keh:
One day when I was in Chicago last year, I realized that I was in the mall that houses the American Girl Place: the Jerusalem, the Mecca, the Graceland of my childhood. I’d dreamed of visiting it for so many years, but instead I’d had to be satisfied reading the catalogs again and again. Now, I was there. No one who was with me wanted to stop there, but I did take a step inside the doors. That was enough. It was so strange and bewilderingly emotional to find myself standing in a place I spent my whole preadolescence longing to go, and stranger still to have arrived there purely by accident, as if by magic.
Swedish Immigrant Voodoo Doll Magic.
You guys, American Girl Dolls are Srs Bsnss.
omg, the EXACT SAME THING happened to me in Chicago! Only I was able to talk the people with me into wandering around for a solid 45min of nostalgia. It was magical, indeed. I owned (still own!) Kirsten, the Swedish immigrant doll. Probably 80% of my knowledge of the 19th/early 20th C immigrant experience comes from those books & An American Tale. No haters, plz, these dolls were GREAT.
Reblogged from meaghano
