That beautiful, teeny house in pink and purple? Growing up, that was my playhouse. It has a pond, a front porch, a balcony, and a lofted second story accessible by ladder. I’ve been begging my dad for the pictures for years now, and he finally coughed them up. Doesn’t it like one of those fancy prefab playhouses you can buy (for the price of a mid-range car)? But it’s not.
No, my dad designed and built that. From scratch. Every detail: his idea. Including the street number on the door, 1019, which (incidentally) is my birthday. This is one of the most special things I’ve ever owned. Of course, I eventually grew up and moved out of that house, which was sad. But not as sad as the fact that an icky boy moved in after me, with no sisters to appreciate something pink and purple with a heart-shaped window. Anyway, I like knowing that, even at six years old, the spirit of the purple house was alive in me.