My grandparents on my dad's side were hoarders.  Not "gosh, they like to collect things, so we're using this popular phrase jokingly" hoarders, but "there's barely a path from the door to the couch" hoarders.  Or so I hear.  I haven't been in their house since I was a baby.  They sort of stopped inviting people over, so I've only had it described to me.  But even when my dad describes it as a place where there's nowhere to sit and there are oatmeal containers of egg shells in the kitchen, in my imagination it is a wonderland filled with treasure.  Partly that's because since my Grandma moved into an assisted living facility, I've been gifted with amazing delights like matchbooks from Chicago restaurants in the 60s, and Grandpas's purple velvet tux.  I mean, who WOULDN'T want those things?  (Sidenote:  Apparently Grandma always justified her keeping ways by saying "But someone might want it some day."  And now I am proving her right.  Sorry Dad!  You're welcome, Grandma!)

But this isn't a new feeling; that of an adult receiving mementos of her family's life.  Even as I kid, I had the sneaking suspicion that anything I really wanted was probably somewhere in the house in Morton Grove.  Case in Point:  When I was around 9 or 10 years old, I was really interested in the 1950s. (I played alone a lot.)  I told Mom I wished I had some magazines from the 50s so I could see pictures of the clothes and houses and things, and Mom said "I'm sure Grandma has some."  And sure enough, I was given a handful of magazines that shaped my aesthetic for the rest of eternity, and cemented my absolute devotion to old-timey ladies magazines.  I've amassed quite a collection in the last 30 years, and I've always got room for more, but these five are my favorites.  I know every picture, every ad, every story in each, and they are all PERFECT.

And one of the magazines was a double jackpot, because it was the DECEMBER ISSUE!!!  CHRISTMAS!!!!!! Oh my gosh.  The greatest.  It's a fabulous magazine called "Living for Young Homemakers."  I don't know much about this magazine, as it doesn't make the cut on the "List of Defunct Ladies' Magazines" page on Wikipedia, which is about as far as my research has gone.  But it's awesome.  (Do you have issues of it, sitting around and making your family think you're a hoarder?  SEND THEM TO ME!)  It's definitely aimed at the young and perhaps would-be urbane set.  But young urbane people have kids, so there's a spread about dolls and dollhouses.  LOOK AT THIS, PEOPLE.  

Did I lose my 9-year-old mind?  Of COURSE I did.  It's everything.  Toys, party dresses, playing house, and that weird 3-D/2-D combination art that I've always loved (I know that's very specific, but thanks, Living for Young Homemakers December 1960.) In any case, I pulled this magazine out again this Christmas, and as I was flipping through it, I had a revelation.  I never wanted those dolls.  I wanted to BE those dolls!  I still want to be them, and the good thing is that now I am an adult, and I can do or be whatever I want.

In particular, I want to be this little minx in the kitchen.  Look at this!  She's got everything: the ruffled dress with the crinoline, the weird mechanical cardboard clock, the appliances (man, the appliances!), the wide variety of cereals from which to choose, the dog and cat that get along and will never pee on your bed, and that pink carpet sweeper.  (Dear lord, it's almost too much to bear.)  Well, a lot of those things are out of my reach, at least just sitting around the house on a Monday night.  But you know what I CAN have?  That swell 2-D drawing of a candy shop, because I have a box of crayons and a can-do attitude!

So here it is!  I certainly couldn't be bothered to buy anything (or put on pants and leave the house), so I took the paper I'd used to make a photo backdrop for Mom and Dad's golden wedding anniversary, taped it around my protest sign from the Women's March, pulled out my box of 64 Crayolas, and went to work.  It's not too bad, right?  Especially there on the mantel with the candles and the Santa mug and pitcher set. 

Look, I know it's dumb. But isn't that part of being an adult?  Getting to have those things you've always wanted?  And honestly, all it cost me was a trip to the basement and an hour or two (I'm sure you could do it in 30 minutes, but I am, frankly, a lousy drawer.  My first attempt at the jars looked like someone had run over a horny toad.) And it makes me happy every time I walk past it, so now I'm the proud owner of something I've coveted since I was 9.  ADULTING!  (...with crayons...)