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By norMa sadler
Somehow it became routine for me to go with Barbara , my best friend from Whittier High School to Laguna Beach during the Christmas season . Those first trips included our mothers , and we would take them to various restaurants : C ’ est La Vie , where we ’ d sit outside on the patio , the Cliff Restaurant , or that canopied special place called the Beach House , now gone .
Always , we wanted to be close to the ocean .
But most of all , I remember that , after the loss of both of our mothers , Barbara would pick me up , and we ’ d
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Holiday Treasure drive down the canyon and end up at the Laguna Art Museum . After seeing the exhibits , with two coffees to go from a shop on Pacific Coast Highway , we ’ d sit on a bench and watch volleyball players and look past them to the sea . Our packed lunches consisted of egg salad sandwiches , olives , carrots and brownies for dessert . A few surfers would catch our attention . Walking south on PCH , we would stop and visit shops and galleries . Returning to the other side of the street , we ’ d find ourselves in need of another dessert , like ice cream cones from a shop near the corner . Then we ’ d head home .
Way before those adult memories , though , connections to this beach town were a part of my high school social life . A club to which I belonged decided to rent a home in Laguna Beach . Bake sales and car washes ( mostly boys ’ cars washed over and over , plus others ) and money from our parents paid for our trip . The accommodations were a home that could sleep 20 girls , which just happened to be near where the boys were . During that time , many of us thought we were in love with someone for sure . The beach by day , the parties by night . Who can imagine teenage boys and girls spending all those hours talking and laughing ? Yes , there were chaperones .
Time in Laguna Beach near the
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ocean is a gift that I have always treasured . Such a magical place to renew my spirit with family or friends and to hold them dear .
Norma Sadler is a member of Third Street Writers , Laguna Beach .
Tynan PAGE 16
dread-fear , wrapping and twisting around me like crimson stripes on peppermint sticks given to fidgety children by beleaguered German priests to pacify voices and occupy hands during Christ Mass , causing me to wonder if I am enough to occupy you , thus I strain to hear in voices wafting up from the street below , gay as carolers , any sign that you and I will find our own voices joyful , or will you cross a continent for a lump of coal which you ’ ll toss back at me with a withering “ bah humbug .”
Then thoughts , from whence I know not , arousing in me recognition of Advent ’ s inherent spirit – Coming , compel me to properly prepare for yours , so I arise , cross the room , lift the box gifted me at our office white elephant exchange by my cherished Jewish co-worker ( the one whose mischievous elf-smile advised that Catholics should not expect conventional Christmas gifts from Jews ), pick off blue bow and ribbon , peel away
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shiny silver paper , and lift the box ’ s lid to find swaddled and nestled amid light blue tissue , soft like angel hair , an artist ’ s creation rendered in ceramic : an ornamental palm tree , turquoise and gold-yellow palms beaming , desirous to adorn the Christmas tree we do not possess .
On the third night comes to me an epiphany for the ornament tree that is meant to bejewel real trees – which do not exist in this room by the beach – as I sit upon my solitary chair before my nonexistent table gathering into my lap silver hooks and blue ribbon to create my own Christmas miracle , which I complete after a time well past the hour at which you would be asleep in some city located less than half day ’ s drive from here , then rising and placing the chair in the space where the Christmas tree we do not have would be , under which one solitary box will rest , I stand upon it and lift my arms toward the heavens .
Christmas eve , you arrive , our door swings wide , arms embrace , lips press hard as you breathe in my ear how warm the night air feels – you step inside , I take your bag , and follow your gaze that comes to rest upon the ceramic palm tree , hanging from ribbon that hangs from ceiling , twinkling and blinking – reflections of neighbors ’ holiday lights – like some luminescent angel or beckoning star set atop the Christmas tree we do not need this night , a coded message only we can decipher – M-Y-L-O-V-E-I-S-H-E-R-E .
John is a recovering romantic living and loving Mary Ellen , his wife of 31 years , in Irvine .
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By LB Indy Staff
Can you stand still for 90 seconds ? Do you enjoy art , theater and music ? If the answer to these questions is a yes , the 2024 Pageant of the Masters invites you its open casting call from Jan . 5 to 7 , where the show will be searching for volunteers for next summer ’ s show , À La Mode : The Art of Fashion .
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Everyone who signs up to volunteer during the event will be entered into a special drawing for two tickets to Disneyland .
Volunteers of all ages and sizes are needed to be cast members and strike a pose in the world ’ s most famous presentation of tableaux vivants . No prior theater experience is necessary , and volunteers ages five and up are
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welcome . The only requirement is the ability to stand still and have fun . In addition to onstage roles , volunteers are needed for many crucial roles backstage , including wardrobe , makeup and headdress , as well as cast area coordinators and refreshment servers .
The open casting call will be held backstage at the Pageant of the Masters on the Festival of Arts
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grounds at 650 Laguna Canyon Road on Friday , Jan . 5 , from 7 to 9 p . m ., Saturday , Jan . 6 , from 7 to 9 p . m . and Sunday , Jan . 7 from 2 - 5 p . m .
It takes over 500 volunteers , both onstage and behind-the-scenes , to put on the Pageant production each summer .
VOLUNTEERS , PAGE 23
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