment, another dream realised. My only regret would be the absence of a child to share it with me. And if she or he were old enough - whether it's one or more than one - maybe they could even assist me. Why do I do this to myself? Why does any woman - at a certain age or maybe even at a certain point in her life - long for the company of a child?
How odd that I once told a co-worker many years ago that I would never have children. I was close to my mid twenties at the time and she was younger than me. And yes, Wati, I did change my mind. How did you know?