Thursday, January 29, 2009


When I was a kid at home. We used to drive to Oregon to visit my Mother's sister and family. It was a three hour drive. My brother and I used to pass the time counting potato cellars. Whoever spotted the most-won.
But, what kept me alert, was to be able to catch sight of what to me, was pure fantasy. Because set back about an acre from the hiway, was this big white 2-story early 20th. century house. But, to me what I waited for, was the matching playhouse in the front of the house. A miniature version of the great house. What a lucky child she must be. To have her own playhouse. It gave me the wishes. Of course, never happened. One thing, was so as not to spoil me. And second- to teach me, one doesn't get everything they want.
Daddy did make a sort of playhouse finally. It had, a plain board floor, four plain board walls and a roof the had tarpaper on so as not to leak. Just a shanty cabin.
I don't know how long I had it. Two friends and I tried to play there with our dolls. But, finally my brother and couple of other boys took it over, and no girls allowed came up. So, ok. fine. Mom finally declared the thing to be an eyesore and made Daddy take the little cabin down.

So much for a playhouse.

A desire for a playhouse has never left me. Even now, at this age, I wish I could have had one. None of the houses we owned had yard that would have had a place for a small house.

A place of one's own.

This is a house That I could like. It's from a book I found on the internet

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