Seeking warmth

Dec. 8—We rolled into Santa Fe around dusk, snowflakes falling like wet feathers all around us. The heaviness of the clouds and snow muted cars and conversations (although there weren't many of them), giving us a sense that we might be the only ones left on earth — or at least in this Plaza perimeter.

The spouse and I had made a hasty escape from our home base in Los Angeles, seeking a salve for our souls that we knew only our home state of New Mexico could provide. We dropped our young kids with my mom in Las Cruces and shot northward.

We didn't have much money — just enough on our credit card to book a last-minute room at The Eldorado. So we dropped the bags there and threw ourselves into the winter evening, hoping the city would grab us in a much-needed bear hug.

We found food (I don't remember where after all these years, but I'm sure it was gloriously red and green) and were immediately caught in a trance. Everything — hotels, gallery windows, cafes, small adobe homes, heck, even the Five & Dime — sparkled in holiday glory like a high-powered Instagram filter.

I wasn't accustomed to the cold and was woefully unprepared in my SoCal sweatshirt and sneakers, but I don't remember that it much mattered — I was enraptured by a place that was far more magical than my current city's Magic Kingdom.

As a Las Cruces kid, trips to Santa Fe were always dreamy escapes to an exotic land. One time I came here with my Camp Fire Girls troop — I was about 12, and we were serving as pages for the Legislature — for my introduction to state government and our venerable Roundhouse. Afterward, our leader took us to the Pink Adobe for lessons in fine dining. After that trip, Las Cruces felt like a black-and-white photo compared to our state capital.

After having spent the better part of my adulthood in the sprawling, traffic-choked City of Angels, I jumped at the chance a few years ago to move to Santa Fe. I didn't expect it to hold up to my memories, but now, bathed in the glory of a Northern New Mexico winter, it far exceeds them.

But just last month, I was lamenting Santa Fe's utter lack of Halloween spirit. Sure, there were smatterings of pumpkin displays and scarecrows ... I even saw a giant inflatable turkey perched atop a house near Old Pecos Trail. But it's no Nightmare on Elm Street display with homeowners handing out candy in full costume with (fake) knives for hands. I felt sad as I carved an Albertsons pumpkin for my chickens to peck at, not even bothering to buy candy for the nonexistent trick-or-treaters who wouldn't dare make the trek up my dark dirt road for a miniature Snickers.

But once October slipped behind us, the Santa Fe sparkle began to emerge. First, strands of white lights appeared around thick adobe windows. Shortly after, the Plaza took on its annual glow. And then, with the help, I'm sure, of magic elves, rooftops everywhere became festooned overnight with perfectly spaced strands of farolitos.

The magic extends beyond downtown. Weck's near St. Michael's Drive, aging strip malls on Cerrillos, fast-food joints, and state buildings — they all offer some variation on paper-bag lights or a festive something-or-other.

And these are not the obligatory, "We'd better get the lights up, Clark" sorts of displays. Rather, they seem to represent the heart of the city, lighting a path for all toward that warm bear hug we all are in search of this time of year.