Chasing Down The Muse: A first Christmas in Laguna

Christmas Day, 1958.

The most gigantic Christmas tree we’d ever had commanded the corner of the living room in our new home on the top of Ledroit Lane. A shiny conical star crowned the top, and my mom’s shimmering glass ornaments reflected the twinkling color of lights and the silver shimmer of tinsel. The fragrant Douglas fir mingled with the scents of roasting turkey and baking pumpkin pies. This was our first Laguna Christmas.

Our move from Long Beach came after Dad found a sweetheart of a house on an acre of land with mature fruit trees and eucalyptus. There was a separate bedroom for my brother, sister and I, and one downstairs for guests. The yellow house sat on the sloping north Laguna hillside and had a panoramic vista of the Pacific Ocean. We’d settled into Laguna living. Dad was building apartment complexes in Anaheim; my brother, Gly, and I were students at El Morro Elementary; Mom was involved with the PTA; and Claudia still got to stay at home and play.

As the days to Christmas neared, it seemed as if the pile of presents under the tree grew. All the relatives were coming to our house that year, and there was a gift for everyone. It was tough not to peek at the ones that had my name on the tag, but Mom had said anyone caught looking would forfeit that present. That was too huge a penalty to risk, and so I tightly clasped my fingers behind my back to keep them from straying.

On Christmas morning, we kids hustled downstairs in the nearly pre-dawn hours. We couldn’t wait a minute longer to see what Santa Claus had left. Wide-eyed and delighted, we noticed that the reindeer had polished off most of the carrots, and that Mr. Claus had left only crumbs where once there were cookies. The glass of milk? Half consumed.

We hastily set about playing with Santa’s gifts, until I’m sure our laughter forced our parents to stumble down, camera in hand, to see what treats we had found. Mom looked us over and headed to the kitchen. Dad turned on the phonograph, stacked the LPs and dropped the needle onto the sounds of Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby.

Mom’s relatives arrived first. The women — great-grandmother Catharine, the pie-maker, and Granny Gretchen, in charge of various vegetables and side dishes — cut, chopped and stirred. The men — great-grandfather Adolf, who was by then in his late 80s, and grandfather Harold — headed to the living room bar to chat with Dad. The kitchen was a flurry of activity, where aprons protected party attire, and minute-by-minute the holiday meal moved closer to the table. The house increased with warmth from the ovens and grew richer as the savory smells wafted throughout the rooms.

Dad was busy making eggnog treats — spiked for the adults, virgin for the kids. His mother, Edna, arrived, along with Jack, her lifelong companion, and her red accordion. Before dinner, she took it out of its case and entertained us all with renditions of Christmas carols and her famous polka tunes.

While the kids were anxious to open our gifts, this was not to happen until after Christmas dinner. As an 8-year-old, this was nearly torture. While the food was fabulous and each bite seemed tastier than the one before, I admit that my attention was focused toward the tree and the brightly colored papers and bows. I hardly tasted the mouthwatering pumpkin pie.

And in the boxes? New clothes from my grandmothers — handmade in just my size and style — books and toys from my parents, and from Edna (never to be called grandmother), a junior-sized red accordion just for me. My first sounds were not the most melodic, but she assured me I could master a polka, and there was a music book with finger positions and chords to guide me.

While my 8-year-old self was most excited about the presents under the tree, it is my 60-year-old self that reflects back on the luxury of having my great-grandparents with us that first Laguna Christmas. Their love and acknowledgment of me remain truly priceless.

Now, of course it is their memory that fills the space around the tree and the stockings hung with care. This year, as in all those that have followed, I carry them closely in my heart, and share with you the fullest sentiment, when I say Merry Christmas to all. Let love guide you in the New Year.

CATHARINE COOPER remains a Laguna girl. She can be reached at ccooper@cooperdesign.net.