The Snow Globe

The Snow Globe

By Mae Leaf

The attic felt hot and stuffy with a dash of mustiness. The circular window offered a little light, but the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling showered the small space with yellow light. “Good enough!” I shout for no one but me and the dusty boxes to hear. Mom insisted I go through all the boxes and shelves and take whatever I wanted before the rest of the family comes for their perceived share.

I purposely am in my “best” grubby clothes today. Faded blue jeans, and an emerald green T-shirt with a giant coffee stain across my stomach. Searching my old things doesn’t require high fashion. I kneel down and pull over a small off-white stool and sit down. Time to dive in! I pull over the first cardboard box I see. I am prepared with a face mask on to prevent too much sneezing from this dust. I open the box and pull out a stack of thank you cards tied with a yellow curly ribbon. I set it aside and pull out two three-ring binders full of my old assignments from the 3^rd grade. I chuckle to myself at how bad my handwriting was and still is.

I notice this box is full of old notebooks, papers, birthday and Christmas cards. I push it aside for later. I get up and wrangle another big, dusty box over to where I’m sitting. I wipe my hands on my jeans and proceed to open it up. What I see in the box stops my breath for a moment. I’m instantly taken back to my 7^th birthday. The snow globe’s water has yellowed and dried up. The scene before me is of a little girl in a blue coat, a red sled, two trees painted white on the edges, and a white kitten.

I take a deep breath, remove my face mask, and smile to myself. I fell in love with snow globes when I turned 7. This was the snow globe that started me on my journey of collecting. I remember the excitement and fascination with the swirling snow, and how the glitter sparkled in different lights. I hold the snow globe carefully now. I reach over and grab the faded towel I brought up with me. I gently set my treasure down. I stare at it and let my eyes fill with warm tears.

This was the last gift my Uncle Eddie gave me. The following morning, he passed away from a heart attack. This snow globe represented my last happy memory of my uncle. That final tether to the world that he left me. I treasured that snow globe and set out to collect as many as I could. I happily collected various snow globes for the next ten years. I’m not clear on when I stopped collecting, and even more upset with myself for forgetting this very gift that kept me in thrall for so long. My older brother and sister did not see the snow globe in the same light as I did. My sister thought it was cute, but boring, and my brother had zero interest since it didn’t spin, zoom or light up and make obnoxious noises.

I picked it up again and examined the old glass and chipped red wooden base. The paint was a bit faded and chipped in some areas. It is not the big snow globes I later collected, and it does not contain a music box like a good portion of the ones I found later on. I remember happily shaking the snow and watching it swirl and sparkle. I would open up my notebook and write little stories about the girl and her kitten. I drew pictures and even changed what she wore depending on the season.

I wipe my tears away and grab a tissue to blow my nose. My Uncle Eddie was a fun uncle when he visited us in the summers and sometimes in the winter around Christmas time. He always brought toys and candy with him. The snow globe was the first and last present that was really nice though. All the other toys he would bring were the little chip ones you picked up at the mini-mart. All I knew was that Uncle Eddie was a salesman and traveled a lot. He had no children of his own, so we were the recipients of fun stories, toys, and yummy candy that Mom and dad never bought.

I enjoyed listening to Uncle Eddie’s stories, but most of all, I liked that he listened to my stories and encouraged me to keep drawing. The snow globe was the first gift I kept safe on my white bookcase. I found a piece of dark blue felt from my mom’s sewing room one time. I found some scissors and cut them into a square for my snow globe to sit on. I even moved all the books down a row so my prized treasure could be center stage.

My family didn’t understand my near obsession with it, but I was determined to create a village of snow globes. I made sure my birthday and Christmas wish lists only had snow globes on them. Each snow globe I collected had to have its own felt piece and spot on the bookcase. I made sure that my first snow globe had the right amount of space from the other ones. It was that way for many years. It wasn’t until college when my drive for snow globes dried up much like the liquid in some of them.

I continued emptying out the box and found all my journals filled with stories and drawings of all the snow globes I had. I was the kid that had to write about the scenes I saw. I made up names for the people and animals. I drew pictures to reflect the summertime or a holiday. I even rated from 1-10, which snow globe was the best. I purposely left out my first one, since that was the special one.

I reach up and wipe my forehead of sweat. I get up and hunt for the clasp on the little round window. I can see the tree tops swaying in the wind, and want in on the breeze. I tug the clasp until it gives and push out the window. The cool air feels so refreshing. It makes me sneeze with all the swirling dust, but I don’t care. I blow my nose again and return to my half-searched box.

I find the journal I wrote in when Uncle Eddie died. The cover is black and the paper is a bit yellow. I open it up and look at my drawings of the snow globe. I skim my silly stories and see a self-portrait of myself. Chin-length red hair, gray eyes, freckles, and big, round, blue tears. I see a big round circle apparently representing a puddle of my tears. I noticed not much was written after that page. I set the journal down next to the snow globe.

Uncle Eddie was Dad’s younger brother by 3 years, and he was not always on good terms with him. My Dad and Uncle Eddie were attempting to mend their relationship when the heart attack happened. Unfortunately, only four years later my dad would follow Uncle Eddie. My Mom changed after that and was much stricter with us. We still laughed and found fun in life, but it was not the same. The absence of my dad was a huge hole in our lives, and I irrationally felt it was Uncle Eddie’s fault in a way.

I blamed him for dying of a heart attack first and for my dad to follow with the same ailment. I hated him for a while. I believed immaturely that he should have taken better care of his health. At that time, I was 11 years old and determined to find the reason and connect the dots to make sense of it all. I refused to visit his grave when the rest of the family went there to bring flowers. My mom wouldn’t let me stay home, so I would sit in the car and pout.

I can’t believe how stupid I was for vilifying my uncle in that way. Once I grew out of that irrational belief, I made a point to always visit both Uncle Eddie's and Dad’s graves on their birthdays. Dad liked white lilacs and Uncle Eddie liked dandelions. Yes, Uncle Eddie was not a normal flower person. I recall one year I found a snow globe that had a dandelion in it. I wrote Uncle Eddie’s name on the bottom of the base in black Sharpie. I actually still have that one in my apartment on the shelf above the kitchen sink.

I survey the mess I’ve made and start to gather up all the things I’m keeping. I kneel and wrap my snow globe in one of the old baby blankets I spied on earlier. I place it and the journal carefully in one of my boxes. I wipe away a few more tears while filling the two boxes worth of my memories to go home with me. I leave the window open to help dissipate the stuffy heat and yank the light bulb chain to turn the light off.

 I savor a look back and then carefully head down the rickety old staircase carrying my two boxes of memories. I sense Uncle Eddie’s robust laugh following me all the way out to my car. I turn and look up at the little circular attic window, almost certain I see his smiling face looking down at me. I turn back to my car and finish loading the boxes in the back seat. Mom shouts from the porch, “See you for Saturday night dinner Sweetheart!” I wave and drive away.