I said goodbye to my dollhouse today. It was sad. More so than I was expecting. I didn't cry, but when I left the recycled furniture store and saw my beautiful pink and white Victorian dollhouse sitting nonchalantly off to the side of the cash register, I felt like I was abandoning her. I'm not sure why I reacted like that. I wasn't using the dollhouse and it was taking up much-needed space in my parents' garage. It's not like I wanted to keep it, but it was still hard to let it go. It was made by someone special who gave it to me as a gift. Sadly, if I remember correctly, it was given to me just as my interest in dollhouses and miniature furniture, etc. was waning. And yet, I was attached to it. I guess I felt like I was saying goodbye to a part of my childhood. I wasn't passively getting rid of it, by storing it until I forget about it, like many of my childhood nicknacks; I was actively separating myself from it. That's a very difficult thing for me to do (as all of my keepsake clothes that I have from growing up can attest to). All I can hope for is that she'll go to a good home with a loving kid. Thank you, Carl, for making me such a special gift. Bon voyage my sweet dollhouse. Wishing you all the best.
