You hope that flying swirl, and the snow falls as though it has forgotten the signal. This is the time when individuals resort to the services of a snow globe restoration professional. It is a dumb disappointment, the one which will befall you later. These spheres are in their silent place, but contain little bits of life. An excursion which remains. A present more than I could imagine. People bring them in, very attentively, as though it were a fragile thing and were a bit stubborn. It would have been clear before, they say. With that one line it suffices.
The illusion within is based on a couple of basic things that are in harmony. The liquid must be transparent. The flakes must be free and not to cling together as they have made a silent uprising. the picture in cannot be tilted as it has been on a long day. A restoration specialist will start by making observations. They turn the globe about, and watch the flakes play. Do they so glide? Do they stall? Are there not any bubbles so small, where none should be? Occasionally the liquid is old and is cloudy. The flakes sometimes do not fall off, even after years of immobility. It requires opening of the globe, washing of the inside and reinserting it into fresh solution to fix. It does not entail much, though, and needs firm hands and patience.
These are not restored by people because they require them. Well, the snow globe is not crucial, I tell you. But there is a meaning to it. Something petite, which was there at one time or another in your life–but was. Reminds you of how you got a souvenir. It is not appropriate to substitute it with a copy of a memory, etc. It does not seem correct. The original story is preserved with the help of restoration. Although the world may be returning a little bit different, it is not unfamiliar. Even that small twist can be character adding e.g. a memory that has become sweet over the years.
The pace is all slackened at the bench. The tools are small, movements even smaller. The world is tentatively revealed. Bit by bit the interior is wiped off. To replace the old liquid, new liquid is added, which is clear and ready to help to move the flakes once again. Then comes the time which counts. The world is shut, raised and tossed about. The flakes are refreshed, gentle and everlasting since they had never heard of their purpose. You view it somewhat more than you expected. And somehow that little snowfall had regained its beat, as well–and it is as though something had awakened.
