The Real Laguna Beach
erard had cooked till all hours the night before, while I remained catatonic from The Flu, which literally knocked me flat for the six days prior. Smells of sausage, onions, and cranberries warmed the house, promising bountiful thanksgiving offerings the following day.
He prepared the fabulous Brussels sprouts casserole with onions, plus a perfectly tangy cranberry mandarin relish, and best of all, dressing with sausage, mushrooms, and black olives (yes, black olives, and they definitely worked.)
Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade
I watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade over the top of my newspaper, marveled at the sheer volume of ads, mentally comparing prices to purchases I’d scored online in my obsession to beat the “out of stock” heartbreak.
Wearing something other than pajamas for the first time in almost a week, I helped load up the car and we drove down the hill to Bluebird Park, or the Rocket Park as it’s known around here, rightfully so now that the new three-story rocket climbing structure has been erected.
When we arrived shortly after noon, the Laguna Beach Thanksgiving Community Potluck was already in full swing.
It was a quintessential fall day, Southern California style: temperature low-to-mid seventies, and the sun dappling brilliantly through the trees, spotlighting those who gathered for the feast.
We were immediately besieged by volunteers anxious to relieve us of our aluminum trays and Tupperware. Gerard supervised the careful positioning of his dressing and Brussels sprouts dishes on one of several very long buffet stations, but entrusted the placement of the cranberry relish to my judgment.
We then made our way to the end of the line with increasing dismay, because it wound back through the park for several hundred feet, at which point another cheerful volunteer doled out paper plates, napkins, and plastic utensils.
Fearful that his contributions might be consumed by the time we made it to the buffet, he returned to the tables and asserted his provider privilege to sample some of his wares while we still could. He returned with a plate laden with dressing and Brussels sprouts which we shared with the lady in front of us in exchange for one of her homemade cookies. Happily, there was still plenty of the sausage stuffing when our turn came, and for me that was a meal in itself.
Which doesn’t mean I passed up the dessert table, where you had a choice of cheesecake, cobbler, and, of course, pumpkin pie with whipped cream.
This well-organized event, now in its 17th year, brings together those truly in need of a good meal on Thanksgiving with those only to happy to help provide it. You’re as likely to be standing next to one of your neighbors or a city council representative as you are someone who’s not sure where they’ll be spending the night.
By 1:30 p.m., the food was gone. The smarter potluck veterans had brought containers for take-home goodies, and weren’t at all shy about loading up.
“I like me a baked potato in the evening,” the charming lady with the oversized Versace glasses seated next to me said. “And what I don’t eat, I’ll give to the crows. We have to feed them, dearie, you know.” (Yes, she really did say “dearie.” And with a slightly Scottish brogue, no less.)
As we were leaving, Gerard gave me a squeeze and said, “This is what Thanksgiving should be.”
I look at him.
“Yes, and best of all, we don’t have a pile of dishes to do.”
That evening, we were reminded once again how lucky we are to be living in Laguna Beach. The real Laguna Beach.
Comments