In any story of my history of being a miniaturist I have ever written before July 2013, I would blame my parents for instilling in me the creative gene to make miniatures because they didn’t buy me a dollhouse.
Well, turns out I needed to correct all those stories, because I now have proof they did buy me one, I just don’t remember it. Now, I can say they are the reason I had those dreams of miniatures. Actually the dreams aren’t surprising as my dad is an O gauge train enthusiast. I recall in one house he had a whole room for his train layout (some would make a library/office he had a train room).
Is there any wonder that when one of my adult children finally left the nest that I took over one room for my studio?
My mom had been scanning slides to digital format so that my husband can create a video/slideshow for their 50th anniversary.
One day she emailed me this:
She labeled it Beginning miniaturist?
Well, she got that right, it really is too bad I don’t still have that house. Because I know I am going to be hunting a copy of it. But then my mom beat me to it. Well, I wasn’t looking so that was easy.
Here I am playing with a dollhouse just like the one I had. Turns out the the patio is on the right.
In March 2014, my parents showed up with a replacement tin dollhouse. I think someone felt guilty about getting rid of the one I had. Pulling out the furniture was cathartic as I remember well some of the pieces.
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