Pasatiempo, Dec. 22, 2023

The New Mexican’s Weekly Magazine of Arts, Entertainment & Culture

December 22, 2023

THE WINNERS!

December 22, 2023

The write stuff

We asked for your best works of fiction, nonfiction, and poetry, and boy, did you deliver. Presenting the winners of the 2023 Pasatiempo Writing Contest.

11 Introduction 12 Grand Prize Winner 14 The Judges 16 The Winners: Fiction 22 The Winners: Nonfiction 28 The Winners: Poetry 32 Pasa Youth Writer Prize Winners: Fiction 40 Pasa Youth Writer Prize Winner: Nonfiction 42 Pasa Youth Writer Prize Winners: Poetry

OUT THERE 6 Ojos Diferentes virtual storytelling 7 Santa Fe singer-songwriter Kipp Bentley 7 Max Gomez plays the (Northern New Mexico) triangle 8 Santa Fe Botanical Garden’s La Luz de las Noches 8 Santa Fe Pro Musica’s Bach and Beyond 9 An intimate concert at Kitchen Sink Recording Studio

MOVING IMAGES 46 Chile Pages In theaters and special screenings

EXTRAS 4 Editor’s Note: The write time 48 Star Codes 50 Pasa Week 52 Pasa Planner 55 Final Frame

Cover: Honoring our 2023 contest entrants Design Taura Costidis Photo this page courtesy Santa Fe Botanical Garden

PA S AT I E M P O MAG A Z I N E.CO M Visit Pasatiempo at pasatiempomagazine.com and on Facebook ©2023 The Santa Fe New Mexican Pasatiempo is an arts, entertainment, and culture magazine published every Friday by The New Mexican, P.O. Box 2048, Santa Fe, New Mexico, 87504.

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ON THE COVER

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EDITOR’S NOTE

The write time When I was in the first grade, I wrote a poem that was published in The Las Cruces Sun-News, included among other winners across the city for the paper’s writing contest. I think seeing my work in black and white, right there on the pages of such an esteemed publication, might be my first memory, only slightly predating the time I accidentally opened the car door thinking I was rolling down the window as we were speeding down Solano Drive. Thankfully, my dad reached over from the driver’s seat just in time to save me from a hard blacktop landing (“What are you doing?!” was also his panicked-parent attempt at comforting me).

Another key memory? I’m a New Year’s baby, and when my parents enrolled me in the first grade at the age of 5, the local paperwork checkers at the Las Cruces school district saw fit to pull me out after discovering that a student, me, had been born just a few hours past the cutoff for that year’s enrollment.

I had been in school only a few weeks, but I loved it. But etched deep in the corners of my brain like a dark stain, I can still see my first grade teacher’s face as she told me during “quiet time” (what I came to learn was actually new marketing for “nap time”) that I wouldn’t be returning until the next school year.

All that while Debussey’s Clair de lune played on a scratchy record player in the background. My parents sued, and I returned triumphantly to the first grade just a few weeks later (and ultimately to write the aforementioned award-winning “Rocket in My Pocket”).

In the third grade, I wrote about that experience, which I didn’t realize had cut a deep and traumatic slice through my psyche. I lived in constant fear of another “you’re too young for this” extraction from the classroom, so it forced me to try harder than anyone, being the youngest and usually the smallest among my classmates. (Incidentally, that do-or-die drive resulted in me at one point getting knocked out during a game of Red Rover, wherein I didn’t realize my tiny body would be no match for those locked arms.)

I digress, but what I didn’t know at the time was that the evil-doers at the school district gave me something I didn’t know I needed: Material for a thirdgrade memoir assignment.

As I read through the hundreds of entries in this year’s Pasatiempo Writing Contest, I felt every emotion, saw through the eyes of every writer, and was transported into the worlds constructed on each page. A kitchen filled with spices, a car on a road trip, a young girl’s reflection on her hair, a tree — they represent the magic of words and their ability to provide a sweet and utter escape into a worldview that’s not our own. And all of us here at Pasatiempo left those reading experiences inspired (and I’ll admit also tired, because more than 300 of you entered this year).

So much like 5-year-old me who received encouragement from teachers, family (thanks, Dad, for not letting me fall out of the car that day), and crusty old newspaper editors who published poems by first graders, I want to lift my favorite pen in support of this great community of writers, many of whom were generous enough to share their traumas and triumphs and put them out there to be seen by the contest judges and Pasa readers at large.

And as we head into the holidays and New Year’s (no gifts, please), I hope you’ll be inspired by them, too.

Carolyn Graham, Editor cgraham@sfnewmexican.com Follow us: @ThePasatiempo @PasatiempoMag

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PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

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OUT THERE TECH NOTES

Local artists project local history

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PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

PHOTOS COURTESY REFRACT STUDIO

Imagine visiting Santa Fe’s monuments, tourist sites, and hidden historic locations by clicking icons on a digital map. City historian Valerie Rangel made that possible when she lassoed geographic information system technology to create a series of deeply researched and documented websites, each revealing a layer of Santa Fe’s history.

But Rangel and the city Arts and Culture Department weren’t finished. They wanted to show our story through a more personal lens as well. Working with Refract Studio of Santa Fe beginning in 2022, they chose a handful of local artists to create video projects combining historical reflection on a place or icon with personal interpretation.

The dealmaker? Each project would include augmented reality.

The result is Ojos Diferentes, No. 6 in the series of Santa Fe websites based on StoryMap technology. Here you’ll find out-of-this-world videos featuring teepee-shaped rockets with laser beams, ghosts lurking on the Plaza, helmeted “Watchmen” protecting Pueblo lands, and dancers made of light. The site now includes eight projects, with plans for two more.

The projects express a range of emotions, from humor to anger to tenderness.

“Each artist had free rein to create their own interpretation,” says Chelsey Johnson, director of the city Arts and Culture Department. “It’s the full spectrum of human experience and emotion.”

In his project, “A River Through Time,” multimedia artist Ehren Kee Natay used science fiction and time travel to create a film noir-style scenario in which Indigenous people have made exponential technical advances and now have the power to overthrow society.

The Plaza ghosts are imagined by Chicana artist and poet Artemisio Romero Y Carver in a reflection inspired by a bronze plaque near Palace and Washington downtown honoring the Santa Fe trail drivers. In a voiceover, she says the apparitions are ghosts of settlers reduced to “cattle-hungry animals.”

The other six projects on the Ojos Diferentes site are: Jemez Pueblo sculptor Cliff Fragua compares Pueblo Revolt leader Po’Peh to St. Francis in a project that includes music by The Cloud Eagle Singers, also from Jemez Pueblo.

Multimedia artist PAZ (also known as Mapitzmitl) and his daughter, dancer Crystál Xochitl Zamora of Albuquerque, imagine dancers made of energy and light at Louis Montaño Park, part of the Barrio de Analco Historic District.

Pottery artist Virgil Ortiz of Cochiti Pueblo creates scary looking “Recon Watchmen” who, in the year 2180, watch over the past, present, and future of the Pueblo people.

Lady Shug, a Diné activist for LGBTQ rights, gives a guided tour of La Fonda on the Plaza.

Santa Fe poet and artist Natachee Momaday Gray uses the statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe to reflect on motherhood.

Taos poet Olivia Romo imagines a worker in a HazMat suit outside the office where J. Robert Oppenheimer and his team launched the Manhattan Project.

The city provided $50,000 in March 2022 to offer the artists small stipends and to pay Refract Studio to work with them on the AI component. In some cases, the artists were already familiar with the technology and did most of the work themselves. Others acted more as creative directors, describing their vision and letting Refract make it happen, says Lauren Cason, the studio’s creative director and co-founder.

“We didn’t want to ask them to learn a new technology if they didn’t want to,” Cason says.

The Ojos Diferentes site went live last December and, a year later, has already garnered international attention. It was a finalist in the augmented reality category

An imagined ghost looms over downtown Santa Fe in this image from a video project by artist and poet Artemisio Romero Y Carver for the city’s Ojos Diferentes project. Jemez Pueblo sculptor Cliff Fragua built his Ojos Diferentes project around his own statue of Pueblo Revolt leader Po’Peh.

for a Webbie Award, billed as the leading international award honoring excellence on the Internet. Competitors in the category included such giants as Meta, Google, and Snapchat. More recently, Snapchat gave Ojos Diferentes its Moonshot Award, which goes to a project that showed innovative use of the instant messaging app.

“This project is really punching above its weight,” Cason says.

Although she came on board in September, after the project was complete, Johnson is an enthusiastic supporter of Ojos Diferentes, comparing it to Pokémon GO, a smartphone game that uses GPS technology and augmented reality to catch and train Pokémon characters.

“You’re in your everyday reality, then you lift your phone and it becomes a lens and this 3D moving, talking figure emerges,” she says. “A story is not simply text or a flat image but something that appears in front of you and inspires feelings of wonder. It’s fantastical and super real at the same time.” — Judy Robinson/For The New Mexican Access Ojos Diferentes and Santa Fe’s six other websites based on geomapping at: Ojos Diferentes — ojosdiferentes.com Perspectives on Water: A Storymap on the topic of water — sfnm.co/Water No Me Olvides: A People’s History — sfnm.co/NoMeOlvides Layers of Santa Fe: Visualize the city through geographic layers of time, space, history — sfnm.co/Layers Teacher’s Guide: Lesson plans and resources for K-12 teachers — sfnm.co /TeachersGuide Sombras de Oscuridad: Santa Fe’s Mysteries, Legends and Lore — sfnm .co/SombrasdeOscuridad City of Faith: A People’s History of the City of Santa Fe — sfnm.co /CityOfFaith

ALBUM NOTES

Classic Bentley Santa Fe singer-songwriter Kipp Bentley‘s first album, Rose of Jericho, racked up multiple recognitions at the 2021 New Mexico Music Awards. It was named album of the year; album opener “Genevieve” was named best Americana song, and “Long Snake Moan” was awarded best arrangement for an original song.

Bentley released his latest album, Durable Goods, in November. It’s available on streaming services, at kippbentley .bandcamp.com, and at his website, kippbentley.com.

“You might have done better, but you settled for me. Sometimes I regret Santa Fe singerit; sometimes I agree,” Bentley sings songwriter Kipp Bentley performs over drums and a guitar on the song here in January.

“I’m a Prize,” an example of the dry wit that permeates his work. Another example is the chorus of opening track “Heirlooms”: “They don’t have museums for people like us, to take in our family dishes and stuff.”

“Heirlooms” is one of two singles from the album; the other is “New Sharon.” Bentley plans two Santa Fe-area performances in January in support of the album, at Cowgirl BBQ and Nuckolls Brewing Lamy Railyard.

The former Indiana and Colorado resident also works as a rug weaver, running Santa Fe’s Estambre Studios with his wife, Linda Running Bentley. — Brian Sandford 4 p.m. January 3, Cowgirl BBQ, 319 S. Guadalupe Street 4 p.m. January 6, Nuckolls Brewing Lamy Railyard, 152 Old Lamy Trail, Lamy

LOCAL TUNES

Max capacity Call it the Taos triangle.

Songwriter Max Gomez, who’s based in that town that has inspired so many visual artists, is making three stops in Northern New Mexico during a mini-tour that will close 2023.

His performances are billed as “Max Gomez and Friends holiday concerts,” and one of those friends is opener Esther Rose, a New Orleans-based country musician.

