Over the twenty-seven years I’ve lived in Santa Fe, many people have come and many people have gone.
As a child, I planted seeds every spring and knew how likely it was that, when I forgot to water them, they would never spring from the dry earth.
Bells are ringing all over Santa Fe and the Plaza is blindingly bright with tree-strung lights…
Something in our basic human nature calls for ritual celebration with other people, even if the other people are strangers.
There are roses blooming even in the darkness of this December.
The writer’s challenge is always to create the life rather than the theory or the explanation of the life…
I understand her decision although it causes me a spasm of regret, as all the dreams abandoned by women do: the great heap of the unrealistic and the unrealizable that lies alongside nearly every woman’s life.
Nostalgia is not my strong suit. Most family rituals, in my experience, long outlive their usefulness… Fortunately, there are exceptions.
The five of us children were persuaded, or if necessary, dragooned, into producing a truncated version of “A Christmas Carol” which I, as the writer in the family, was charged with shortening.
Although I loved presents, even hankered for them, the ones I received—mainly books—never mattered as much as the presents I gave, and for that I will always be grateful.