The Perfect Gift

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HolidayDigest

By Peggy Larson
By Peggy Larson

The rugs are all rolled up and pictures no longer adorn the walls. The Christmas carols pouring from the stereo echo in the barren condo.  It’s my last Christmas day in Milwaukee, Wisc., before packing up and moving to Laguna Beach.  The tree in the corner looks lonely with the rest of the room’s contents packed away in boxes.

“At last,” I think with butterflies in my gut that come from equal parts fear and excitement.

Several trips to California began a passionate love affair with the beauty of Laguna. Just like sand between my toes and salty air in my hair after a day at Shaw’s Cove, my vacation memories fondly clung to me.  Returning to Milwaukee and its bitter cold winter days and frozen landscapes that lacked color for months on end became more unbearable every time I travelled to Laguna Beach.

Another perfect sunset on Main Beach.
Another perfect sunset on Main Beach.

Years later the stars aligned and I would have the good fortune to relocate to a village that seemed a storybook. Where the boardwalk on Main Beach was the yellow brick road.  My wanderlust had finally found a home.

“A gypsy,” my mother always said.  When I was little, I didn’t know what it meant.  But my inquisitive nature about where the trains at the edges of our backyard were going, were foreign and pointless to her Wisconsin small town upbringing.

“It doesn’t matter,” she would say in answer to my inquiries. “This is your home. Now stop asking ridiculous questions.”

It didn’t stop me, and my imagination only thrived on her frustration. Watching the trains roar past and the blurred faces of the mysterious passengers, I knew full well that one day I would explore all there was to explore.  Mountains and oceans. Big cities. Tropical paradises. And countries where no one spoke my language.

But even that dreamy-eyed little girl could not have imagined living in Laguna Beach. Who knew such a place even existed? A place where the brilliance of the sunsets are in a beautifully blinding techno color. Where flowers bloom year round; where the hills and mountains seem to dance in undulation; and where the ocean casts her rhythmic spell, wave after wave crashing upon the shore.  And, bitter cold?  Not a chance!

“Less than 24 hours and this train leaves the station for good,” disbelief that I should be so lucky.

I darken the Christmas tree lights and wrap the precious ornaments for transport.   A lifetime of memories – snowmen and teddy bears crafted by my daughters’ little hands, mementos from world travels, tiny faces in golden frames. They are the past – hanging from little silver hooks and the corners of my heart. Next year, they will adorn my first Christmas tree in Laguna Beach.

The artificial tree is stuffed back into its box where its branches poke out in protest of 11 months of idle purpose. I make one last walk around the condo to be sure there is nothing left undone before the movers arrive in the morning.  Settling into bed with a glass of wine, the draperies are pulled open for one last look at the downtown skyline before drifting off to sleep.

The lights twinkle and I pull the down comforter up tight to my neck to keep the chill at bay.  Contentment fills my heart.  Milwaukee has been a good place to grow up and to raise my children.  But the time is right to spread my wings and fly.  California feels right – at just the right time.

The sky outside tonight seems extra dark and the stars are nonexistent. Raising my glass, a toast to the life I’ve had so far and the new one that beckons me west.

The snowflakes fall softly and seem like magic this time – wishing me farewell on my adventure.  A white Christmas.  The perfect gift.  “Merry Christmas,” I whisper softly to the little girl who watched trains rush by and wished for the world.

Peggy Larson moved to Laguna Beach on Dec. 26, 2010.  She lives happily ever after with the magical beauty that surrounds her.

 

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