The Hard Way publishing team is on holiday this month, but during the staff's break, one of the editors came across the original dollhouse. Okay, the editor, and writer, photographer, publicist; it's a one-woman operation here. Anyhow, I finally was able to photograph the dollhouse that captured my imagination. I am truly amazed at how my parents were able to do this.
There were a lot more details, but the moldy location wrought its damage. The cardboard easy chairs and sofa remain, thankfully. The popsicle stick door knob has been replaced with a screw. The wall paper (wrapping paper, if I remember correctly) needed to be replaced. Hey, after 30 years wallpaper starts to look dingy. The original curtains with their coffee stirrer rods remain. I'd like to know what happened to my hand bound books, mini-scissors, and quill paper plants. I even made a macrame hanging planter out of yarn.
If you really want to appreciate something, try it yourself. I didn't appreciate my parents until I became one myself. I figured making a dollhouse would be easy and fun, and then I tried it. I wondered what the fuss was about when pregnant and people asked if I would continue working full-time. What? Why wouldn't I? Oh...
I have crooked teeth from my parents and a wacky arm from a stroke. My daughter describes me as funny and smart, while she describes the other Linda from Mommy and Me as pretty and nice. So, I'm not pretty nor nice. I love the French people, French language (I'm fluent), French food, culture, architecture... In short, all of France! I'll read anything in front of me. I know more about middle school math than, well, anyone, INCLUDING my middle school math teacher husband (let's see if he reads this). I'm not happy if I'm not painting something.