Gomez’s music can be described Taoseño Max Gomez as Western folk, and he delivers brings his signature lines in a distinctive low voice. He’s sound to various venworking on his second full-length ues on the Northern New Mexico triangle. album but clearly isn’t in a rush; his first release, Rule the World, came out in 2013, and was followed by an EP, Me & Joe, in 2017.

Gomez recorded both releases in the Los Angeles area, where he spends some of his time. The lyrics of “SSweet Cruel World,” a track from Me & Joe, could well be about Taos: “You say that it’s never felt like home / But, baby, you haven’t kicked off your shoes. / You cry that you don’t wanna feel trapped / But I’m only here to help you lose all your blues. / Besides, it’s a wonderful town / I wish you’d give it a try.”

Following are Gomez’s upcoming appearances. — B.S. 7:30 p.m. Thursday, December 28, Tumbleroot Brewery and Distillery, 2791 Agua Fria Street, $25-$40; tumblerootbreweryanddistillery.com 8 p.m. December 29, Taos Center for the Arts, 133 Paseo Del Pueblo Norte, Taos, $30-$45; tcataos.org 5 and 7 p.m. December 30, Fuller Lodge, 2132 Central Avenue, Los Alamos, $35; liveinlosalamos.com

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OUT THERE

HOLIDAY HOOPLA

Garden of the lights The Santa Fe Botanical Garden is kicking off an exhibit, La Luz de las Noches, that will welcome a number of artists and musicians to celebrate the holidays.

The grounds of the garden will be illuminated by hundreds of farolitos and luminarias, and visitors are welcome during holiday hours from 4:30 to 7:30 p.m. Friday, December 22, through New Year’s Day (the garden will be closed Christmas Eve and Christmas Day).

As Above So Below Distillery will provide cocktails during opening weekend, including a drink — La Luz — specifically crafted for the garden. Rainbird Taylor of Yapopup: Indigenous Soul Food will also be on hand the first weekend Farolitos and artists to feed the crowds. greet visitors to the Santa Fe Botanical Rachel Kelli, who calls herself the violin queen, Garden for La Luz de will be the musical star Friday, December 22, at las Noches. the Hendricksen Pavilion, and dancers are featured that evening at the Berlin Amphitheater tent. That evening, father-and-son jewelry artists Steve and Cree LaRance (Hopi/Assinboine) will sell their work at the gift shop. Pottery and ceramics artist Jason Garcia will be at the gift shop Tuesday, December 26, and his son Jacob Shije will be on the musical bill at the pavilion that evening.

The garden is spread over 19 acres on Museum Hill, with eight acres developed with walking paths that meander through a variety of vegetation sections. — Spencer Fordin 715 Camino Lejo $27 for adults and nonmembers; $22.50 for members; $6-$8 for ages 6-17; and free for those younger than 5 505-471-9103; santafebotanicalgarden.org

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PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

FOR THE EARS

Bach to the future Well, it may not exactly be back to the future, but at least to the late 20th century and the work of two living composers, courtesy of Bach and Beyond, Santa Fe Pro Musica’s final concerts of 2023.

The Bach portion consists of his Violin Concerto in A minor and his Orchestral Suite No. 3 in D major.

(An arrangement of its second movement became famous as From top: Santa Fe Pro Musica’s final the “Air on the G String.”) Artistic 2023 program feadirector Colin Jacobsen is the tures works by Felix soloist in the former and leads Mendelssohn, Arvo Pärt, and Philip Glass. the orchestra in the latter.

Felix Mendelssohn’s String Symphony No. 10 from 1823 is a mid-point stopover on the journey. The one-movement piece was the work of a 14-year-old, reflecting Mendelssohn’s early and passionate championing of a composer considered hopelessly out of date at the time. Arvo Pärt’s 1977 Fratres (Brothers) was written in the Estonian composer’s just-created “tintinnabuli” style, which reflects the influence of Gregorian chant and which can be played on a wide variety of instruments.

The most recent work on the program is Philip Glass’ Company; also known as his String Quartet No. 2, it was originally written as theater music, to accompany a staged version of a Samuel Beckett novella. Company comes from the same period as the opera Akhnaten and shares that work’s rhythmic drive and harmonic palette. — Mark Tiarks/For The New Mexican

7:30 p.m. Thursday, December 28, and December 29 St. Francis Auditorium, 107 W. Palace Avenue $35-$100 505-988-4640; sfpromusica.org

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IN THE STUDIO

Return engagement New York-based folk/blues musicians Kate Vargas and Eric McFadden, both songwriters who grew up in New Mexico, host an online performance at 6:30 p.m. Mountain Time on Mondays called Live From the Red Couch. The pair’s chemistry comes through via the screen; they open with a few minutes of friendly banter before playing a mix of covers and originals. The show sometimes starts a few minutes late and can be viewed at facebook.com/KateVargasMusic.

For those who’d rather hear them in person, you’ll get the chance Saturday, December 23, at Kitchen Sink Recording Studio. The Eric McFadden touring artists perform at the Santa and Kate Vargas perform Saturday Fe space co-owned by producer at Kitchen Sink and solo artist Jono Manson. Vargas Recording Studio. released the first of her seven solo albums, Down to My Soul, in 2014. The most recent, Rumpumpo, came out in 2021.

McFadden has released 11 albums — the first, Diamonds to Coal, in 2003 as part of the Eric McFadden Trio, and the most recent, Pain by Numbers, under his own name in 2018.

Since those solo releases, Vargas and McFadden have dropped two albums together using the name Sgt. Splendor: Occasions for Self-Congratulations in 2022 and Death of the Hoochie Koo in May 2023. — B.S. 7:30 p.m. Saturday, December 23 Kitchen Sink Recording Studio, 528 José Street $20, thekitchensinkstudio.com

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10 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

THE WRITE STUFF

Presenting the winners of Pasatiempo’s annual Writing Contest

W

hile sifting through nearly 350 entries in this year’s Pasatiempo Writing Contest, one thing became clear: Santa Fe — and New Mexico — fo osters a strong community of writers. Based on the vast array of entries in the fiction, nonfiction, and poetry categories, it’s clear that our state contains a talented cadre of writers who write for the sake of writing, to share ideas, to heal, and to grow.

As one of our youth writers wrote on her contest entry form, “Me gusta mucho escribir, siento como mis manos y mi cerebro hacen historias por si solos.” (“I really like to write, I feel like my hands and my brain make stories on their own.”)

That statement perfectly sums up what we do as writers; when we sit down and begin to hear that clickety-clack of computer keys, we’re not always sure what’s going to flow, or even if it will flow. But we do know that it comes from deep inside, and the feeling we get when we pour out words onto a screen is cathartic and personal, and the result, we hope, is entertaining.

You might notice we’ve made a few changes to this year’s Pasatiempo Writing Contest. Most notably, we added a Grand Prize winner, who this year was chosen from among the fi fin nalists by Stephen P. Hull, director of the University of New Mexico Press and an avid reader and writer.

Staff writers Brian Sandford and Spencer Fordin and I also narrowed down the entries to a handful of finalists for each of the contest’s category judges (Kim Parko for fi ficction, James McGrath Morris for nonfi ficction, and Hakim Bellamy for poetry), which was a tough task for all.

For our youth writer entries, the Pasa team also hand-selected our top picks for this year’s new (and newly prestigious) Pasa Youth Writer Prize. Keep an eye on these youngsters; I have a feeling there are more literary prizes in their futures.

As we ease into the holiday week, and you wrap your hands around a warm latte with a cozy blanket on your lap, we hope this issue can become the best part of your fireside reading. And we hope it offers a chance for you to learn about what’s in the hearts of your fellow New Mexicans. — Carolyn Graham

WRITING CONTEST PAGES 12 - 44

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GRAND PRIZE WINNER

MS. ESTHER’S COTTONWOOD Amber Train, Santa Fe

Mornings were always frantic, with getting all of the residents out of bed, cleaned, dressed, and, where necessary, diapered before getting them to the dining room. So it could be understood how Ms. Esther was forgotten in the dining room that morning. Kayla had already worked a 12-hour night shift and was having to stay through the day shift to cover for several other nursing assistants that had not showed up that morning. And Ms. Esther needed less watching, as she was one of the easier residents. She was not yet suffering from any terribly debilitating physical ailments, had no signs of dementia, and was free from any bitter resentment regarding her current living arrangements, a resentment that plagued the minds of so many other residents of High Desert Retirement Home. Ms. Esther, it seemed, was simply alone in this world and had reached that stage of life where she could no longer quite live by herself, so here she was at High Desert.

Esther stayed in her chair in the dining room for some time, patiently waiting for Kayla or some other nursing assistant to help her back to her room. She was of a generation of women imprinted with the qualities of patience and quiet fortitude, even at the expense of her own comfort. However, at some point Esther began to wonder if she might become a nuisance to the ladies trying to clean up around her and decided to try and make her own way. Esther’s limbs had become gnarled with arthritis in her old age, but she had her cane and could still move her own body, just much more slowly and with much more effort than she was used to. As she rose, her eye caught the view of the garden through the dining room window. Since it was still morning, the sun was tilting diagonally through the aspens and cottonwoods outside. Autumn was in full swing and the leaves in their golden glory seemed almost promiscuously beautiful to Esther. The trees were so alluring that Esther considered trying to go outside. The residents were certainly allowed to do so; High Desert was no prison

after all. But … it was not encouraged either, the fear of a resident falling never far from anyone’s mind.

Esther looked down at her feet, confirming that Kayla had put her in her sensible sneakers that morning. She glanced around feeling oddly devious and noticed nobody noticing her. So Esther took up her cane and shuffled down the hall toward the door to the garden terrace. And she simply opened the door. The air outside was spiced with the smell of fallen leaves, sharply contrasting with the soft persistent smells of oatmeal, disinfectant, and bodily fluids on the inside of the door. Esther stepped through to the outside, raised her face to receive the sun’s beams, and inhaled. Her deeply mottled skin, gray and dulled with age, luminesced to a silvery shade in the sun. Esther glanced behind her once more, the sensuality arising in her causing her to reflexively check if she was being observed in such a state.

Finding herself still alone, she went forward. The path, though dirt, was scraped smooth, designed to accommodate elderly gaits. The beguiling trees Esther had spied from indoors clapped their drying leaves at her and she followed their call.

For a moment, Esther considered that Kayla might find her gone and worry. But Kayla had so many other things on her mind, she likely wouldn’t even notice. The young nursing assistants often chatted mindlessly to the residents, knowing the residents had no one to pass their confidences on to. As a result, Esther knew that Kayla had two young girls she raised without their father. And that she struggled to find childcare on her night shifts. Sometimes Kayla’s mother would watch the girls, but Kayla worried about that since Kayla’s mother was usually passed out from drinking by 8:00 most nights. Sometimes, Kayla had to leave the girls home alone all night and she would be especially rushed and stressed as she got the residents ready those mornings, anxiety and exhaustion etching premature lines into her pretty face. Once, when she was in such a state, Kayla had brushed

Amber Train lives in Santa Fe. Growing up on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, her fantasy was to contract mono so she would be sick enough to have to stay home for a while, but not so sick she wouldn’t be able to enjoy lying in bed reading books all day. She is a connoisseur of the weird. She plans to live in Santa Fe for the rest of her life or until her son goes to college and she becomes a den mother in his dorm.

She believes she has very healthy relationship boundaries.

