This tiny dollhouse is only eight inches high from the peak of the roof. A long time ago I bought it at one of Sylvia I.'s yard sales. It was just a curio shelf, in bad shape, but I painted it and added the floors and ceiling effects.
The big dollhouse is frustrating in a way. After all the work I've put into it, it doesn't look much different from when I began. It doesn't shout, "Look, I've got new moldings, new floors, clean windows, a new chimney," etc. After days of biting my fingernails and throwing away piles of wood strips and cardboard failures, I finally broke down and ordered a staircase kit, although I couldn't find one the right size. Someone with a little fine saw will have to shave off half an inch from one side of the stairs.
But it must be fun, or I wouldn't keep doing it. Last night I went through my boxes of dollhouse furnishings, all the little animals, toys and people. Camilla, Tracy, Dolly, Peter, Kenya, Heidi, Beauty, Ben Gunn, Sir Hugh Davenport, Mrs. Buff-Orpington, and others. I made most of the furnishings, and some of the people, when I lived in the Southside apartment. The only "house" I had for them was an old 3-foot-wide metal bookcase. I bought the big house at Hannah Antiques after I moved to Leeds.
At first I thought I would try to sell all this stuff when I have a yard sale. But I may just have to keep it and bequeath it to my heirs. I know they'll be thrilled speechless.
2 comments:
Don't sell you doll house! It's part of your essence! And it's therapeutic (should be.)When I am feeling stressed, I lie down on the floor and gaze into my dollhouse. I'll move some little thing just a little, arrange something that's out of place, and just lie there and look. It's very peaceful.
Love the little bedroom furniture.
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