Mockingbird Hill Cottage

I sowed seeds yesterday, so that’s done. But then – in typical Claudia fashion – I walked over to the overgrown Annabelle hydrangea/spirea area on the far side of the porch. I stood there, trying to figure out how I could get in there and cut back some of the hydrangea as well as the dead parts of the spirea. Unless I tackled some of the spirea I wouldn’t be able to get to the hydrangea. A note about the hydrangea – there are some new shoots coming out of the ground. Not a whole lot, but there are some signs of life. A few of the stalks have some leaves, but the rest aren’t showing any signs of buds. Some are obviously dead. So I’m trying to cut back the obvious problem areas, while waiting to see what happens with the rest.

It’s a mess. Anyway, long story short, I ended up being very sore and tired, plus my congestion/allergy levels are off the charts. So today is a day of rest, except for going to the storage unit to get our window a/c unit for the bedroom. It’s very warm here and last night was uncomfortable to say the least.

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Okay. On to my thoughts for today.

If you didn’t already know me and you had somehow just discovered this blog, you would immediately come to the conclusion that I love miniatures and dollhouses and tiny things. Right?

I have seven dollhouses in various stages of progression.

Sometimes I even dare to call myself a miniaturist.

This morning I had a smack-myself-on-the-forehead moment: my dad was also a miniaturist. Way before I showed any fascination for the tiny, my dad was making miniature worlds. But his were even more tiny than mine. He constructed elaborate towns and miles of tracks and tiny buildings. He was a model railroader.

He made this car. Thankfully, and I don’t even remember when or how, I somehow came into possession of it. I assume my dad gave it to me.

I grew up with sounds of model trains running on the tracks in our basement. The earliest were Lionel trains, which were much larger than the HO scale shown above. I’m pretty sure one of the setups was on our old ping pong table. Eventually he moved to the smaller scale and constructed winding tracks, signal lights, streetlights, little houses, train stations. He landscaped everything. I remember going to the Hobby shop with him. I can still hear the sound of the train whistles.

It was an escape for him – a world he could construct where there were none of the pressures that made real life challenging and stressful and painful. It was a world he could control. (Exactly how I feel about my miniature world, as well.)

He was quite talented, as you know – a true artist. And I often forget that his artistic talents extended to his model trains. Maybe because they were just there, a part of our everyday life.

When my parents moved up to northern Michigan, my dad went down to their much larger basement and built his most elaborate setup, one that meandered through more than a few rooms. It was amazing. I’m so grateful that Don got to see it. Just a couple of years after we met, we flew to Michigan to celebrate my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary. As with all guests, Don was escorted to the basement and he got to see that amazing and magical little world.

It’s all gone now, except for this train car. Dad sold everything when my parents moved to Florida. I know that was very hard for him. Hard to let go of the world he had created. But he had tremors in his hands and working with things that were that tiny became frustrating and there was no room in their condo for model trains.

You know, I must have mentioned dollhouses to him because I started working on Hummingbird Cottage several years before he passed away. But to be honest with you, I’m not sure if I did. I wish I could talk about it all with him now. I appreciated my dad’s hard work on his model trains, but I don’t think I really understood it in the way I do now. I don’t think I really got the level of detail and commitment that went into it. He could do anything; he could light buildings, he could figure out how to wire something, he just knew. As I stand in front of the Beacon Hill, which is already partially wired, and try to figure out this whole electrifying thing, my eyes glaze over. And it stops me from starting in on the house. But if my dad was here, he could figure it all out. Dad was always the guy who could figure things out.

I miss him. I’m sure proud to be a miniaturist’s daughter. I hope that he somehow knows that I’m carrying on that tradition.

Stay safe.

Happy Friday.