12 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

She hof e of

Esther’s hair so vigorously that white cottony puffs of it had drifted down around Esther’s face. Her scalp had ached for the rest of the day.

But Esther had not complained. She understood the sorrows of the young mother. Long ago, she had been a lonely young mother herself.

So Esther continued on the path. House finches bathed in a fountain set off in a small courtyard to the right. Esther watched their flapping wings spray water droplets over their own bodies, a self-baptism in the stone pooled water. Esther had her girls baptized at St. Vincent de Paul’s in Baltimore City. Esther’s main memories of those baptisms were so much white and a glut of happiness. The immaculate white of the christening gown, first worn by Charlotte then a year later by Charlotte’s younger sister, Hope. And the voluminous flowing white robe of Father Angelo. Back then, there was still a whole family — Esther and the children’s father and both maternal and paternal grandparents in attendance. And some aunts and cousins too. Esther had been a math major at college before becoming pregnant with Charlotte, and the memories caused her to imagine her family as a formula of exponential decay written out on some dark blackboard of the universe in which she was the sole remaining factor. Such visions made her suddenly tired, and she stopped to rest beside a large cottonwood tree.

The tree was gray and aged, but where Esther had become slighter in her years, this tree was spacious. Three Esthers together could not link their arms together around its girth. While its limbs, like Esther’s, were gnarled, their twists and angles suggested stores of strength rather than frailty. Esther rested her hand on the rough bark and closed her eyes in communion. The sun was moving overhead now and warming. Esther dropped her cane, allowed her weight to be held by the tree and came to rest on the ground, her back against the trunk. It had been a long time since Esther had been embraced.

Certainly Kayla or one of the other nursing assistants held her in the sense of supporting her to dress her or sometimes to help her into the shower or off the toilet. But not this kind of embracement. The way her mother had once embraced her and she had once embraced her children. It was beatific and blessed and restful.

It was 18 hours into Kayla’s double shift when she finally noticed Ms. Esther missing. It was long before Kayla forgave herself that fact, not understanding she sought penance for an offense Ms. Esther would not recognize as such. It was John, the groundskeeper, who found Ms. Esther — fallen face up next to one of the cottonwood trees. Her body splayed on the leaf-gilded ground, arms spread as if in Hallelujah. The cottonwood filtered hallowed light on Ms. Esther, leaves chattering some ancient prayer. ◀

Mark Twain said, among other things, that “all novelists are failed short story writers.” What I think he meant by this is that doing the necessary work of constructing a real story is harder to do in short form than it is in long form. This includes threading a coherent narrative arc through a beginning, middle, and end; breathing life into one or more well-wrought characters; winding the mainspring of conflict and letting it unspool toward resolution; and doing it all with economical, precise, and stylish language that mirrors and augments the characters and situation.

Ms. Esther’s Cot tonwood does all this, and beautifully.

The story’s structure is simple, but the character’s inner life is complex, and serves to move her through to the inevitable end. And because of the way the writer animates Ms. Esther’s thoughts and desires, the end is not just sad, but also rather lovely. It is difficult to hit multiple emotional notes in so short a span.

One of the best things about Ms. Esther ’s Cottonwood is the close attention the writer pays to the precise use of language. The style is never flashy and always feels appropriate to the character and the action.

I am delighted to name Ms. Esther’s Cottonwood the Grand Prize Winner of the Pasatiempo Writing Contest for 2023.

— S T EPHEN P. HUL L , GR A ND PRIZE JUDGE

w was a s of o f a generation wom wo men me n…

PASATIEMPOMAGAZINE.COM

13

J THE JUDGES

FICTION: Kim Parko is the author of The Grotesque Child (Tarpaulin Sky Press, 2016) — a co-winner of the Tarpaulin Sky Press Book Prize — and Cure All (Caketrain Press, 2010), as well as the winner of the 2018 Boston Review poetry prize. She is a professor at the Institute of American Indian Arts.

Clockwise from top left: Kim Parko, James McGrath Morris, Stephen P. Hull , and Hakim Bellamy

NONFICTION: James McGrath Morris is an awardwinning and New York Times-bestselling biographer. He is the author of five biographies and three works of narrative nonfiction. He is perhaps best known for Eye on the Struggle: Ethel Payne, The First Lady of the Black Press (Amistad, 2017), which won a Hooks National Book Award, and Pulitzer: A Life in Print, Politics, and Power (Harper Perennial, 2011), selected by The Wall Street Journal as one of the five best books on an American mogul. His most recent work is Tony Hillerman: A Life (University of Oklahoma Press, 2021), which was a finalist for an Edgar. He co-founded the Biographers International Organization and serves as executive director of New Mexico Writers.

PHOTO KEVIN LANGE

POETRY: Hakim Bellamy is the inaugural poet laureate of Albuquerque (2012-2014), a National Poetry Slam champion, and past creative writing chair at New Mexico School for the Arts. His poetry has been published on the Albuquerque Convention Center, on the outside of a library, in inner-city buses, and in numerous anthologies across the globe. His first book, Swear (West End Press/UNM Press, 2013), won the Tillie Olsen Award for Creative Writing from the Working-Class Studies Association. He facilitates youth writing workshops for schools, jails, churches, prisons, and community organizations in New Mexico and beyond. Bellamy has served as a television host for New Mexico PBS’s ¡COLORES! program and is pursuing a law degree at UNM.

GRAND PRIZE: Stephen P. Hull is professor of practice and director of the University of New Mexico Press, New Mexico’s largest publisher of fiction, poetry, nonfiction, and scholarly books. His career in book publishing has included stints with Little, Brown & Co., Simon & Schuster, indie presses, and university presses. From 2001 to 2009, he owned and ran Justin, Charles & Co., an indie press in Boston publishing nonfiction as well as literary and mystery/crime fiction. He recently published stories with the Watershed Review and ABQ inPrint, and is working on a “high desert noir” set in Santa Fe. ◀

14 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

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15

1ST PLACE FICTION

RAIN GOD

Daisy Gorman-Nichols, White Rock I met a rain god today. Slight, shifty, changing movements and space moment by moment. One eye was blue, the other dark gray.

I ask him why he is so tight with the rain these days. He laughs, “I’m just here to clean the windows, lady. Nothing more.” His grin drips sarcasm and wit. He gets to work and slowly washes away the grime, the dust; the water stains that I have only been able to smear around. Some old commercial comes to me — bright music plays in the background and “Sparkling clean” is displayed across the screen. A man dressed in white from top to toe, tipping his hat to the perfectly perfect done-up housewife.

The job is done. The light in the house is different now, bright, streaming through the clean glass. I walk him out to his truck, hand him money.

“Oh wait, I forgot, I wanted to give you something!” I start running back to the house. I glance back to see if he will wait. He leans lightly against his truck, his body flowing against the bumper.

His eyes are turquoise and 55 Chevy blue as I return. “These are cherries from my mom’s place. They are for you and your family.”

He looks at the old cloth bag that I am holding out.

“You can keep the bag,” I say when he doesn’t immediately reach for it.

His hands are large and damp. He takes the bag and brings it to his face. His deep, deep inhale is like the wind right before the rain.

“From Rinconada?’

“Yeah.”

“You just picked them yesterday. Why don’t you eat them?” My mind should question how he knows this but I kinda remember him being there, a soft cloud blocking the brutal sun.

“We have had our fill. Take them.”

He smiles. His eyes are soft gray, mist on a winter day.

“Thanks. We love cherries from the valley.” He hops into his truck, old and rusty, condensation on the inside of the windows.

I watch him drive away. I turn and walk back across the driveway, through the gate.

The first drop surprises me as it hits my cheek. The second, third, fourth are bigger and splash on the flagstones. The rain is incredible — it has been months since we have had any. It comes down at first strong and then soft and then it is gone. I get a text message an hour later, “Reminder: Rainman Window Cleaning LLC, does not rewash windows if there happens to be a storm.” I smile, enjoying the wit of a rain god. Then one more text: “Thanks for the cherries. Offerings are always accepted.” ◀

Daisy Gorman-Nichols was born in Chimayó and has spent most of her life living in the Rio Grande Valley. She is a teacher, farmer, and writer.

16 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

I appreciate the intimate atmospheric descriptions in this piece. What is describing “person”?

What is describing “weather”? The magic is in the ambiguity. What climate shift may come from a small offering? I leave the story with an expansion of what becomes possible when we see each exchange as sacred.

— K IM PA RKO, POE T RY F IN A L IS T JUDGE

2ND PLACE FICTION

COMPASSIONATE RELEASE Shannon Kilgore, Santa Fe

Hours before the hearing’s scheduled start, the courtroom filled with the curious, impatient for a glimpse of evil. Would the Banker enter a defeated man, or would he deliver a spectacle of wickedness unbowed? Stride in smoothly or slouch in a wheelchair? And what of his lean handsomeness, so eagerly recorded by news photographers back in the day? Everyone longed to see how the town’s most hated citizen had weathered 41 years behind impenetrable walls.

In her chamber, the Judge dabbed moisture from her neck and zipped her robe. Today’s docket — not the usual DWIs and misdemeanor thefts — would bring her faceto-face with the man sentenced by her grandfather, the county’s storied jurist, in the case of his career. Before he died he told her, “For most people, lying is an anxious enterprise. Not for the Banker. Falsehood flowed from him like music from Mozart. But, in the end, his own records sealed his downfall.” He added, “Completely.”

The hearing was brief. The ancient petitioner took quaking steps down the aisle, supported more than guarded by four sheriff’s deputies. The Banker’s head wobbled but maintained a dignified uprightness. His famous face had collapsed, the mouth practically invisible inside a deep horizontal crease that traveled across both cheeks. Each iris, still startlingly aquamarine, peered inquisitively from a yellow sclera.

The Banker’s lawyer invoked old age’s toll and his client’s recent lung cancer diagnosis. Denied parole, the man had served all but four years of his unheard-of sentence — for purely financial crimes! No one could seriously argue he should be denied compassionate release!

The State argued exactly that, vigorously. “This man’s vast fraudulent scheme,” cried the State’s attorney, “shattered lives and still affects families today. His crimes were deliberate and numerous. He receives medical care in prison. Where. He. Belongs.”

The emphasis on “numerous” criminal acts was pointed. True, the Banker had been convicted of multiple counts of fraud. But everyone grasped the subtext.

For years, billboards with images of two murder victims loomed over the town’s roadways. Women, both 19 years old. The pair of slightly dated high school yearbook photos showed faces as yet unmarred by life. “CALL WITH INFORMATION,” the signs implored. The two had worked at a semi-rural bar that (prior to its reincarnation as an upscale pub) was a destination for paid sex.

The Banker never bothered to hide his elegant car, regularly parked under the blinking “BEER” sign. It was no secret he fancied waist-length hair. After being questioned three times about the killings, he publicly taunted the prosecutor, daring him to pursue homicide charges. Instead came only the fraud case. The prosecutor was overheard to insist, “Fraud leaves a paper trail. Strangulation doesn’t.” No one was ever charged with the murders. The women’s loved ones wandered helplessly through time, both sets of parents and a sister eaten alive by a slurry of alcohol and poisonous rage.

That night after the hearing, a bartender took the Judge’s order for sparkling water. Her face had the roundness of girlhood. She smiled in a sweet, elusively familiar way.

The Judge asked, “Have you worked here long?”

The bartender barked a laugh, unexpectedly harsh. At that moment, the Judge’s friend arrived, walking up and pointing at the Judge’s glass. “Is that fizzy water? Don’t you want something with a little more kick?”

