We all have things that are precious to us. Memories, artifacts, people. When they break or break-away do you try and pick up the pieces or are the shards too dangerous to touch? It's nice to be able to have moments--memories captured in time. But you also have to remember that they are very fragile and in an instance can be destroyed. Enjoy them. Enjoy every second. Because you never know when that precarious level might slip and they're gone forever.

Dear Ether, 

People collect all sorts of things.  Tins, autographs, perfume bottles.  I even saw a show about a woman who collected air sickness bags (not used, of course).  I tried collecting stamps when I was a little girl.  My parents bought me a great leather-bound book and a bag full of exotic postage.  Though it was interesting to see these little images that had been sent on journeys across the world for many different reasons, my interest waned.  After staring at a stamp once, maybe even twice, it just got a bit stale (I mean, George Washington’s profile is noble, but c’mon….).  However, when my wonderful aunt (The Big Apple Beauty) brought me home a snow globe from New York (a place I dreamed of living), I knew exactly what I wanted to collect. 

I loved the idea that a little world was caught in water and that when you shook it dainty snowflakes or glitter swirled around the miniature scene.  I adored that these places were trapped in time.  Like Atlantis, New York became a metropolis underwater that was like my lost city, a secret only to me.  I could play with this aqua adventure to suit my fancy whenever I wanted it, however I wanted it—all I had to do was give it a shake and it would come alive. 

My collection began to grow rapidly.  Once you tell someone you’re a collector, expect new pieces for holidays and birthdays.  I had “The Wizard Of Oz” snow globe that played “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” and had ruby slippers that fell from the sky when you shook it.  I had a whole Disney collection that captured each famous character in a beautiful wooden base.  My favorite was handmade, and had a picture of me surrounded by a world of my special hobbies.  It played “My Brown Eyed Girl” (a gift from my parents) and I cherished it. 

People loved my assortment of different themes and would come upstairs to my bedroom and look at my shelves filled with perfectly dusted domes.  Like a librarian at the Smithsonian, I would carefully take down a requested piece making sure that they knew to handle the items like they were Tiffany’s glass.  People loved them because of their eclectic nature.  For me, the snow domes represented a story.  One globe was from a friend who’d gone to Hawaii and she’d told me all about her exotic holiday. Every time I looked at it, I thought of her trip and imagined lava and luaus.  Another globe was a ballerina that twirled.  It reminded me of dancing and got me excited about my lessons.  Soon I would be advancing to point shoes rather than flat slippers.  When I was lonely and dreamed about leaving Los Angeles, I’d fiddle with my New York snow globe and look at the tiny Empire State building and Brooklyn Bridge and smile and imagine myself in Manhattan. 

Tragically, at 4:31 am, on January 17th 1994, a booming 6.7 earthquake hit Los Angeles (and many other parts of California).  I woke up to the sounds of shutters shivering, plaster cracking, light bulbs popping, parents yelling to get under a doorway and heartbreakingly, the sounds of endless shattering of snow globes exploding on the floor.  Everything collapsing around me, I’ll never forget running out of my room, seeing my shelf buckling, and helplessly watching my “worlds” falling apart.  

My family spent hours huddled together listening to a radio with a candle lit and suffering after-shocks.  It felt like the world was going to end.  For those of you who have never felt an earthquake of decent measure, it feels like Armageddon.  So much harm was done from that quake.  72 people died and thousands were injured.  The damage to the city was in the billions.  My mom lost family heirlooms and our house was in shambles. 

It was daylight when I finally lugged my body up to my bedroom.  I knew what I was going to face.  It hit my straightaway when I saw a stream of water with little flecks of snow coming from outside my door.  Heart-thumping, I walked through the doorway and although everything else was a disaster, all I could see was the smashed collection I had amassed.  A giant lake pooled on the floor.  In it were shards of glass, ruby slippers, snow, glitter, chunks of cities, Disney characters and my beloved face cracked in half from my bespoke snow globe.  I saw the Empire State building released from its watery orb and fingered it—I’d always wanted to know what it felt like.  I cried, tears dripping into the already full lake.  Not a single piece of my collection was intact.  I reckon I had compiled about 55.  All gone.  

I never collected another snow dome again.  It broke my heart to think of what I had lost and to even think about trying to recreate what took me years to accumulate was just not feasible.  That day, two worlds collided.  My real one and my fantasy one.  I guess I grew up a little on that hideous day in 1994.  I realized that your world could shatter in an instance.  

I just recently bought my first snow globe almost 15 years later.  I was in London just about to leave for Los Angeles.  It’s a really lovely specimen with a lot of the touristy sites of the City. I was leaving England and wanted something special to remember it by.  I thought of myself as a little girl looking into the globe and remembering how real the places felt when I looked into the water. How close a connection I felt to that little Atlantis.  I needed something to have where I felt my heart and soul had been and will always be.  I wanted a piece that brought me back to my favorite places.  So that when I gazed into that globe I can peek at the London Eye and remember walking on the South Bank.  Or, when I see Parliament with flecks of snow on it, I’ll remember taking a tour of its great old walls when I was still fresh to the city as a 21 year-old sightseer.  

This time I bought earthquake glue and my special globe is adhered solidly to my desk.  I won’t let Los Angeles break anything again—especially my London. 

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

 PS: Yes, the picture is of my London snow globe.  My little Blighty Atlantis.