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kiddies’ stories

My girl Ruthie likes to keep our home looking nice. She puts time into it and the place looks good. She laughed the other day and said it was just an adult sized doll’s house, really.

I got to thinking: when I was a kid, my bedroom was a little boxroom with a large cupboard that occupied the space above the staircase. I can see myself at six or seven years old, lying in bed at night, telling myself stories about how the cupboard was a portal to adventure and excitement, and all I had to do was let my mind wander free and I’d be there.

That’s all I do now. I tell myself stories. I imagine what’s on the other side of that large cupboard door, in my little bedroom, at night when I was small.


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