“You know I never drink if I’m going to drive. If I get even stopped for suspicion of DWI, my career is finished on the spot.”

“Well, I’ll have an old fashioned.” The friend eased onto a barstool.

The Judge shifted to face her oldest companion. A pause. “Listen. I’m leaning toward granting the Banker’s petition.”

“No! I was afraid of this! How could you possibly live with yourself?”

“Where is my choice? Terrible prognosis, advanced age, and weakness he has in spades. He’s served nearly all his sentence — for nonviolent acts. I can’t keep him locked up because of crimes he wasn’t even convicted of!”

“We have compassion for the murderer. Forget about justice for the women.”

The bartender slid the old fashioned and a second sparkling water across the bar. The Judge said, “Thank you, but I didn’t order another one.”

The girl made a wincing expression. “I think maybe you had a rough day? This water has lemon. No charge!”

That smile.

The Judge, warming at this small kindness, nodded her thanks and took a sip. She inclined toward her friend. “I know you wanted to come here tonight because of the connection to all this.” continued on Page 18

PASATIEMPOMAGAZINE.COM

17

Wishing you

Joy and Peace during this

Holiday Season and d throughout th h t th the

New Year.

… Compassionate Release continued “Yes. Think about it. They were taken from upstairs and killed out in these woods. Things happened right over our heads.”

In a brief trick of her eyes, the ceiling pushed down toward the Judge.

The billboards had been a fixture of her childhood, ever-present reminders that monsters exist. She reached across and helped herself to a swallow of her friend’s cocktail. She would have loved to tilt it back.

But she returned to her water.

Her friend probed, “Would your grandfather free the Banker?”

“My grandfather would follow his obligation under the law.”

This declaration was met with a gently dubious eyebrow raise.

They drank in silence. Standing to leave, the friend squeezed the Judge’s shoulder and whispered in her ear, “Don’t forget the women.”

The Judge lingered. She nibbled her lemon twist and tried not to imagine the rooms above.

Finally, she slid down from the barstool. The floor heaved and pitched like a ship’s deck. As she placed a hand on the polished wood bar to steady her balance, she noticed the bartender’s face watching through a small square window in the door to the kitchen. The Judge stumbled outside beneath the neon sign and into her car. Pulled out, began to accelerate.

Dear God … there was a figure — the bartender running — no, gliding — in front of the car. Illuminated by the headlights and — could it be?

— a glow within her, she hurtled straight-on with long hair streaming, mouth agape in a noiseless scream. The Judge yanked the wheel to the left and braked hard, skidding sideways into a thunderous smash with a tree on the passenger side.

The airbag’s vapor was acrid. There was no blood or pain, just a stupor she recognized as inebriation. She foggily recalled the lemon water.

Then came the shock of comprehension. The scene had been masterfully crafted: one smoldering car, the driver staggering, pupils undoubtedly huge, odor of whiskey. Well, that last part — superfluous, but further damning — was her own fault. Sirens and flashing lights would soon sweep around her. She would not have the chance to grant the Banker’s petition. Or rule on anything, ever again. The young woman to the left on the billboards, who had smiled down from death on the Judge’s daily trips to school, had seen to that.

The car made soft hissing and popping sounds. In this shadowy forest, long ago garlanded with police tape, leaves rustled. The spot was slightly elevated and, through the trees, the lights of downtown were discernible like remote glimmering stars. A lonely place for a final, ragged breath. The Judge felt a chill. She exhaled. And whispered a message into the darkness: “I understand.” ◀

I live with my husband in Eldorado, where I read and write fiction.

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19

3RD PLACE FICTION

ELAINE’S LAST GARDEN Janna Lopez, Santa Fe

Elaine’s garden was as colorful as it was precocious. In a wild sensibility, orange and blue and yellow flowers burst through the earth during seasons they should have slept beneath soil. But how else would a garden belonging to Elaine behave?

The morning of Elaine’s passing was sun-kissed and frosty. A river of neighbors ebbed and flowed to stoke a steady fire simmering in the cast iron pit. Through the half-opened slider I saw swirls of lavender smoke rise above heaps of glowing wood. An occasional crow landed on the willow’s bare limbs.

Elaine was fixed in the portable bed stationed in her cozy living room. Traces of piñon incense mingled with gently dancing dust sparkles that passed through light beams seeping in the window.

The flimsy hand I cradled felt pulpy. When Elaine’s eyes were closed (which they’d been for many hours) I attempted longer glimpses. To search for recognition of an Elaine I’d known — the shiny cheeks of my neighbor, my friend, a soul sister — through the collapsed gray her face had withered to.

In a town like Taos, news spreads faster than mayonnaise on a warm toasted bun. While in the yarn store a few weeks ago, Elaine shared with Chandra she was leaving treatment behind. She was through with everything tasting metal, and the agitated sensation of poisoned veins.

When I heard the news, I laughed. Such news required us to be more civilized than human shock enabled.

Elaine had ordered a white wicker casket, which arrived ahead of schedule. That day a few of us were helping her sort through some boxes and papers. We were having a good time, sipping wine in the middle of the day, as if she was merely moving.

“No poor bastard has to care if I saved $6 dollars on toilet paper,” she mused as she tossed the receipt into a brown paper bag.

Then we heard the knock. We stopped mid-sifting and looked at each other. I got up to open the door and there stood a UPS delivery man with a clipboard. Behind him was a long narrow box that resembled a canoe. “Elaine Fields?”

“Uh, yeah.” Bewildered, I glanced to Elaine. She offered a resigned half-smile then nodded.

“Sign here,” he said.

I scribbled onto the slip held by the clipboard as he ripped the yellow copy free, handed it over, and departed with, “Have a good day!”

“Well, lucky me.” Elaine sipped her chardonnay and sighed.

“That’s my casket. It was supposed to arrive later. I wanted an advantage of seeing what eternity looked like.”

The facade of her cross-town move evaporated.

I called Roberto, Serge, and Ed to help us relocate then dismantle the long box. After it was unpacked, we stood around staring at the white wicker casket. It was pretty? Imagination couldn’t bend to pictures of such a before and after.

Elaine lifted the loosely hinged cover, and as if a cat seduced by a box’s mystery, she crawled in. Roberto, Serge, Ed, Lillyanna, Chandra, and myself awkwardly hovered over Elaine playing dead.

“Wow,” she said with arms tucked tightly. “Not a lot of room.”

Snapping gravity, I asked, “Were you hoping to get a roommate?”

“Yeah, that’s all I’d need — to be trapped with infinite bullshit.”

Serge stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets.

Roberto scanned the ceiling.

Ed stepped back from the coffin basket.

I reached for Lillyanna’s hand while Chandra slipped to the kitchen to boil water for tea.

“Do me a favor,” Elaine said. “Close the lid and carry me around.

I wanna know how heavy I’ll be.” We stiffly glanced to one another. Knowing Elaine’s bold beauty as intimately as my own heartbeat, knowing this moment would sear into memory of her aliveness, knowing life dispensed unrelenting glimpses of her death, I reached to lower the top. It crunched and creaked the way fresh woven wood does when shifted.

“Ok, my dear, here we go … ” With my eyes I cued the group to pick up a protruding handle.

Janna Lopez is Santa Fe’s current poet laureate ambassador. She’s a book coach, creative writing teacher with an MFA, and published author. She uses psychic intuition to guide individuals in transforming their lives through fearless writing, reimagining the power of poetry, and unlearning false beliefs about writing’s purpose. Her next book, Writing Freedom Forever, is based on work with hundreds of clients.

20 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

“One, two, three, and LIFT!” We raised Elaine waist high. Indeed, beyond weightless skin and bones, was overwhelming density from a past and present and future and regret and confusion and imminence and memories and love and fear and anger that swarmed the box.

“How ya doin’?” I asked.

“Oh, there’s a little light,” she said, then with an exaggerated British accent cackled, “God save the Queen!”

Maybe it was Elaine’s unexpected outburst, or the absurdity of a faceless box talking, I began to chuckle. The weight of it all became unbearable.

“We better drop it,” I said through what was devolving into uncontrollable giggles. We rested the coffin on the ground, and my insides, shredded by grief, bellowed out unrelenting snorts. Wave after emotional wave besieged.

Everyone stared, including Elaine who sat up in the box, as my laughter seamlessly tumbled into a tsunami of a lost child’s tears …

Now Elaine’s breathing was sparse. Seconds expanded between her chest lifting and lowering.

Anticipation kept me both transfixed and wholly afraid.

And like the enduring mysterious gift of flowers that shined in winter, Elaine feebly woke up. She recognized I was there and managed a frail smile. We locked eyes. Hers were green and radiant and familiar. She softly spoke and asked if she could have more coffee, as if she wanted to stay awake just a little longer …

Elaine delicately lowered her lids, never breaking her gaze with my eyes, until they shut.

No chest lift followed.

Moments later I unceremoniously released Elaine’s cold hand from mine to step outside.

Her garden was cheerful. I wondered if her beloved spring flowers could somehow make it, remarkably bloom in winter, for the next person who called this home?

Facing the back was Taos Mountain. Elaine once said that watching the moon shyly rise above the massive ridge — the reason she bought her house 18 years ago — was better than sex.

With several neighbors and friends milling around the fire who would learn the news, I remained silent. I trudged to the garden’s edge. With a lost child’s might, I transmitted the message across the chilly turquoise sky, all the way up to the majestic mountain top: Hey! Moon to rise! Soon you’ll have a beautiful new friend to greet you … ◀

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21

1ST PLACE NONFICTION

SIX STRANGE HOURS, THREE ENCOUNTERS WITH DEATH (OR WHY I MOVED TO SANTA FE) Lisa Davenport, Santa Fe Depending on the weight of your foot and the size of your bladder, it’s about a six-hour drive from Santa Fe to Denver. I have done it (as well as the same route in reverse) dozens of times, ever since I met my husband, Rob, in 1991.

Back then, I was the Denver City Girl, he the Lamy Yurt Man. Rob lived off the grid in a beautiful wooden yurt he had built outside Lamy, 18 miles from Santa Fe. I had been smitten by this sensitive artist since the night we met, when he serenaded me with a song he’d written called “Road Kill on the Highway of Love.”

Soon, the 360-mile trek between my apartment and his yurt had become a fixture of our long-distance romance, in which every rendezvous was filled with Santa Fe magic, from moonlit walks along Acequia Madre to evenings sipping sangria at Tomasita’s bustling bar.

After Rob moved to Denver and we got married, that familiar route became a favorite road trip, returning us to where our love story started.

When some good friends moved from Denver to a community north of Santa Fe with long views of juniper-studded hills and spectacular sunsets, we found yet another reason to visit. In the spring of 2019, I made the drive to Santa Fe by myself, excited to spend a few days catsitting for those friends.

As I wandered the city that brought back so many sweet memories, I was struck again by the unparalleled beauty of New Mexico’s landscape, architecture, and sky. And I was struck anew by the realization that Santa Fe felt like a refuge from the enormous, crowded city that Denver had become.

Each day, I was reminded of how long, and how much, I had loved this place.

But my friends returned from their vacation, and it was time for me to head home. I got an early start on the morning of my departure and was driving north on I-25, singing happily despite feeling a bit blue to be leaving.

