When I was a small child of 4 or 5, my mother's best friend and her husband came to visit one day and to my pleasant surprise, brought me a present. It wasn't a gift fresh from the store still in the wrapping, but I didn't care. As I open the box, I am sure I giggled with delight. The box was filled with tiny pieces furniture, bright and cheerful and so true to life. There were so many amazing things inside, TVs , a baby crib, a playpen, bookcases, a toilet, a dresser with a mirror and much more, including a tiny baby. I didn't wait to go inside to set up house; my housekeeping began right there, in the dirt. As a matter of fact my housekeeping usually was done in the front yard or in the corner of my room. When I was done, they were always put loving back in the same old cardboard box they had arrived in. There was never a home for them to sit proudly in.I wonder if they ever felt like they were missing something by never having their own roof to sit under, never having a home to call their own. My childhood is filled with memories of those precious tiny pieces. I would pack them back in their box and take them with me to spend the night at a friend's or away to Grannies for a week in the summer. If toys had feelings, I know these miniatures would surely feel loved.
A few years back, my mother was cleaning out some things from her attic. And what to you think she found? Still in the same ratty old cardboard box, still bright and cheerful, and some with dirt from our front yard still on them. Oh my goodness, how the memories flooded back in as I looked at each piece. I was so anxious to show them to my own daughter who was probably 6 or 7 at the time.Somehow she wasn't as excited about the box and it precious contents as I was. She was much more interested in her Barbie Dream house than some old outdated furniture. So lovingly I put them back in the box and stored them in the closet.
A month ago, I went to visit a friend. As I walked into her home, in her foyer was a large wooden dollhouse, her father had made for her. It was filled to brim with furniture and accessories. I swear my heart skipped a beat. I knew right then what I wanted to do. I wanted my furniture to finally have a house. I didn't want a new shiny home or one that was in perfect condition. If it had been mine all those years, it would have had some loving accidents and gotten some bumps and bruises just like its contents. Finally I found the one that looked like it belonged and I bought it. So now, after 40 some odd years, my furniture has a house it can call home!
Okay technically, I did add some things, but they were just so darn cute and I couldn't resist!
I think now, the contents of that precious cardboard box are much happier. And no, I didn't throw the box away!