A Christmas Memory

When I was growing up, every year we would set up a manger in the living room by the tree.  But it seemed like every year there was something we couldn't find, so we would have to improvise some sort of 'mix and match' nativity scene.

One year, we couldn't find the sheep. We had cows, but no sheep. Apparently in our family's tradition, the sheep are the most important part of the story of Christ's birth. I don't know why.

We asked around the neighborhood to see if we could borrow sheep from someone else's manger scene, but they weren't exactly the right size for our manger, so we ended up with this bizarre scene that looked like a first-century nuclear accident, with giant mutant sheep towering over the stable.

The worst Christmas was the one when we couldn't find...the Baby Jesus. Jesus is really the whole point behind a nativity scene, so we were all naturally quite upset. In fact, one of my most poignant holiday memories is of my dear mother,  running through the garage drunk on rum nog, yelling "Can't anyone remember which goddam box the Lord is in?!!!" Mom used to love ending sentences with prepositions. I miss her.