I had been on the near-empty highway for 25 minutes when I noticed something up ahead on the shoulder. Judging by its size and shape, I assumed it was a tossed-out bag of trash. But just before I passed it, I realized it was a man lying on the side of the road, motionless and alone. There were no cars nearby. No homes in sight. He could easily have been mistaken for a dirty, discarded tarp. But there was no mistake: It was a man. And it looked to me like a dead man.

Within seconds, I was too far beyond him to stop and walk back, and the next opportunity to exit the divided highway was miles away (although I’ll admit, I was also rattled by the thought of what I might find if I turned around). So I noted the roadside mile marker and pulled over to call 911. After providing the man’s location and being assured that they would investigate, I continued my journey — saddened, subdued, and no longer singing.

By the time I reached the long, lonely stretch between Wagon Mound and Raton, I was feeling a little lighter. At one point, the vast emptiness was enlivened by several small birds that appeared out of nowhere and swooped, carefree, in front of my car, but otherwise, the drive was uneventful.

Happy to be halfway home, I pulled into a gas station in Raton and sat for a moment texting Rob with a progress report. When I looked up, a young couple was standing in front of my Mini, staring at it with looks of mutual disgust. Odd, I thought, as I got out and went behind my car to fill the tank. While I was waiting, a young boy and his father walked past my car, pointed at it, and moved hurriedly on.

With a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, I hung up the hose and went to see what was causing the peculiar reactions. There, plastered to one of my headlights in a smear of blood and feathers, was what remained of a small bird, a member of the happy-golucky little flock that had crossed paths with my car earlier in the day.

Lisa Davenport is happy and grateful to be living in Santa Fe with her husband, Rob, and their two dogs, Bugsy and Skippy. She is a recovering copywriter and a mosaic artist who enjoys breaking dishes and transforming them into beautiful things. Lisa still loves to sing in the car and around the house and is currently taking voice lessons in an effort to remain married to Rob.

22 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

Photos: J.S. Bach, composer; Colin Jacobsen, violin soloist and leader

2023–24 SEASON

Six strange hours, three encounters with death is written with an engaging voice; this essay is a well-honed tale of how unexpected events can shape our lives or, in this case, lead us home.

Ti c k e t s $33–$9 8

— JAMES MCGRATH MORRIS, NONFICTION FINALIST JUDGE Horrified by the bird’s violent end and seized by guilt and queasiness, I grabbed some paper towels and scraped away the mess. Returning to the safety of my driver’s seat, I got back on the highway as quickly as I could, my heart beating fast and tears in my eyes. I spent the next hundred miles trying to brush away thoughts of the two unsettling scenes I had witnessed.

When I finally made it past the incessant road construction near Monument, I silently congratulated myself for being almost home.

A few miles south of the C-470 interchange on the outskirts of Denver, I took a leisurely look in my rearview mirror, only to notice a police car coming up fast — scarily fast — behind me, lights flashing and siren howling.

I veered into the next lane just in time for it to pass me like I was standing still, although my cruise control was set at 81. My relief over not getting stopped for speeding didn’t last long, however, because within moments, three more police cars hurtled by. Then another three, hot on their tail.

I watched anxiously as they all barreled down the exit to C-470.

As I continued uneasily on my way, one eye scanning behind me and the other glued to the highway in front of me, my heart sank. Up ahead, another string of speeding, flashing police cars was blazing south on I-25 and peeling off onto C-470 heading west. I counted as they swept down the ramp and disappeared: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, now merging with the original group.

Thirteen police cars, all racing at top speed in one long, urgent, litup line.

I felt sick. Whatever was going on, it had to be very, very bad.

The final 30 minutes to my house were filled with foreboding. I couldn’t wait to walk in my front door and have this stressful, surreal road trip come to an end.

After hugging Rob and petting our dogs, I said, “Something terrible is happening.” I opened my laptop, wanting to know and at the same time dreading the answer.

And there it was: A mass shooting at a STEM school in a suburb south of Denver. Police and SWAT teams were on the scene, but details weren’t available.

I stared at the screen, numb. A dead man. A dead bird. Dead children. The road I had traveled over the past six hours seemed strewn with dark portents. But suddenly, the path forward was startlingly clear.

I walked out to where my husband was sitting at our dining room table in our beautiful home, in our beautiful neighborhood, in the beautiful city that I once swore I would never leave.

“I want to move to Santa Fe,” I said.

Rob never hesitated. He simply replied, “Let’s go.” ◀

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23

2ND PLACE NONFICTION

ME TOO AT 97 Kevin McCullough, Santa Fe

“Good morning to you, good morning to you, good morning dear Kevin, good morning to you.” Sung to the tune of “Happy Birthday”: My mother would often greet me each morning with this little song.

A saint, she was to me. Always the eternal optimist, she rarely complained.

She belonged to the “Greatest Generation,” that group of Americans who grew up during the Depression in the 1930s and later led us to victory in World War II. Their strength, resiliency, and perseverance is legendary.

Enduring hardship was something she knew well. She raised five kids, suffered from migraine headaches, and near the end of her life, her body was contorted and twisted with severe arthritis.

Life’s shrapnel almost never seemed to affect her, or at least it never really seemed to penetrate very deeply.

That is, until just four days before her death at the age of 97, when some of that shrapnel came to the surface. It’s when my mother became a member of the current “Me Too” movement. She revealed a 78-year-old secret that she may have never told anyone.

Much more than a catch phrase, the term “Me Too” was coined

by Tarana Burke in 2006, but it took until 2017 for the public to take notice, when more and more women, especially celebrities such as Alyssa Milano came forward. She tweeted, “If you’ve been sexually harassed or assaulted, write ‘Me Too,’ as a reply to this tweet.”

My mother never sent a tweet in her whole life, but near the end, in the hospital emergency room, when talking was a real effort for her, she told the us that two men raped her in the basement of her family home in Pennsylvania when she was only 19 years old. “They did terrible things to me,” she said.

Other than the nurses, my niece and I were the only witnesses to this “Me Too” moment. She was 90 pounds at most, a stark contrast to the mother I knew. Her panic-stricken eyes were glassy, hollow, and recessed deeply in the sockets. The skin on her arms hung

loosely over the bones that were rail-thin at that point. She hadn’t been able to keep much food down for several months.

As I stood in the emergency room, she seemed to be in a state of shock. “Bad men,” she said, “they did terrible things to me.” She was reaching out, trying to draw me closer, almost grabbing my collar in order to pull me in. “Bad men, very bad men,” she said again, but this time desperate, trying to make me understand something which I had no idea what she was talking about.

More than once my niece and I asked, “Who? Who are you talking about?”

But she wouldn’t offer much more except ...

“They hurt me.”

I was confused, holding back buckets of tears, and suddenly wanted out of there. I quickly left with some excuse about getting lunch. I returned about 15 minutes later and there at my mother’s bedside, two or three nurses stood solemnly along with my niece.

The moment had finally arrived ... my mother was filling in the blanks and giving them details.

Now there was no doubt about what had happened.

My mother had revealed what she had been keeping a secret all those years.

She told this small group of people about being raped in 1940 in the basement of her home on Maple Street. She said these men probably followed her home from work as a receptionist/bookkeeper at the family business.

She revealed how they were fighting about who would go first, and how she was crying throughout the ordeal while they were laughing.

Beyond that, no names, no clues, about who these men were.

It’s very hard, as a man, as a son, as a human being, to imagine being violated like that. Why didn’t she tell anyone? Or did she?

Maybe no one believed her.

I am a retired Santa Fe Public Schools teacher (fourth, fifth, and sixth grade) who loves working part-time at the Santa Fe Public Library, writing stories, reading, and spending time with my wife, her mother, our son, and a cat named Buddha.

24 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

Sometimes, a writer changes your mind in 1,200 words. I told myself I did not enjoy the way this piece started, but by the end, it floored me with its impact.

— SPENCER F ORDIN, NONF IC T ION JUDGE

Here in Santa Fe, on the wall of our plant room, is an iconic black & white photo of her from the 1940s. She is sitting casually on the bleachers in a small baseball field while sipping soda from a bottle. She looks like a beautiful Hollywood starlet of the time, maybe Lana Turner or Betty Grable.

It’s hard to imagine this was taken only three years after the assault.

On the back of the photo, in my mother’s handwriting, it says, “July, 1943, Eurana Park, Weatherly, PA. Camera Club award, 4th, ‘Contented Spectator.’”

The image is really a work of art. On the opposite wall in the same room is a framed photo of her and “Pop” on their wedding night in 1943. She’s almost sitting on his lap and seems to be laughing hysterically as he’s whispering in her ear. Maybe they even had a little too much to drink. I love this photo because my parents look like two kids in love.

I don’t think the trauma of being raped defined her life or legacy. She believed in moving on, healing, and staying positive to a fault, no matter what happened. It didn’t stop her from spreading love and joy throughout her long life of 97 years.

My mother returned to the nursing home in an ambulance after being discharged from the hospital, and my siblings and I took six-hour shifts around the clock to watch over her. She died during one of my shifts, around lunchtime on a Wednesday.

For a while we didn’t tell anyone about what she revealed to us. It seemed like too much in addition to her death and all the grief and sadness that came with that. Later, we told all our family members. Some cried, some were shocked, but my brother Brian added something poignant. He remembered watching The View or Oprah with her one morning when the “Me Too” movement was the topic of the day. They watched, they talked a little, and my brother remembered some subtle yet unspoken acknowledgement from her.

Finally, not right then, she gave herself permission. She released it, she revealed it, it screamed right up out of her soul later on that hospital bed. Now, others who hear her story also have permission. Me too at 97. ◀

TO OUR 2023 EVENT SPONSORS FOR JOINING US IN PROTECTING

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25

3RD PLACE NONFICTION

NANCY

Charles Smith, Santa Fe Five patients are sitting in their wheelchairs, grouped around a table. The big man with his back to me has his right arm raised in the air as if he were leading the conversation. Two women lean forward and seem to be listening closely.

My mother, Nancy, is also talking. Without looking down, she wipes the surface of the table with her right hand, a gesture I have seen her make thousands of times. The second man is sideways to me. His head is moving; he must be nodding in agreement.

It looks like five friends just chatting about the morning news.

As I approach, however, I realize that the two women are asleep. The man with his back to me also has his eyes closed.

His raised right arm is rigid, except for the fist, which is clenching and unclenching. The other man is muttering, “Engineer.

Bridges,” over and over again. From previous visits, I know that he was once a prominent engineer and built bridges.

Nancy with her little smile is the only one who is actually having a conversation, but she is just making sounds, not words.

When Nancy first began losing her memory, we talked to her doctors in Florida where she lived. “Just getting old,” they said. The word “Alzheimer’s” never came up. We didn’t know what it was until that summer when she was visiting Colorado where she had lived many years earlier. She loved the music and was a lifetime Trustee of the Music Associates of Aspen.

One day a woman who worked in the Aspen Post Office called me. She said that Nancy had been calling her four or five times a day to complain about her mail delivery. I was puzzled because I knew that her mail had been arriving regularly.

Finally, this complete stranger said in a gentle voice, “I don’t know you personally, so I hesitate to intrude, but my mother had Alzheimer’s and she acted just as your mother is.”

This is the way it is with Alzheimer’s. Generally, you learn about it from other people who have experienced it with family or friends, not from medical personnel.

We then persuaded Nancy to come to Denver, where we lived. “A short visit,” we told her. We found her an attractive small apartment in an assisted living facility.

“This is a strange hotel,” she would say. “All the people are old.”

