Miniatures
“Mom the floor has diamonds in it!” I said, staring at the sparkling black carpet that was low-lit with floodlights that made everything glow. I had stepped into a room that looked like my own brain and I never wanted to leave.
This is the story of my parents losing a six-year-old me in a museum and how I didn't even notice.
During breaks from school my parents often opted for “culture” trips as opposed to beach vacations. My family went to libraries, historical centers, walking tours and of course all of Chicago’s museums.
It should be no surprise to anyone who knows me that the Museum of Science and Industry was my favorite. After the moment an exhibit and I shared, it is now my favorite place in the world and forever will be.
Colleen Moore created “The Fairy Castle” in 1928. The silent movie star always dreamt of creating a dollhouse to rule all dollhouses. It contains more than 1,500 miniatures, and to me, a million stories to create. It came to MSI in 1949, and roughly 50 years later I discovered it and its magic.
Our family of five went on an exploration of MSI each with our own interests in mind. My brother was drawn to the planes, my sister to the Earth exhibit, and my mom and dad loved to watch our eyes explore. I was drawn to the mere possibility of getting to be included in my brother and sister’s experiences; a rarity for the youngest.
My mom loved the Fairy Castle and insisted on a visit, probably aware that her doll-loving daughter would find it fascinating.
My brother and sister wanted to stay in the exhibit for about as long as it took to walk through and it was assumed that I was following behind. My parents who had two other kids to keep track of followed the quick kids racing to the next exhibit.
I wasn’t racing with those kids though. I gazed at the dollhouse first taking in its size. It was huge and delicate. Much, much more delicate than the pink plastic Playskool one I had at home. I looked into each room, the miniature lives of imaginary creatures were caught in moments of adventure. I saw the romance of a Princess laying on her bed thinking about the Knight who swept her off her feet. I looked into the kitchen scene and watched a plump and jolly cook bake bread. The gardens were filled with fairies granting wishes and bathing in puddles. But, inside no actual statues of Princesses, Knights, cooks or fairies existed. The blank scenes were filled solely by a girl who wanted them to be alive.
I dreamt of true love and warmth in that castle the same way I did when I read fairytales with my mom before bed, and the same way I would when I “wrote” scribbles that I “read” aloud as stories to any audience I could make captive.
I was too lost in happiness to even notice that I was actually lost. My mom came back in and found me within a few minutes of me being missing. I couldn’t be bothered with any thought other than daydreams.
It was that day, that glorious day, that I resolved to believe in things the way a young imagination does. When you glance out a window on a train you are not just waiting for your stop to come up, you are waiting for you betrothed to pick you up in a grand gesture. When you are sipping coffee, you are not in an office you are at a café table in Paris in a red dress taking in crisp early autumn air. That is how you create your life.
While it is The Fairy Castle to many, it will also be “The Fairy Princess Castle in the diamond room” if you ask me.
