One of my favorite Christmas was in California. My husband and I lived in Los Angeles for several years. Our first Christmas, Christmas time at midnight, we travel to San Francisco by public transport – far shorter than the Texas families sixteen miles in my weather. Next, both had to go back on Monday. It was a glorious excursion full of tiny adventures. As anyone who has traveled to San Francisco, he can tell you that the city (as they call it the ones who love it) have a lot of charm, and we've taken a lot of them. Believe me, San Francisco can get in your blood. On this second or third Christmas, California (memory fails), US-101 (in the famous American song "Ventura Highway in the Sunshine") through Santa Barbara in San Luis Obispo, then picked up the California State Highway 1 to Morro Bay. We fell into a slim motel with white blue decoration on Christmas Eve.
Christmas morning was bright and clean. We got up early, breakfasted and led to a huge, three-story rock that fled the water off the beach and named it Morro Rock. Some other diligent souls took us to the beach that morning.
If you know the Pacific Ocean along California's coast, you know it never gets hot on the beach. Windscreens help but sometimes they need more. This Christmas morning was no more than a hoodie sweater. As we walked together, we welcomed the "Merry Christmas" alone, listening to some of the passers-by, the monster and the seagulls as the greatest symphony. It pleased to touched my soul.
I followed a white light. I tightened, I uncovered a perfect sand of dollars and put it in my pocket.
On this day my dear husband and I were completely in line with each other and with our environment. Even today, when I close my eyes, I feel the sand is giving my feet and the wet breeze cools my face.
For more than ten years, I've been keeping that sand dollar. When my aunt died, I took a yellow rose from Texas to Kentucky. You see, my aunt loved the shore on the Gulf Coast, next to Lake Jackson, where she lived for years. He loved Texas as I did, even though we both were born in Kentucky. So I took my cherished sand dances and Texas went to Kentucky to put in the coffin. At that time, putting into the stuff was some people, but soon his coffin contained pictures and other memories that were ready to go home.
My favorite Christmas was not a tree, not a beautifully wrapped gift. Instead, he was full of all the things that really mattered to me – love, the big sea, the beach, the birds, and a tiny sand dollar.