Inside Auntie’s Dollhouse
Her legacy lives large through her love of miniatures.
My Auntie Norma had a big imagination for the smallest details.
She was an original. She played a Hawaiian steel guitar and drove around in her stick-shift Volkswagen Beetle. She also became an expert at making miniatures.
In fact, I remember her dollhouse workshop quite clearly.
The room was equipped with Dremel tools, sanders, and wood lacquer. There was usually a thin layer of sawdust on her work table and the smell of it in the air.
Auntie would painstakingly carve scale furniture for her little houses. The biggest one now stands proudly in my parents’ house following her sudden passing in 2022.
The house stands about six feet tall, with six distinct levels, each with its own unique aesthetic:
Over the years, she added more to the dollhouse, occasionally rearranging pieces inside. It was complete, but also a work in progress.
Sometimes a figure would be sitting on the vintage pull-chain flush toilet. In the winter, she’d add cotton snow and a Santa to the carefully shingled roof, to the delight of the miniature children inside.
While Santa has been lost to time, seagulls adorn the roof now.
Auntie had a way with animals. The collection of small pets in the dollhouse resembles the dogs and cats my aunt cared for over the years.
I remember playing with Tia and Betsy, her beloved Lhasa Apso pups. They could smell my hesitation. Betsy didn’t really like me — actually, I don’t think she liked anyone but my aunt.
As Auntie never had children, she would take my brother and me on little adventures. I remember being with her at miniature craft fairs, where she’d buy trinkets to add to the dollhouse. I bought a few myself with my allowance money.
I stared at the dollhouse for hours back then. During a recent visit to my parents’ house, I was compelled to stare at it again, this time with my camera.
The dollhouse was a challenge to photograph. The lighting installed in it isn’t overly flattering.
My dad carefully removed the protective plexiglass from the face of the dollhouse, so I could have a closer look inside without reflections. I used the flashlight on my phone camera to help bring out the small details.
My aunt was humble, but also a perfectionist. You can tell by the amount of attention she put into her dollhouses, right down to the patterned wallpapers.
She never married, perhaps because there was no man perfect enough. She did share regrets about one suitor in particular, but the grass is always greener she’d say before waving off the subject.
She would’ve made a great mom, but that wasn’t her destiny. Luckily, she had big love for my brother and me, who filled the gap.
Many of the dollhouse rooms have children in them. They all appeared happy, listening to the adults play music while they eyed the yummy desserts lovingly laid out for them.
It was her own vision of a loving family home, although she lived on her own for most of her adult life.
She took care of my younger dad and their mother long before we came along. Her last years were difficult for everyone as her sharp mind started to slip, but my dad was there to make sure she was taken care of in return.
Aside from carving tiny tables and chairs, she also had a skill for making decorative boxes like this one, that my parents also kept. Many hours of work went into this one to make sure it was just right.
I hope I did my aunt’s artistic vision some justice with my camera, but the truth is, the dollhouse holds more magic in person.
As did my aunt.
She was a free thinker, and independent in the truest sense. Her American cousin called her a trailblazer for women of her time.
She was ahead of her time, actually—a blueprint for the modern woman. Many young people would probably look up to her today, as a woman born during the worst droughts of the Great Depression.
Personally, I can’t think of many other women from her era that held down careers, bought their own homes, drove their own cars, and travelled solo overseas.
She loved England like a second home, particularly Kent, with its ornate little homes like dollhouses. She also spent considerable time practicing nursing in California, but she eventually returned. She loved Canadian winters, snuggled under a quilt.
As I age, I’m starting to appreciate why she loved the colder climate so much. It’s a break from the constant barrage of heat, and a time to rest and reflect. It no doubt gave her another excuse to stay in more often to work on her dollhouses.
I’m sure she’d be happy to know her biggest work is well taken care of, and that it’s still getting the attention it deserves.
She’d also be thrilled that her nephews’ children enjoy the dollhouse. My niece and her mom rearranged some of the pieces inside, just like my aunt would have from time to time.
Admittedly, I added this little doggie to the family dining table for fun. It was one of the many carefully wrapped pieces stored in the “basement” of the dollhouse, which I examined during our visit.
I can almost hear my aunt giggling at the sight of the pup trying to be cute in exchange for some table scraps.
I’ll do my best to make sure her dollhouse is enjoyed for generations to come.
It’s a beautiful reminder of our dear aunt, who got to spend quality time with her great nephews and niece before she passed. Maybe one day, they will proudly display the dollhouse in their own homes.
If I ever find that missing Santa figure, I’ll be sure to make sure he’s perched on the dollhouse roof come Christmastime to spread warmth, like auntie often did.
I never got to say a proper goodbye to auntie. But since she believed in the hereafter, I’d like to think she’ll read this and smile.
But knowing my aunt, she’d probably also point out a grammar mistake—in the most gentle way she could.
In loving memory of Aunt Norma, 1934–2022
