A kick in the baubles… I’ve lost my battle with The Scary One and her apprentice.
It’s five years since our MLK50 group was serenaded with Merry Christmas Everyone by a Southern singer at an antebellum guesthouse.
The Southern Ball
Her, her husband and their eight kids.
This year though I have to crane my head around the back of the tree to see the Mississippian bauble.
Because The Scary One and her mini-me have decided to hide it there behind glittery shop decorations.
It is a daily ding-dong to get my baubles on the tree…
My belle and her baubles
We both love Venice so the Grand Canal bauble makes it.
While my Irish harp (an extra greening this year didn’t go down well).
Countered, of course, by the red phone box, a symbol of Englishness.
Tigger doesn’t deserve to sit below Potter but I expect him to get up the tree.
He has the bounce after all.
A Christmas laaf
Up there and deservedly so are my favourite urchins, the Laafs I fell in love with in Ireland.
But who hail from the Netherlands.
Baubles were born in Germany as was the Christmas tree.
So if you were able to get to one of their Christmas markets then you know how tinseltastic they are.
Birthplace of baubles
Lauscha is the birthplace of the bauble and celebrates it every November with its kugelmarket.
Yes, you guessed it, it translates as bauble market.
And it all started in the glassworks of this German mountain town near the Czech border.
With craftsman Hans Greiner moulding the ornaments into the shape of fruit and nuts in 1847 and exporting them to Britain.
Neither of which would work with Santa’s little helper in Chez Murty who clears the tree of hanging chocolate every year.
Before moving my keepsake… it’s a real kick in the baubles.