Soon she began making repeated trips to the supermarket next door, loading her cart with all sorts of treats and then wandering into the parking lot with the cart full of food. A manager would come out, collect payment, and steer her to the assisted living facility. She would then stack the food on a table with the food she had bought the day before and the day before that and it would soon all spoil.

Finally we obtained a court order appointing us co-conservators and arranged to place her in an Alzheimer’s nursing home in Aurora, Colorado.

The head nurse was a tall, soft-spoken woman from Ghana.

Most of the nurses were Nigerian. They were the kindest women imaginable, caring for people who could never thank them, who would only go downhill.

Alzheimer’s is said to be the cruelest of diseases. I’m not so sure, however. My mother never suffered the physical pain of cancer or so many other end-of-life illnesses. In fact, Alzheimer’s seem to shut down much of her sensitivity to pain. One day, for example, another patient closed a door on her fingers, almost severing the tip of one. Initially she cried out but never thereafter showed any signs of pain.

In addition, she had no awareness of how this disease had robbed her of the beauty, grace, humor, and athleticism that had marked most of her life.

The cruelty is the impact of Alzheimer’s on family members and friends. It’s as if the person you loved has fled, leaving only

I’m a retired attorney from Colorado, have lived in Santa Fe for 15 years, and spend much of my time doing volunteer work on the Mexico border.

26 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

Nancy is a sensitively told account of a woman’s descent into Alzheimer’s that reveals the affliction may be harder on those around the victim than for the victim herself.

Holiday Dining

— JA MES MCGR AT H MORRIS, NONF IC T ION F IN A L IS T JUDGE

a husk of a body. So it’s tempting to believe that your relative is no longer a real person, just a memory. That is a terrible mistake.

Over the course of years of visits, I saw the residents of my mother’s ward emerge with distinct and compelling personalities. There was Leo, who grabbed my arm during that first visit. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

I quickly recognized him. He had been a Deputy District Attorney in Adams County, Colorado, when I was a Public Defender, and we had tried many cases against each other. His grip was just as fierce and unyielding that morning as it had been when he would grip my arm outside the courtroom and tell me that my client had better plead guilty.

There was Lorraine with her jokes and her thin, white hair tied in a tight bun at the back of her head. I doubt if she had ever been what you would call good looking, but she had an extraordinary sense of humor that must have given her a very special life.

There was the woman always cradling a doll named Buster; Nadine with her smile; the polite, gracious former airline executive; the tall, wiry man who kept clapping his hands; the engineer trying to recall those many bridges he had built; the German woman who would pet the little white dog I always brought on my visits.

The women outnumbered the men two to one, a fact that made me aware of my own mortality.

As I stood in the doorway that morning, watching Nancy and the other four patients, I realized that, despite their various afflictions, they had their own way of communicating.

Maybe it was nothing more than the warmth of being in the company of other humans. Now Nancy is gone. Now I realize how much I’ll miss those visits, wandering down the hallways to her ward with my dog, just sitting in the dining area, watching and listening. ◀

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27

1ST PLACE POETRY

2ND PLACE POETRY

WHAT WE TALK ABOUT WHEN WE TALK ABOUT FEDERAL PRISON Vance Couperus, Albuquerque

MONSTRUOS, MALDICIONES, Y MÁS Carmen Baca, Sapello

Where did they all go? Those monsters of our childhoods our padres used to scare us with So we’d portarnos como la gente. The folk of our Chicano lore. Fantasmas fantásticas — The deadly stuff of nightmares. Inspiring fears of the dark — specters, spirits, phantasmagoric

When persuasively schlepped from the state of New Mexico to the regionality

Phenomenon that awed, bewildered, and confounded when they visited now and again.

of New England, I couldn’t comprehend how the northeastern seaboard existed outside of the rules of established state boundaries. I was 6ish, my Nuevo Méx

So many sightings in our ríos of the Weeping Woman, la Llorona, made the rounds. We

geocentric. Their New England was too liminal, too inclusive and exclusive a

Speculated, secretly hoping one of us would see her. Rising from the river, decaying flesh

term to hold in front of the hearth. Now brazenly stateless, I spent the cross-

And water falling from her decomposing body, she terrified, tormented, and taunted us

country drive mostly naked, curled up on the rear dashboard of our Crown

To come close. Her horror enticed rather than repulsed. Witnesses achieved notoriety, too.

Victoria and busied myself against the time by coloring. We arrived in Connecticut 3 days later – 24ct Crayolas down to melted nubs and the first indelible sunburn of my existence, up my whole torso, and venom red stitched into the pale elastic grip-lines of my splotchy Hanes underwear. I thought that tactile innocence had fled irrevocably. There were the midstream blisters; there were the fevers. While in New England I was escorted to a Sunday matinee movie because those were the only films my family watched. It was hereditary: Dollar show. Sticky floors. Unforgiving seats. Cease the pustular discharge please. Get well soon. It was a heroic feature about rough-hatted men taming dishonesty with whips. I didn’t wince after that. The febrile grew common. I leaned forward in every seat completely. When recursed back to the Southwest, I told all the other children in my grade level that they could probably watch the same film that I had seen in Connecticut in about another month, when it came to their one-screen podunk cineplex. Pride lost to the junk drawer, as if our areas were differentiated now, as if moving pictures were the traveling vaudeville or circus of regionality, as if our perspectives had been jerked off from one another via a zoetrope of sequential numeric mileage markers. Cinema was not to be unsutured from the atmos. And in the reticence of my sculpted grace, I worshiped truly at this conception of staggering the silver screen topographically, to the degree that I was indistinguishable from the chair. The widescreen was to be believed because I understood time, that it changed backwards or forwards as a result of a person orienting themselves longitudinally. Temperature was south to north; Time, east to west. There was

Survivor stories of encuentros con ella made her the most popular spook. But no one escaped

What We Talk About When We Talk About Federal Prison is about the culture shock of moving away from New Mexico as a youth. It’s an unusual perspective, and movie theaters are an effective recurring motif.

Certain death after meeting las otras mujeres de la noche. Monstruas mysteriosas y matadoras — Few surviving stories exist, told in second person, never first, horrified and haunted us most.

Streetlights buzzing, flickering, then illuminating drove us sin vergüenza in out of the dark.

Lechuza, ésque, era bruja por día, pájaro por noche. Who else but a wicked witch would work Such magic to transform into a tecolote? Sightings, though rare, existed everywhere owls live.

We never knew what she did, only that if she took us, we were gone. Mitoteros cast suspicion On many a mujer, but only brujas revealed themselves by dying with their faithful familiars.

— BRI A N SA NDF ORD, POE T RY JUDGE Or so the legend goes. La Malhora, three versions of her, no less, survive. Her victims didn’t.

Monstruos, Maldiciones, y Más

by Carmen Baca is about the elements of Chicano culture that charmed and spooked the author in childhood. Her evocative phrasing brings readers in touch with their own childhoods, while at the same time educating about a culture some might not know.

— BRIAN SANDFORD, POETRY JUDGE

Beguiling with beauty first, the beast in her emerged in hideous form, the last horror her prey Beheld on earth. Not many stuck around to watch her final act from afar, not at the Bad Hour of three a.m. We didn’t venture out at la Mal Hora either. No tempting fate, just in case.

El Coco, aka Cucuy, scared us most. An indistinct, tenebrous gloom, it inspired fear through Imagination and lack of information. What he did to mugrosos no one knew. We thought the worst. Exasperated madres invoked the name of Coco as a last resort at bedtime, chanclas Flying at our fleeing backs with shouted versions of “te va pescar el Coco por malcriados.” continued on Page 30

nothing outside of these applications except loneliness. ◀

Vance Couperus has work upcoming or included in Poetry, The Harvard Advocate, Typewronger Books: The WrongerTimes, The Columbia Granger’s World of Poetry, and other publications.

28 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

Carmen Baca taught high school and college English for 36 years, retiring in 2014. A native New Mexico Norteña and regionalistic author, she incorporates elements of her regional Spanish culture into most of what she writes. She is the author of six books and a wide variety of short publications in multiple genres.

PASATIEMPOMAGAZINE.COM

29

3RD PLACE POETRY

… Monstruos, Maldiciones, y Más continued Seems back then ghouls were everywhere. In broad daylight, too. From deadfalls in the forest,

DEAR JENNIE Isabel Contreras, Santa Fe

Dense, dark, and full of danger, el Serpiente slithered slyly, forked tongue slipping in and out, Testing the tone of the day’s hunt. Every five years, the Vivorón awoke, parched and hungry.

Las Cabañuelas told us when to stop wandering deep into the woods, not even on a dare.

Bad enough all these legendary monsters our parents half convinced us lurked outside, los Duendes lived in our bedroom walls. They clipped our toenails at night if we didn’t bathe.

Cuentos said we’d wake without a toe the second time around. We took

Dear Jennie, I think they’re out to get us again.

No matter where I go, I am haunted by them.

From the Midwest where the rivers are darker than my skin, To the tan sand being consumed by the primary colors.

But they say they’re having fun.

Did they say that to you when they left all those bullets on the ground?

no chances there.

Those elves taught us well; even now, we sleep with our toes tucked under las cobijas.

Those are the spooks, the boogie-people of our Chicano culture many of us grew up with.

We knew one or the other first or secondhand, not so very long ago, before they ceased Coming to remind us how they colored and enriched our lives. But where did they all go?

Did they disappear into the ether, forlorn and forgotten, when we stopped searching?

Or was it after we grew up and invoked los monstruos on the next generation for kicks?

Nuestros chicos, rolling cynical eyes, told us our monster memories

The blood may have washed off, but the man-made is indestructible.

Indestructible to the point of evolution.

Evolution of the sound gone past to the cries of our animals dying from the non-refundable man-made cars, trucks, planes, batteries, sweatshops, plastic, fracking, pipelines or as they call it, a movement.

Was it the same movement that they did on our land?

The one where they tried to kill the Ghost Dance, but killed your son.

Who left this world so that I can be where I am today?

An innocent soul taken by their bloodshed.

were ours alone.

They wouldn’t be searching on constant guard or fearing the dark like we used to do.

Maybe it’s for the best, but I miss those ghouls who enriched my childhood, don’t you? ◀

Would he survive the bloodshed of today?

A new method of stealing our voices.

Liquifying into the blackest tar in our water, then turned into plastic big or small for our animals to eat.

Then turned into fuel for the modern vehicle.

Isabel Contreras grew up in Ohio, where she studied theater at Bowling Green State University. She now is studying performing arts at the Institute of American Indian Arts. She has been a performer for five years, with experience in acting, tech, costuming, and writing.

She is a proud Mnicoujou Lakota from the Cheyenne River Reservation in South Dakota, as well as Filipina, with family in Iriga City, Philippines. She plays the alto saxophone, trombone, and guitar, and also sings.

30 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

Would he survive if I am barely hanging on a thread?

Please guide me as I say they’re out to get us with this new way, new age, new people, but still want us dead.

Sincerely, Isabel ◀

“Holding your “Holding your hand through the hand through the entire process” entire process” 20 Years Experience • Over 30

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31

PASA YOUTH WRITER PRIZE FICTION

THE PURSUED MEMORY Luke Garcia, 17, Santa Fe

I don’t remember my past, or anything about my childhood. It’s ... strange, emotions overtake me when I try to conjure up memories: a faint image will form and quickly fizzle out, leaving only an array of color. I’ll laugh, other times, I’ll cry. Then even the color fades.

