My first night at miniatures school, I dream about my childhood home. Not as it is now, with its empty-nester upgrades, but as it was when I was little. The kitchen floor tiles are still stars, laid down by my dad. My bedroom ceiling is sponge-painted with a sky. The back wall is missing, like a dollhouse. Everything is small — 1/12th of its normal size, the standard ratio for miniatures, where 1 inch equals 1 foot. No one is inside.
The second night of miniature school, I dream about grapes. I really need to make more grapes.