Today I fell in love at first sight. Or my inner 9 year old did anyway.. I was looking at blankets in a charity shop for my sewing and, dramatically, turned around and saw it. A wooden dollshouse with staircases and openable windows and doors..a fireplace..tiny little doorknobs and hooks for tiny little clothes..lanolin floor pattern in the kitchen. A lamp already plugged into the little outlet in the wall.
Made me think of those moments when something so perfect, something one might have always wished for or really needed comes around much too late. It's a kind of bitter happiness isn't it? Like always having believed in unicorns and then you see one on your very last day alive. And I kept thinking how happy that would have made me 20 years ago and now.. Now I have that life I always imagined for my dolls. Almost. And I don't need it anymore.. My vintage posters are now original sized and my bed iron framed..And the warmth I imagined they felt for their bundled up babies I now pick up from school everyday..in my perfect housewife life. In matching clothes.
It's different with people..People one can't replace or replicate. But with things I do have the initial reaction to want to become one of those sportscar driving old men who finally got it (!) but then..wasn't this where I wanted to be all along? Wasn't my Lundby house decorating my own childlike escape into the life I wish I had? And everything has it's time and place and my time and place was then. Not now.
The dollshouses I make now are very different, they are not to be furnished or played with, lived in.. they are more like and artistic expression. I didn't really realise until I just wrote that line how far away I have walked form where I started..
Metaphorically.
So I left it there for some 9 year old to maybe get for this Christmas.
Hopefully.
And I'll make a custard tart instead.
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