It’s always the same.

I. Can’t. Remember.

Every time I’d try to recollect, I’d dig myself further into a hole.

My muscles would tense, and my hair would stand on edge until I couldn’t take it anymore and screamed in the middle of the night.

Why can’t I remember? I had to take a flight to my hometown, which I only knew from the secondhand account of my parents, in the hopes some sort of memory would trigger. As I went, I couldn’t sleep; this gnawing anxiety had to end.

When I arrived, it was mid-fall. I left my bags in my room and walked through the eastern countryside. The stars were out, and the moon glowed with ageless beauty. I couldn’t help but admire it.

And soon after came the western wind; it continued all throughout the night.

For now, it was cold and comforting, and I felt the need to take a rest, so I did. My breath quickened, and I felt dizzy. Like a giant tide, a wave rushed over me and left me speechless. The scenery was the same; had I ever seen this view before? I had to believe so, but could not be sure. So I continued on as the wind grew more intense. Nevertheless, I had to continue forward.

Along the path I met a strange man. He wore a fine suit and carried himself with pride. He kept his distance for quite some time, and I didn’t know why. Yet, he decided (or did he desire?) to talk after some time. He spoke in a quiet voice that was hard to pick up when the wind blew. The man treated me like a friend, and I did the same. He talked to me about many things: the sciences, litera-

ture, and history. Eventually, it came time to talk about ourselves.

Although he was reserved about himself, he wouldn’t shy away from asking about me.

“Where do you come from, sir?” he asked.

“Here,” I said.

“That seems correct.” He adjusted his tie (which looked as if it was choking him) and looked at the time on his plain watch. He wouldn’t say why, nor would he say where he was from, and the conversation continued on. He asked what brought me back (how he knew I left I did not know). “Something must have guided you here.”

I could not answer. I felt that same anxiety I get when I try to remember. There was a hill just in view, and past it I knew there was a vast meadow. How I knew, I did not know; but a spiritual force told me to go forth. How could I deny it?

My pace quickened, as did the man’s. I sensed he shared my same eagerness. The wind pelted our faces and pushed us back; the ground grew uneven, and although it was a relatively small hill, we were out of breath. We trudged on, we had to see what lay beyond.

“What have we found on this silent night?” the man asked as we reached the top.

I couldn’t answer him just yet.

The moon encompassed everything around us: the flowers sparkled in its rays, and the few birds that soared through the sky gave off an air of majesty. I felt the urge to reach my hand out and grab the white orb; I believed I could grab it. Then my head throbbed and felt as if it would split. My legs gave out, and I fell on my head.

A kaleidoscope of colors clouded my vision as I became entranced in the confusion.

Luke Garcia is a senior at St. Michael’s High School and is a lifelong resident of Santa Fe, with a heritage of more than 12 generations living in New Mexico. He plans to pursue a degree in biomedical engineering at New Mexico Tech. He is also a recipient of the College Board National Hispanic Recognition Award. In his free time, he is either training in the martial arts, writing, reading, hiking, or spending time with his beloved family (mother, father, brother, and two dogs).

32 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

Beautiful, lyrical prose. Reads like poetry … I love the metaphor. The words reach beyond his years.

— CA ROLY N GR A H A M, F IC T ION JUDGE

I fell through a void and never reached an end. Somewhere, I flailed around and caught hold of something: a memory.

I was a child playing in the hills, but they were different back then; just miles and miles of an empty expanse. The sight was enticing; from the wastes I thought I could build an entire city.

I wondered what else I’d find, and who I would become. That day, I promised myself that I’d go out and see the world.

But that’s not what happened. I left my home, found a place, and quietly settled. My spirit was snuffed out by my own circumstances, and I forgot. My memories slipped away from my grasp as everything changed into a never-ending day.

I was a prisoner kept in a cold cell, begging to see the light. The throbbing pain stopped, and I looked around; the man was standing over me.

I forgot he had even existed.

He helped me to my feet. “Did you find your answers?”

I nodded, “I found myself.”

He smiled and shook my hand, “The moon is beautiful tonight, its dim rays illuminate but a speck of what’s hidden in the dark: beautiful and horrifying secrets. We will always be drawn to them, you and I; we have nowhere to hide and can only hope to find ourselves through whatever we grasp.”

Just then, the wind screeched and the flowers were almost ripped from the ground; little creatures I could not see scattered as if threatened by something. Time stood still, and the Earth felt as if it would open right then and there. That didn’t happen. I stood triumphantly in the dim light. My prize was humble for sure, but it was all I cared for.

The man walked away soon after his final speech, adjusting his tie closer to his neck as he vanished from sight. I never saw him again, but his presence left an impression on me, one which I can’t shake away. I thought about him as I walked home, the wind now hastened rather than hindered me as I exited the countryside. I looked upon the moon for the final time that night, its beauty only amplified now. ◀

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33

PASA YOUTH WRITER PRIZE FICTION

THE SHATTERING Stella S. Counsell, 13, Santa Fe

The deathly silence of the sala almost made me shiver. It was so empty and lifeless without my mama’s mix of spices that she would always simmer in a pot, over low heat.

The day she was sent to the ER I was devastated and eagerly tried to invigorate the sala by copying her spice mix using my sense of smell. A few cinnamon sticks, clove and apples from the Trees of Life that grew near Calabria, my family’s homeland. They were sacred, golden apples that would only be picked by the humble farmers, like my brother Nino, who birthed and raised them. People who stole from the stock would get punished, even the ones who were greedy and didn’t want to change their demeanor.

There is a myth that says you will get turned into a pest like a raccoon that eats among the corn and maize, living your life as a thief or a trout eating the precious kelp of the river that the river didn’t grant permission for the trout to eat.

I found out I had skipped a few ingredients because the smell was very faint and dull, so I eagerly went to see Mama to complete my quest and restore the sala’s joy for her return after recovery.

When I reached the hospital, I asked a lady who worked at the front desk, “Is Mama still in the ER?” She told me Mama had improved enough to move to her own room in the hospital. My heart filled with satisfaction, and I found room 108 where Mama sat up in bed drinking a glass of water, looking up temporarily and seeming to be in deep thought before taking another sip. I knocked on the door after coming in to get her attention and crouched at the side of her bed.

“Hey,” I breathed softly. Mama turned to me and her face wrinkled when she smiled; she still had her beautiful dimples as before when she was full of youth.

“Ahh, Elena!” Mama rasped with joy. Her eyes were dark slits of happiness, a star in each one, her soft, heart-shaped lips rose with

her large grin, with cheeks that lit up rosy red; her breath smelled redolent. Her cheeks where usually pale and concealed with a colorless shade of tan, but they sure came to life when she smiled!

“So? Why do you come to see Mama here, Cara?” Her sanguinity seemed to drop as she asked her question.

“I’ve been curious to know what else you use in your Pots of Life.”

I felt needy asking but remembered I was making the pot for her, and even after her time, I would keep the tradition going in memory of Mama. “You promise not to tell?” I nodded soulfully. “I’ve already gotten the apples, cinnamon, and clove down so, what else am I missing?” Mama’s smile returned. “ All that’s missing is anise seed.” My eyes widened with curiosity.

“Grazie,” I reached for Mama’s forehead and kissed it. She looked in my eyes, and my heart felt tender with conviviality.

Nino was currently on a business trip in Paris, so I decided to give him a call to say goodbye to Mama because she was so delighted when I mentioned his name. “Sorella! How are you?” Nino greeted me warmly. “I’m doing just fine,” I answered. “Mama misses you!”

Then I turned the phone over to her and left the room to give them some quality time to talk, just the two of them.

I fumbled with my fingernails and twirled my curly black hair.

I worried for Mama but knew I also had to give her back independence. And so I waited and waited until I looked at the time and decided it was time to go.

“Mama,” I whispered in her ear. She turned to me, slightly. “I have to go, I will visit again soon.” Mama’s nod was solemn, but I just told myself she was due for some rest, and I took my phone from her weathered and veiny hands she had used tenderly in all her years of knowledge. I rubbed her hand in mine to warm it up and gave her one last kiss on the forehead. She gave me a wide smile that reminded me of newborns when they are so jubilant to

Stella S. Counsell is a young writer and aspiring artist growing up in Santa Fe. In her early days, around the age of 3, she would raid her mom’s office for paper and a stapler to assemble her own mini-books to subsequently have stories written into them. She “published” her first book, Overcoming the Wingless, at the age of 8.

34 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

be given life and a chance to learn the difference between good and evil and distinguish the two from each other.

“Carry on, young one, please fill yourself with understanding so you don’t become a thief of learning.” I smiled at her wisdom and pride about my future. I didn’t know what was in store for me, though. I thought an artista of the land who etched out the silhouettes of the shrubs? Or maybe a potter? I furrowed my brow but kept it mostly to myself; this visit wasn’t for my sake or future, it was for Mama.

So I smiled at her one last time and headed for the door. My smile stayed with me as I felt her presence right here flowing through my living body. It pumped through my veins like liquid gold, and I even looked over my shoulder once.

That evening when I got home, I decided to write a letter to Mama to thank her for everything she has done to make me into a better person. It started with a few do overs but I eventually got into the flow and imagined sprouts unfolding into heroic trees that subsided over the dirt road. They would never stop growing as long as I was writing and one day, they would be too strong for any sinner to cut down Mother Nature’s babies that allowed us to breathe. So I wrote until my pen got burned into my skin and put my writing to the side with a whole heart. “Tomorrow,” I gasped.

“Tomorrow I will give Mama her gift ...”

The horizon lit up the clouds making them a spontaneous orange hue that tickled all the animals with pureness that was richer than bread made by the hands of beautiful people.

I raised my eyelids and found myself sleeping on the sala’s ancient hand-carved table. It smelled of holy juniper that didn’t dare make a soul in the world sick, and so I had no hesitation to rest on the blessing that had held me all night. I reached for the ceiling, though, as I stretched out the cramping in my arms. Just then I remembered: Mama’s gift! I snatched my full letter and started up the car, forgetting all about breakfast or harvesting the rest of the apples before the winter demolished them. I ran content fully through the hospital and wouldn’t stop when someone asked me to. I dodged corners and vases, halting at Mama’s room. The room was a mix of rosewater and sanitizer and that started to worry me.

I went over to her tranquil body and cupped her plump cheeks in my hands. I shed a tear.

“No, no, Mama, you are not dead, nature is just cradling you longer ...” ◀

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35

PASA YOUTH WRITER PRIZE FICTION

A LIFE MADE FROM ALMOST NOTHING Seth Abes, 12, Santa Fe

Day 0: I wake up in a white room. Everything around me feels like a blank slate, or something someone gave up on. The room is not that large, and the only thing in this room is a bed that sits in the very middle. I get out of the bed and realize there is nothing else here. Suddenly, the abrupt realization comes to me. I wish there were more. More for me to do, more for me to see, more for me to comprehend. I think and think, if there is something else beyond this room, but I come to the conclusion that there isn’t, because I search the entire room, but I find nothing besides the one bed that I woke up in.

I learn a new feeling, frustration. I become mad, and grab one of the two sheets on my bed, and tear one apart. I learn that I can destroy things. I start kicking one of the walls. I kick and kick and kick. I start kicking the second wall, then the third, and then the fourth, yet the walls don’t break. I sit in despair, wondering why I’m the only one in this world, in this one little room, with nothing but a bed. At that point I am tired, so I lie down. I slowly drift away into sleep, pondering what will happen to me in this small world.

