Somewhere in the last decade I lost my spiritual center for the two holidays most dear to me. Without that spirit there is only food for Thanksgiving and a to-do list for Christmas. I needed to reclaim the joy, the sense of wonder and gratitude the months of November and December represent. Desperate and depressed, an image of water came to mind.
Water to a California transplant means "ocean."
Hmmm, Thanksgiving near the ocean. Okay. Then the real idea formed. Warm ocean is not something we have around here; it's only in the southern part of California that "warm" is connected to "ocean," especially in November. And Southern California has not only beautiful beaches but one place two children would love to return to before growing too old to appreciate the simple pleasures found there. Anyone? That's right: LEGOLAND! (You were thinking about the Mouse, right?) No, Legoland is much more our speed.
That's what we did. We drove down to Carlsbad and spent a glorious sunny day on the beach, eating a take-out turkey (and pastrami for Danny) feast on the beach. The kids played in the waves and we all laughed at the dogs parading their people. We toasted my mom, who should have been celebrating her 80th birthday on earth, not heaven. We were together, the four of us; tightly bound, gently blessed. We decided that we had a new Thanksgiving tradition and would have to celebrate every year on a beach.
Our hotel was across from the beach, a last minute find but quite nice, with a simple kitchen, small living room and bedroom. Two days in we were getting ready to head out when Dan reported that the ceiling was leaking. Indeed. The woman above flooded the bathroom from her shower and we received most of the water through the light fixture (zzzzzapt!) and ceiling drywall. Knowing that we'd have to move to another property or room when we returned put a small damper on my enthusiasm (I'm the kind of traveller who unpacks immediately and likes the room to feel like home) but did not wreck the magic. Strong magic it was.
The last morning we went to Mission San Juan Capistrano for the Latin Mass in the Serra Chapel. I had been hoping for a beautiful experience but the "no joy here" was okay, too, so the kids could see the difference with their own open and loving parish at home. There was a shrine to St. Peregrine, the "cancer saint" (who knew?) and I delved a bit into that story. We stayed longer than we planned.
Driving back home we received a text message on my smarter-than-me phone announcing the early arrival of a cousin. New life — remembrance of life gone before — living every moment with awareness.
That was our Thanksgiving. Who knows what we have planned for Christmas...
