El Encanto

The Enchanted Drive… in Spanish. 

That was the meaning of the name of the street where our family home was located at 1407 El Encanto Drive, Brea, California, 90621.  I remember saving up to buy that house.  I was a little girl in Downey, California – the oldest of six children.  Our home in Downey was three bedrooms and two bathrooms.  That meant that my sister and I shared a bedroom, and my four brothers shared a bedroom.  They were squished.  There was a bunk bed on one wall and across from that a twin bed and a crib.  Each boy had one drawer in the dresser and one-fourth of the closet for all their clothes and toys.  We didn’t have a lot of clothes and toys, so the closet wasn’t at capacity – in any of our bedrooms. 

The time had come to buy a different house.  My dad was a professor at Cerritos College in Norwalk, California and my mother was a full-time mom, so money was scarce.  My folks knew that we would have to go out – way out – to the hinterlands to find a home that would be large enough for the family and easy enough on the budget.  Dad had a twin sister who lived in Orange County, so that was where the house hunt was centered.

Mom made a 3-foot tall thermometer out of poster board and ribbon, and put it on the bulletin board in the family room/dining room of our Downey home.  We would all pitch in until we could earn enough money for the down payment on a new house.  Dad was in charge of the earnings, and he was great at including us in the adventure.  He would give us “money jobs” around the house and then we could decide if we wanted to donate our money to our new house or keep it to buy candy.  I was all in on the new house concept.  Sounded like heaven to me.

The ribbon on the thermometer grew taller and taller until finally, we had enough for a down payment.  I remember the first time I ever saw the house on El Encanto, or The Enchanted Drive.  It was a sprawling ranch house with four bedrooms and three bathrooms.  That meant a master suite for Mom and Dad, two boys in one bedroom, two boys in another bedroom, and my sister and I in the most beautiful bedroom of all.  Even better, there was a boys’ bathroom and a girls’ bathroom!  Finally!!

I loved the house, but hated the entry hall.  It was a rough, pebbly surface just like the front porch.  It was uncomfortable for bare feet, which I think was the reason my mother kept it all those years.  She preferred that we kept our shoes on.  As you entered the red double doors at the front of the house into that entry all, you could step down into the formal living room.  You could also see the patio and the spacious back yard.  The living room was the only room in the house that was professionally decorated, and it was a beautiful, Mediterranean approach with various greens and deep reds and browns.  The piano was in that room, so our family gathered there frequently to play, sing, listen, chat and learn.

Across from the living room, still off the entry hall was the Master Suite.  It was huge.  My folks bought a king size bed and night stands, as well as a dresser and a highboy, and there was still room to play.  Their bathroom had a large vanity with a huge mirror, and a separate shower and toilet area.  The suite was their sanctuary.  But, since cleaning it was frequently my job, I knew where they kept everything, including where Dad kept those big, fluffy, orange candy peanuts.  They were never safe.  I still get a craving for them sometimes…

Dad’s office was also across from the living room, and adjacent to the Master Suite.  He built in a wall of bookcases that was filled with literary treasures as well as random educational materials.  He built a credenza on the opposite wall, and then his huge desk smack in the middle of what other people used as a dining room.  The desk was enormous.  Cleaning it was a chore.  I had to constantly move around it because I couldn’t stand on one side and reach the other side.  Dad also installed a secretary’s desk on the wall in front of his desk.  My sister or my mom acted as his secretary, as they were both very detail oriented which he appreciated.  I was, and still am, more like him – a “big picture” person.  He and I would sit side by side at his desk and dream about vacations and businesses.  He would ask me about school and life and I would ask him about life and school.  I loved being in his space.

At the end of the entry hall, and on the other side of Dad’s office was the kitchen, dining area and family room – an open concept arrangement that works to this day.  That area was the center of our lives.  Mom made sure that dinner was on the table at 5:30 every night, no matter what.  Dinner was frequently meat and potatoes or a casserole, with an iceberg lettuce salad, tomatoes, green peas, corn or green beans.  There was always homemade bread and jam.  Mom was a good cook with an eye on the budget.  My sister and I were her assistants, and mostly tore lettuce and set the table.  Dinner time with the eight of us was my favorite time of the day.  Dad loved to talk about concepts and realities, and Mom loved to fact-find and share.  The conversations were stimulating and invigorating.  I loved that. Then, eventually the puns would start, and all the boys would try to top each other with the cleverest pun.  To this day, I don’t appreciate that kind of humor.  I wearied of it as a child. When it started, I began clearing the table.  Eventually, after the last terrible pun, Dad would jump up and get everyone into the kitchen for a whirlwind cleaning job – fast and thorough.  Then he would go teach his night class and we’d tackle our homework at the kitchen table.  Sometimes I was still at it when he came home from class at 10:00 pm.  He’d sit by me at the table and we’d figure out my geometry dilemmas… and other of life’s nefarious theories and theorems.

That home is home to me.  It was an enchanted time, when all of my siblings were together and we were each and all uncovering the mysteries and ministries that molded our lives.  We watched a man step on the moon on the TV in the family room, we baked cakes for birthdays and bashes in the kitchen, we argued and reasoned around the table, we cooked and cleaned, we sang, and yelled, and talked and whispered of dreams and demands and decisions.  The El Encanto house helped us center our lives on love that binds us even now.