dollhouses

What I had when I was little* , salvaged from the amazing cast-offs on the streets up in Riverdale right before the big-garbage pickup days.

What I would have wanted instead.

*Sans furniture, missing one wing, and usually housing injured refugee Barbie dolls fleeing from the horrors of amputation by Maccabbee, our beloved canine, who had a soft spot for gnawing their little hands and feet.  Or the Nazis.  Or life on the Russian Steppes.  Because I was a historian's daughter, after all.