My Life: Christmas Farolitos

The nighttime air was so frosty I could see my breath, which only added to my already festive spirit. Lacy snowflakes drifted softly from a dark sky, first disappearing into the pavement, but eventually sticking and accumulating on adobe homes and shops with brightly painted doors and red chili pepper ristras. It was Christmas Eve and I was in Santa Fe, New Mexico, with my son, Karl.

I hoped we could participate in the annual event: At dusk, crowds of tourists and residents gather in the historic district and then walk to the base of Canyon Road. They gradually make their way up the steep incline guided only by thousands of twinkling farolitos (“little lanterns”). I wanted us to sing with the carolers as they cluster around bonfires of piñon logs sipping cider but at age 77, walking on the broken pavement at 7,000 feet altitude was more of a challenge than I remembered.

While holding Karl’s arm, I stared down into one flickering hand-lit candle, anchored in sand in a simple brown paper bag. Mesmerized by the mellow glow, I tried to remember my first Christmas in Santa Fe. What was it like to be 30 years younger when I moved there in 1982?