I pull the Christmas
music box string very slowly and wooden figures of snowman, elf, angel and Mr.
and Mrs. Claus peek at me through the windows and door openings of their little
yellow house as they travel backward, winding up in Ferris wheel fashion. The small nails that hold them to the rotating
board are delicate, allowing them to sway back and forth as they make their
rounds…
I’ve pulled that string, watched the figurines peek out at
me and listened to the slightly tin sound of Jingle Bells, for just over 45 years now.
I was three when my
brothers gave the music box to our mom for Christmas in ‘67. Three years ago when my parents passed, my
siblings granted my wish to have the music box.
Now as I hang it on my kitchen wall, I don’t see the age it carries or
the areas where the glitter, meant to be sparkling snow on the eaves, has long
since rubbed off in the packing and unpacking over the years. What I see, what I feel, is a direct link to
my childhood Christmas and all the magic it held.
Twenty nine years ago this Christmas, about to celebrate my
first Christmas married and in my own home, mom gave Steven and I a ceramic
manger scene. In two words, it’s big. With 18 pieces and camels and wise men that
stand eight inches tall, it could be overwhelming, but her artistic talent
shines through in the incredible detailing of each piece, the deep, rich colors
she used and in the delicate features conveying the wonder of the moment. Amidst the often hectic holiday madness, it
never fails to make me pause and renews the spiritual meaning of Christmas for
me.
Our home is not large.
These two very different holiday pieces are physically about five steps
from each other. Yet they bridge the
years for me between child and adult, between daughter and wife/mother seamlessly. There’s no theme to my Christmas decorations.
The house is not done in ribbons of blue
and silver, in red and gold balls in glass vases, nor in country chic. It doesn’t look like any spread in the pages of
a magazine. It’s much like my mother’s
was; warm and comforting; a blending of pieces that hold more meaning in the
history or memory of receiving them than in the purchasing of them for a “look”. What’s developed is a blend of my Christmas
past with my Christmas present.
I pull the string and listen to Jingle Bells. My eyes travel
from the figurines in the music box to the figurines in the manger scene. A final gift from mom, a mixture of magic and
the wonder of belief.
