In the chaos of packing and throwing away, my doll house is the only fixed point. It is a new hobby, I only started last Christmas. But I have always wanted a doll house. My best friend had one when we were children, and I was envious. I bought one for my daughter when she was little and enjoyed making furniture of matchboxes, while she was rather indifferent. I guess this passion comes from my not having had a real home for a long time; I just wanted to satisfy my needs of decorating a house, albeit in miniature.
I have taken up a few hobbies recently, to counterbalance my mad pace at work: gardening, papermaking, and pottery. Julia’s old doll house was still in the attic, and I took it out on Boxing Day last year, to see if I could do something with it. I didn’t know at that time that I could actually make real dollhouse furniture. You don’t know before you have tried. Instead, I looked at eBay, to see what could be got cheap. Then, by mere chance, that was certainly Fate, I made a discovery. Real dollhouse makers didn’t work in the Swedish Lundby scale. Professionals used 1:12 scale. I went on searching the web, and a new world opened for me. Museums, miniature societies, journals, fairs, shops. I was trapped.
I will not dwell on how I have been building the house; please visit my dollhouse page where I describe it all step by step. But right now the doll house is the only sacred place in my 1:1 world where everything is going to pieces. The doll house is static, apart from some minor additions and modifications. When I am on the verge of tears after having packed another batch of CDs, I sit in front of it and stare. It is so peaceful. The ladies are having their neverending tea. The maids are baking and dusting. The cat is trying to jump onto the table.
The doll house will be the last thing I pack before we leave.