My grandmother used to set up a little Christmas tableau in time for my visit each Christmas when I was little. She used cotton for snow and a round little mirror for a lake, and many ancient and treasured little wood, paper and porcelain figures romping around: a Santa family, elves and beautiful small animals, and kids in winter clothes on skis and small sledges. There were slopes, trees on a hill, a few small houses and a tiny white church.

The tableau used to stand in the sleek teak bookshelf in the corner of their living room, in perfect height for me to look at. I was forbidden to touch or play with the figures: they were too fragile, but I could stand there and just look for hours and hours. I was allowed to wind up a little music box that hung beside them though, to hear it play a crisp and slow "Silent night" and it was wonderful in every sense of the word.

The most magic part was that there were lighting inside the church and houses (teeny tiny electrics adapted by my engineer granddad: this was long before led lights was invented). I stood there and imagined the most wonderful and secrets things happening inside those twinkling windows: candy making, gift giving, those miniature kids playing the most joyful games.