Coastline Pilot/LA TIMES

24 December 2004

 

Chasing the Muse

Catharine Cooper

 

Seems as if the holiday spirit fully seeps into my system just about the time the cherished day arrives, and just as quickly fades from the scene.  The flurry of parties, shopping and frantic decorating come to an abrupt halt.  The time span between Halloween and Christmas seems ever shortened, and sadly the year moves towards its end.

 

An early celebration dinner at my mother’s house awakens cherished memories.  I sit by the side of her Christmas tree, and suddenly, I am again seven years old.  I play with her collection of stuffed bears, while recollections of Christmas past flood my mind.

 

Memories tangle with captured images.  A photograph of my second Christmas shows a small girl, something akin to a windup doll, dressed in a long white dress, posed next to an elegantly decorated tree and my first wagon.  I assume the wagon is red, but the time frame is one of black and white film.  A distinct scent of pine imbues the moment.

 

Flash forward a few years, and my brother and sister crowd the image.  By the stack of goodies, it is clear that we three have made contact, via our handwritten notes, with the North Pole, and that we have been rewarded for our ‘good’ behavior.  Santa has accepted our gift of cookies, some are gone and one remains half eaten, and the gnawed upon carrot indicates that his reindeer have also been fed.

 

Outside of the frame, my mother puts the finishes touches on dinner.  I can hear my grandparents’ laughter and my nostrils fill with familiar scents, almost like Pavlov’s famous dog.  The heavy fragrance of my grandmother’s perfume mingles with roasted turkey, pies and fresh biscuits.  The grand table is covered with the Christmas feast, and like families everywhere, we gather together in our annual celebration.

 

Memories of my own children bring the scene forward.  Cooper, my first-born son, is photographed at his first Christmas.  Footed flannel jammies and golden curls cover the not quite six-month old child. He has just begun to crawl and suddenly, he is everywhere!  He smiles, surrounded by a pile of gifts from his doting parents and the beneficent Claus. 

 

Three years pass, and images of his brother Austin add to the memories.  This time, video captures not only their images, but also their sweet giggling voices.  Austin crawls all over his dad, Gentry; Cooper chases the locomotive of his first train set. The children quickly transform the gift-wrappings to a pile of trash.  My father arrives for a breakfast of creamed eggs on toast, a pile of crisp bacon and toasted English muffins.

 

My contribution to the Christmas tradition has been a living tree.  Its roots are safely tucked in a plastic container covered by a looped rug skirt my mother has crafted.  The tree is resplendent with handmade ornaments – small creatures and stars.  I wonder where I found the time between raising those two kids to sew and embroider those sweet treasures.  

 

With the establishment of my own family, the creation of the Christmas meal has fallen to my hands.  I lay recipes passed from my great-grandmother on the counter, her tightly curled script barely visible on the aging paper.  As I roll the pastry for the pies, I can see her hands, the spark in her graying eyes, and feel her gently touch upon my shoulder.  The preparation of the turkey comes from my mother, clear instructions on defrosting, stuffing and time to roast.  The brilliant cranberry-orange relish and the sweet potatoes, a gift from my dad.

 

Children grow up – darn it!  Legos and trains shift to trikes and bikes, and eventually fade in the parade of Transformers, Walkmans, and Playstations.    Eventually, computers and ipods fill the bill.  And finally, ‘just a check, mom’, replaces gift giving altogether.  Now, it seems a small miracle if we are altogether in the same town at the same time!

 

This year, Christmas will be spent at the wedding of my father Crofton, and his fiancé, Janice.  In a small chapel under the shimmering Las Vegas sky, my fathazer will transform his life, yet again, and commit to the task of doting husband.  I send them both early blessings of patience, honest conversations, and the joy of loving.

 

Merry Christmas to each and every one of you!

 

Catharine Cooper can be reached at ccooper@cooperdesign.net