Whenever my daughters and I visit my grandma’s house, my girls want to play with two things: her miniature Dachshund and her giant snow globe. The snow globe is about the same weight and size as a bowling ball. Inside there’s an idyllic scene of a village in England or Ireland or possibly France. There’s a stone bridge and a horse-drawn cart and small thatched-roof homes. Technically it isn’t a snow globe because, instead of snow, there’s glitter.
What my girls like best about the globe isn’t the cozy hamlet inside or the glitter or even the pastel butterfly attached to the outside by a coiled wire. What they like is the wind-up music:
Come with me and you’ll be
In a world of pure imagination
One of the houses inside the globe could have easily been my great aunt and uncle’s. Outside, their house was painted red and white like a barn. Inside, their house was always warm, even in winter. Especially in winter. My uncle Harry would get a fire going and we’d all fall asleep at various points in the night because of the warmth and soft conversation.