My husband used to travel extensively, flying about the country to market shrink wrap packaging, a product that changed the way the world shopped. Store lighting bounced off the clear plastic film fit closely around products, so that each seemed to have its own personal spotlight. Packages fairly winked to flirt “come hither” and “take me home” to a generation of self-help shoppers: record albums and CDs, board and video games, porn films, multi-packs of Kleenex, and the list goes on. His genuine belief in the product – and in himself – gave him a generous career.

I seldom flinched when my husband headed out on the marketing and sales bandwagon – being gone was his job – and I relished his return. It was like perpetual dating. He brought swashbuckle into our home, while I carried on the mundane, as well as a challenging, beloved career. Larry was/is engaging, so he had incredible encounters: highs, mediums, and lows. Let me share another one, a classic from our ‘living life as a miracle’ hall of fame.

It was early December, the time to assemble the snow globe collection that had swelled beyond what a single table top could hold. The collection began with a red-nosed Rudolph, received from my parents when I was eight – and helped me gain the holiday spirit in a sunny land which had no snow. Besides, the snow was self-contained, not chilling our home, and fell only with the shake of my will. The glass globes were akin to the marvel of my husband’s shrink wrap packaging.

I loved my snow globe collection, but where to put them all?


So, Larry was chatting with his business class seat mate, a woman who was headed home to California by plane, too. He described the dilemma, for he often talked fondly of me when I was not by his side, just as I did of him in our home community when he was gone. We were engaged in each other’s lives, if not always nearby.

As usual, my husband had a vision of what was needed – and, when he mentioned our fondness for rusty-toned metal, the woman said, “I own an antique store in the city of Orange, and I have just what you need.”

Larry came home in a swirl of excitement that matched the swirl of snow when one shook one of my globes. He went to the store the next day – and brought home a rusty metal, multilevel plant stand capable of holding a dozen snow globes with perfection of place and taste! Like a proverbial needle in a haystack, we’d never had found the item, so far-fetched, yet near to our home without a productive, positive conversation on a plane.

P.S. My collection numbers 34 snow globes…equaling the years of our California residence. I no longer miss snowflakes falling in season, however. I’ve decided that the red-leaved liquid amber trees that stand tall above vibrant green grass are the better colors of Christmas, here in my home.

P.S.#2 This year’s snow globe addition is…Ta-da! Santa seated in a red airplane!