The Music Box

A Christmas Memory

When we moved to Arizona, I insisted we bring our Christmas tree with us… the artificial one that had been ours since our kids had grown and we stopped going to Tower’s Christmas tree farm to search for the perfect tree to bring home.

For several years now, we have assembled the tree and placed it in our Tucson home. But this year I decided not to. Ed and I are traveling back to our home town to celebrate the holidays with our family and it doesn’t make sense to drag everything out for a few short weeks.  I thought I’d be OK with the decision, but around the first of December, I was feeling a little lost. 

I played some Christmas music, plugged in my “Evergreen” candle warmer and set out a few of my favorite things like the nativity set I bought when our children were young. We started with the basic stable and Holy Family, then Ed bought a new figure to tuck in my stocking each year until we ended up with a full cast of characters. The kids used to fight about whose turn it was to arrange it on the mantle each year.  We had to keep a post-it note in the box to keep track. One got the even numbered year, one the odd.

This year I also set out the ceramic Santa that belonged to my grandparents and the Boyd’s Bear figurines Ed bought for me each year.

And then I set out the music box  I have displayed each year since 1973 when my mother gave it to me. It is a small red box splashed with golden stars and a Hummel painting of the Holy Family on the lid.  The date, stenciled on the top, 1973, is significant. Ed and I announced our engagement that Thanksgiving, and on Christmas Eve, he surprised me with a ring.

The vintage music box is beautiful. The years have taken their toll on the delicate inner workings and it no longer plays Silent Night when you open the lid. But the real treasure remains inside where, 49 years ago, my mother tucked a note.  The paper is yellowed and fragile, the lettering is faint with age and blurry through my tears, but I know the words by heart. 

My parents had many happy years together. Sadly, Dad died just shy of their 50^th wedding anniversary twenty-two years ago. Ed and I willcelebrate our 49th this summer.

 I’ll visit Mom when I’m back in the Midwest.  Short visits are best as her memory is fading and it is difficult for her to keep up a conversation for too long.  This time, I’ll bring pictures of the music box and read her words back to her.  Perhaps it will spark a glimmer of recognition, perhaps not. But I know I’m in her heart, the place where she keeps her most precious memories tucked away, like the words of love she placed in a special music box 49 years ago.