It reminds me of going to my grandparents for Christmas. We would always arrive late at night, but the tree would still be lit so we kids could see it. My sleepy eyes always found the world people first. I have no idea how old these ornaments are for sure, but I know my grandma got them early on in her life with grandpa. There are 5 of them, but I think there were a few more when I was tiny. They are glass painted with metallic paints. Some have bits of fabric too and some have doll like hair. There is a girl, perhaps Chinese, with a flower in her hair. A little man who might be Eastern European or Russian looks as if he will suddenly begin to sing "Tradition. Tradition!" and then do the leaping, leg kicking dance. One man seems to be Latin and another is wearing a very proper uniform like the guards outside of Buckingham.
When I was little bitty I would admire them daily as long as the tree was up. I remember finally being allowed to touch them. I was over the moon. I remember helping take the tree down and under careful supervision, wrapping the pieces in layers of tissue paper. When I was in college, I lived with Grandma for a year and got to put the tree up. It was up to me to choose where the world people went. Grandma thought it was funny that I still loved them.
When I was small, I would ask for them and Grandma would always smile and say "when you have your own family." The first Christmas we were married, Jack and I spent Christmas with my Grandparents, and Grandma sent the world people home with me. I didn't ask; she just remembered. They are pretty rough looking now. Their hair has frizzed. Their paint is dulled and flaked. Truly, they are a bit scary, but I still love them, though the reasons have changed. Foolishly sentimental, sappy old me. I actually get teary every year when I open their box.
Bell can admire them, she has handled them sitting, but I hang them. They can be hers someday. For now, they glow gently in the lights of our tree.
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