I like to take walks sometimes, even in 95 percent humidity (I know, it’s crazy). This afternoon as I was out pacing the greater circle of our neighborhood, I saw an open garage with three people, and two fancy blue Victorian dollhouses inside.

Being friendly, I called out to say hello, and asked about the houses. An older lady, cigarette in hand, curler in bangs, told me that she was the creator. “I make them for myself,” she said, and motioned for me to come in.

The back of the dollhouse, unseen from the street, was open, and full. There were porcelain dolls sitting on little iron chairs over tiny Persian carpets, poodles and scotty-dogs on plump red cushions, and a staircase with a swag of greenery. There were tables set for tea, and tiny beds for sleeping.

Not everything matched: I noticed thumb sized baby dolls sitting on a stairwell while their quarter-sized mother prepared food in the kitchen. Some of the food looked as if purchased from a Victorian doll shop, and some (like a rubber hot dog) from a local gum-ball machine. Altogether it was quirky, a bit romantic, and unexpected.

I thanked her for letting me peek inside, and wished her well with her creations. I was thankful for that moment of unexpected pleasure in the midst of the heat, and a glimpse into someone else’s (teeny tiny) world.

~Jill