While I looked for a framed photo of my late husband’s mother I reopened several plastic tubs of Christmas keepers in the cold garage.

“Where’d you go, Jean?” I asked her missing photo. “I just saw you this morning,” I said to her, and Tuxedo, our curious cat.

Neither answered.

During the tub-by-tub search I felt under a bunch of Christmas tablecloths and towels. There was something tucked inside an oven mitt.

It was Mother Mary from a nativity scene a friend made years ago.

She was in perfect shape, and if Mary was there then Joseph and Baby Jesus had to be near.

Joseph was snugged inside a furry Santa hat.

Baby Jesus couldn’t be far away.

But He was.

He is.

I searched each mitt.

No Baby Jesus.

No manger where He slept.

I don’t remember if Janice ever made the three wise men that she’d promised, but I do know I had Jesus, and an early-day photo of my late mother-in law.

I want to pass the photo on to her grandson, Courtney, who is now a grandparent.

He lives out of state and wasn’t here when his three sisters painted walls and went through some of their late father’s photos and things.

I’d saved some items to give him, and decided this Christmas will be a good time.

I remember my first Christmas with my husband’s children.

It was 1971. Bill didn’t get a bonus from his state job, and my $35 bonus didn’t go far. We used my cigarette coupons, and 16-year-old Courtney got a hair dryer.

In much later years All Our Children had children so we had heirloom-themed Christmases for the adults. We shared stories about our parents and inherited gifts around the tree: a quilt, a locket, a pocket watch, ration tokens from WW II, and gas station water glasses.

I hope to find and share that photo of Grandmother Jean with Courtney this year. Also his maternal great-grandfather’s spurs. His father wore them during 1980s Pat Hennessy Celebrations.

I also hope that I fi nd the missing Baby Jesus.

I really need Him again this year.