By Thomas Asklar
Buffalo, NY – It all began around Christmas 1999 while my friend Tom was visiting. I had been contemplating my manger figurines that once belonged to my Grandparents and were given to me by my Dad. According to my Mother, these figurines were expensive, and I recalled how my Grandmother would unusually set up the figures under her artificial tree on a glittered cotton batting that represented snow. I always thought it was a bit strange to juxtapose snow with the moderate climate of Bethlehem, but this was my Grandmother's synthesis of Christmastime characteristics.
I had set up the figures for about seven years in various configurations, but I never had an official edifice to enclose the arrangement. I recalled how my older brother John and my Dad built our family manger together as a family project, complete with a hole to accommodate a light that represented the Christmas star. As I sat visiting with my friend Tom, I thought of how he enjoys building things with wood, especially driftwood, and I expressed my desire to build a manger, perhaps of driftwood, as it might have a more rustic, authentic look to it. Tom seemed quite interested in the idea, and he eagerly expressed his willingness to assist in this endeavor Christmas 1999 came and went. The winter passed, and in springtime, my friend Tom reminded me of the idea. We finally set up a time one afternoon in the spring to search for driftwood along the banks of the upper Niagara River that could be used for manger construction. The day was beautiful: big blue sky with a smattering of silent clouds, gentle breezes blowing. We hiked along, searching for flat boards that would be ideal for building with. Tom finally spied the paragon-an old battered door that was floating in the rivulets about fifteen feet from shore in an area where driftwood collects. Tom suggested that I walk on the other pieces of wood and logs out to where the door floated so I could retrieve it. I complied, and with my first step, I found my boot submerged in the muck and mire of the river bottom, and my leg encircled with the still icy waters of the mighty Niagara. Now that I was in the river, I just trudged out, grabbed the door, and dragged it ashore. We loaded the door into the back of Tom's jeep and delivered it to my backyard where I laid it out to dry in the springtime sunshine. The door was then wiped clean and stored in my garage.
Advent 2000. Tom called and said "it's manger time-how about Sunday after church?" I agreed. We drove down to his in-laws' farm where his woodshop is located, and on the way, he pulled out a fine cigar his brother had given him for his birthday. Tom ceremoniously split the splendid stoagie in two, and we each ignited our half to commemorate the day's event.
We entered the old barn where the woodshop was, and were immediately greeted by a plump, lonely farm cat with gray and black striped fur. Boy, was he happy to see us, purring like a motorboat. It was then that I spotted an old birdhouse in a pile of wood scraps in the corner that was basically the same shape as the preliminary drawing that I had come up with. I picked up the old birdhouse and noted the slanted roof and general shape, pulled out the field notebook, and proceeded to create a corrugated cardboard template for one of the manger's sides based upon the measurements I had already construed. After I cut out the template and place it against the side of the birdhouse to see how they compared, I was astonished to learn that they were identical! It was serendipitous. We then made the executive decision to use this birdhouse as our model, thus simplifying the process.
Our process was about to become even more simple as Tom announced that he didn't have the circular saw, and while debating whether or not we should go back and get it, Tom asked, Should we go Old School? , holding up a hand saw. I thought about the entire experience and recalled how Jesus and his father Joseph were carpenters, and it felt like using hand tools, the same type that were available at the time of Christ's birth, was the appropriate choice.
Tom and I completed the manger and even drilled a hole through the back wall to accommodate the star of Bethlehem. My Grandparents' figurines were carefully placed inside the manger, and it became the ideal forum to showcase and capture the true story and purpose of the Christmas holiday forevermore.
I have this tradition when I smoke cigars. I save the tiny paper bands that encircle the cigar and write dates and other vital information on the back as a remembrance. After Tom and I smoked our cigars on that Sunday afternoon in the old barn, I asked him if he would "do the honor" of writing something significant on the back of my cigar band as a souvenir. He complied. Later that day as I fished out the contents of my pockets and found the cigar band, I flipped it over to the back and read Tom's message. It simply read, "Manger Time."
Listener-Commentator Thomas Asklar is an artist who lives in Lewiston.