Home for Christmas
By Ann Christoph
Staying home in Laguna for Christmas has unexpected charms.
One thing led to another when I went to my china cabinet looking for a holiday tablecloth.
Underneath the annually used red and green cloth are items from what used to be called a hope chest.
Those chests were where the carefully embroidered linens were set aside for one day when a girl becomes a bride and establishes her own household. One piece is the tablecloth I embroidered. It is edged in lace brought by my grandmother from her 1918 honeymoon in Brazil. The young Ann carefully hemmed the matching napkins by hand so that no stitches show. I have never used that tablecloth nor made much use of the other beautiful lacework, crocheted cloths, or other fancy pieces I inherited from my grandparents and aunts. They are all folded and placed in the drawer below the glass doors containing the wedding china that likewise remains unused. This assemblage is a tiny remnant of an imagined lifestyle, Downton Abbey on a very modest scale.
But Downton Abbey had a whole regime that not only made use of fancy items like those, but they had a system of taking care of them. Spring cleaning. Everything comes out of the cupboards, shelves are cleaned, linens are washed, dried, and ironed, and it’s all neatly put back in its place—every year. Overlooking my domestic duties, I am not giving these items the care they deserve. There is no spring cleaning—ever. The results of that neglect became painfully clear when my search revealed the remains of a cockroach infestation among the treasured tablecloths.
Everything had to be taken out, sorted, washed, and, worst of all, dealt with. Why am I keeping this? Where did these come from? Do I really need so many duplicate hand towels? Does anyone really use Holiday guest towels? Just there for cuteness?
This was one of the rewards of staying home for Christmas, confronting the realities of the space needed and the obligations that come with holding on to so many “precious” items and their memories.
How many plastic table cloths, paper plates and napkins were used and thrown away while these beauties lay secreted away unenjoyed?
Then there were the surprise encounters—Christmas day, on our morning walk there was a full-size gingerbread man walking down Eagle Rock Way. Out ran a gingerbread pajama-clad woman gesturing for him to come to her house, then welcoming us. “Take our picture! I’ll take yours together.” We went to their living room, where the whole family of adult children was laughing in their gingerbread pajamas. Pictures taken, Christmas tree and presents in the background. Onward to home, astounded.
Our Christmas brunch included young grandchildren, and Alfredo can never resist playing and teasing.
This time the tussling went too far and when all fell to the floor Alfredo’s head was bleeding. This warranted a visit to our ER. Five hours later scalp was patched up, and he passed the scan review. In the meantime, we got to watch “A Christmas Story” from the emergency cubicle. Apparently, everyone on the planet has seen this except the two of us. I couldn’t stop laughing when the dogs stole the turkey at the end. Things can go wrong at Christmas–but they can also end up right in unpredicted ways.
The next morning, neighbors were watching their young children playing with their new scooters in the street in front of our house. So happy they were right here. “We live in a tiny two-bedroom house, and it isn’t easy with the four of us, but I wouldn’t trade it for a big house in Mission Viejo…We love our neighbors who feel comfortable to just drop in.” “And where else would you see people in the street with gingerbread pajamas?” I added. “And Alfredo calls good morning to our kids every day.” Who knew the joys of staying home for Christmas?
Ann is a landscape architect and was Laguna Beach’s mayor from 1993 to 1994. She is also a long-time board member of Village Laguna, Inc.