Day 1: I open my eyes once again, only I remember what happened last time, but something is different. There is a set of blocks, sitting in one corner of the room. I gaze at them for a second, only to become more and more curious. I walk over, and pick one up. It’s not that heavy, but it’s rough, something I’ve never felt before. There are many blocks, and they are all built, or stacked, to make the shape of a cube.

I take another one off the cube and stack them in a new way. I smile, as there is something new for me to do. The first day I built a similar shape to a cube, but four of the side lengths are longer than the original cube.

Day 2: The second day I built layers, each layer smaller than its predecessor, all the way to having only one block on top. This took several tries, because I didn’t have enough blocks, and sometimes I had too many, and I wanted to use them all.

Day 3: The third day I mostly sat and thought. Thought of all the things I had created in the past. I realized that, if I can make different

shapes with the blocks, then why not make different shapes with just one block. I knew I could destroy things, but maybe I wasn’t really destroying. I was creating something new! I bang this one block against the wall, over and over. Small pieces start breaking off, and it starts to form a new shape. It starts to be rather pointy, and a sudden sting shocks me in the hand. Something red starts to run down it, but eventually stops.

Day 4, 5, and 6: In these three days I learn I can get hurt from several things in this room. Sharp objects, and falls from certain heights. I also learn that I can heal from these injuries. I also gain instinct. I can feel when it’s not a good idea to do something that is dangerous, or if I think an action could prove helpful.

Day 7: I learn to describe if something is like me or not. I am living, because I can move by myself, and think. These blocks are not alive from what I can tell. Nothing else in this room is alive, so who or what put the blocks there?

Day 8: I experienced boredom for the first time. I long for someone else like me. I come up with an idea, but it will take time. I go to bed to get extra rest.

Day 9: I grab a block, and start pounding it against the wall. I eventually break off a piece, and start banging that against the wall. I create several more chunks, and then one sharp chunk. I create my first tool.

1 Month: After a while, I crave something else like me. There’s a fairly large chunk of wood on the ground so I use that. I grab one of my sharp tools, and start shaping something that I think looks somewhat like me.

2 Months: My figures start out rather boxy looking. But over time, they start to look better and better. I reckon it’s because of my practice every day.

4 Months: I make more and more characters, but I haven’t actually done anything with them yet. So I decide to create a story. Here I am, with more than just me. There is someone else, and we become friends. continued on Page 38

Seth Abes is a seventh grader at Santa Fe School for the Arts and Sciences.

He has a love of guitar and playing tennis. His inspiration to write this story was because he recently became more interested in science fiction. He loves reading other people’s ideas on what they think the future could be like. Seth also started creating dioramas. He has wanted to become a writer, or an architect, and loves to learn new things everyday.

36 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

PASA YOUTH WRITER PRIZE FICTION

LIFELESS LOVE Lola Wetzel, 12, Santa Fe

Camila J. Alves. I looked up from the document and over at the plastic bag; I could see the outline of her facial features and the curves on her body covered in layers of white.

“I’ll leave it to you then, Miller,” says my colleague.

I wave goodbye, keeping my eyes on the bag. The heavy door closes behind him. I set my clipboard down on the desk and gently approach the client. Carefully, I unzip the bag to reveal a beautiful woman with smooth skin, dark freckles, and a sharp jawline. Her neck is painted in spots of pastel crimson and purple like frozen blueberries. Her eyes, although sunken in, still contained a lingering chestnut gaze.

The sight of her immediately lifts my cheekbones into a smile that will never fade. I haven’t felt this deep admiration for anybody since I was in high school, hundreds of years ago.

I begin the embalming process. After washing her, I sit drying her hair with a towel. Her long strands of black silk between my fingers makes me feel warm and giggly inside. I admire her facial features, I use two fingers to open her eyes again, and for once, I don’t mind a client staring at me.

“Miller?” I hear the metal door open with a swing.

I yank my fingers away from her face. “What do you want?! Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“It’s almost time to go home, you can continue this tomorrow.”

“Please, I just have to finish drying her hair.”

“Finish up and put her back, quickly.”

“Just leave,” I demand. “You’re taking up my time!”

Flustered, he twirls around and pushes through the doors. I roll my eyes and continue scrunching Camila’s hair with a towel. I must work diligently on such an alluring client. Once her hair is completely dry, I prep her to get a long night’s rest. I push her into the cold drawer, but before doing so, I get one last look at her eyes. I reach my fingers out to close them, but then I hear a faint sound.

The mutter of a girl, “No.”

I turn around and stay very still while my eyes dart frantically. It’s getting late, must be my head. I run my hands through my hair and look back at the client.

“Don’t go, Silus.” She speaks again, “Please.”

I look over at the client with her head now turned towards her shoulder, her gaze pouring into mine. My chair hits the ground with a loud thud as I back up quickly.

“No, don’t be scared.” Her mouth moves up and down, her neck vibrating with every vowel.

Mind games. As much as I wish this beautiful lady was speaking to me, I know it can’t be possible. I know.

“You’re scaring me!” she giggles. “Now help me up, my legs feel cold.”

I slowly reach my hand out and she takes it, her grasp is warm and evident. I watch as she brings her feet to the floor, her bones fragile like a vase.

“Camila,” her brittle voice chimes.

“Silus.”

“I haven’t heard a name like that before.”

“Oh?” I mumble, still a bit dazed, but I realize she means no harm at all.

She looks around the room for a second, notices the radio, and walks over to it. Her eyes study the dials. “I’m just a bit slow, sorry.”

My gaze softens.

She turns a dial and a slow song plays. “This one will do!” She approaches me and lays her hands around my neck. At first I am startled, but then I place my arms on her waist, careful not to add too much pressure. A minute or two go by and then the radio scratches, sending us both confused.

“That was fun, what else should we do?” Camila asks.

I awkwardly laugh and look over to the clock, 11:36.

“Oh, no, I have to get home.” continued on Page 39

Lola Wetzel is a seventh grader at Santa Fe School for the Arts and Sciences. When she’s not writing, she loves to partake in dance classes, goof off with her friends, or procrastinate on her school assignments.

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38 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

… A Life Made From Almost Nothing continued 1 Year: My stories have become more and more elaborate. There is more than just my friend, but a whole group of people. We all live together in this room, and we are happy.

2 Years: I give everyone names, but not just my figures, but my tools as well.

1 Decade: I start to speak out loud, not everything is in my mind. But my figures can talk, I can talk.

2 Decades: I’m coming to the point where I have done so much. I can’t remember everything anymore, but I feel more in the present, more in the now.

I’ve learned to contain my emotions.

2 More Decades: The more I do, the more I learn. I realize that I have never made a figure of myself. What do I look like? I’ll never know fully who I am. I can’t see myself. I start touching my face, trying to get a sense of my facial features, but I can’t think of anything. I sit down in despair, like so many years ago. I look at the room I’m in, and it looks the same. It’s still four white walls, and a bed in the middle. I look around, and see all of my memories. One day after another, and I never escaped this room, because this room is all there is.

The room didn’t change, time never passed, and I wouldn’t have died. But I’m smarter, and though time may not pass in this world, I have become happy.

I point one of my long sharp tools at my chest, when suddenly a small rectangle opens in the wall and people run through at top speed yelling something at me but I can’t understand what they’re saying. They try grabbing my sharp tool away from me but I hold on.

They continue yelling, but they lose grip and stumble backward.

I close my eyes again as I drive my tool into my chest. Their yelling becomes more and more faint. But no matter, they cannot save me, and that’s ok, for I am at peace. ◀

E MBR ACE T HE

Season of Giving

… Lifeless Love continued “Why are you in a rush?”

I frantically usher her onto the tray, “Please just close your eyes.”

She looks at me confused and worried, then frowns. Her eyes close and I push the tray into the drawer. I quickly grab my bag, turn off the lights, and jog to my car.

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*** I jingle my keys into the lock.

“Good morning, Miller. Are you OK?” “What? I’m fine. Leave me be.” I shoo my hands up, still struggling with my keys.

The door finally opens and I set my stuff on the small table. My assistant follows me with a tablet in his hands. He places it down, then starts to play a video. I squint to try and see, and then I realize.

“Is that me?” I ask.

He nods slowly, biting his lip. I watch as my body dances across the screen, my hands around nothing but the air.

“This was last night around 10:30, you continued to slow dance with yourself for about an hour.”

“That’s weird.”

“It is.” He looks down. “The funeral starts later today, I would finish your client up.”

Quickly, I open the drawer and see my darling, Camila. Her face is lifeless (as it should be). I take out my tools and finish her makeup in two hours. I dress her in the outfit her family requested. Four hours till the funeral, now I have to give her up so she can be placed in a casket for the rest of her afterlife. I brush my fingers along her face and frown.

“Camila, you are so beautiful,” I say, knowing she’s listening somehow.

An idea hits me, one I know I shouldn’t do. I just can’t be separated from her. I get up from my seat and grab a new cadaver bag from the cabinet and eagerly fit her legs, torso, arms, and head into the bag. I zip it up and place her body on the transport cart. Slowly, Camila and I leave our room and make our way to the exit.

“Miller?” I hear my assistant stammer from the front office.

I shoot him a nasty glare. “What?! What could you possibly want now?”

I quickly push her to my beat-up car. I look around to make sure no one is watching before I unzip the bag and lay her into the backseat where my daughter usually sits. I jump into the front seat and pull out of the parking lot.

“Where are we?”

I immediately light up. “Camila?” I look in the rearview mirror to see Camila sitting upright, smiling. My phone rings, of course, it’s my assistant. I decline and set my phone in the passenger seat.

“Oh I see,” she says. “We’re going to be together, yes?”

“What do you mean?”

“Be with me.”

I pull over on the side of the road and look back at Camila, her prepossessing smile and her eager eyes.

“I think I love you.” I mutter.

“Do it,” she whispers. “You can’t just leave me.”

I look at the beautiful view over the mountain side and how the sunset reminds me of Camila. I press my foot to the accelerator for her. ◀

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39

PASA YOUTH WRITER PRIZE NONFICTION

PERSEVERANCE IN MATH Juliette Anderson, 13, Santa Fe

Perseverance is like the trail up a steep mountain. It’s what keeps you going when things get tough. Perseverance is like the key to a locked door. It’s what lets you do the things that seem impossible. In math, perseverance is the bridge between reading a math problem and solving a math problem. I’ve crossed this bridge of perseverance many times, not just for individual math problems, but also in ways that have changed how I think about math entirely. Now, I cross the bridge every day as I learn new concepts in math. With the key of perseverance, I can do the things I never thought I could do. Perseverance helps me see the trail up the steep mountainous edge of a math problem and navigate the numbers. I always carry some form of perseverance in my backpack, and in turn, it carries me through every obstacle I come across, especially in math.

The first time I ever crossed the bridge of perseverance, I was in third grade and didn’t care much about math. I didn’t find doing math very fun, and as a result, I thought I was horrible at math. Refusing to let me fall into the stereotype of girls who are bad at math, my parents got me a tutor, who then showed me that math was actually a ton of fun. He showed me how to use perseverance to unlock the door to a math problem.

At the beginning of fourth grade, instead of thinking I was bad at math, I thought of myself as an average math student. That year, I climbed up a tall, steep mountain with perseverance at my side, while I memorized my multiplication tables using a program called Reflex Math. Every day, I climbed a little higher up the rocky mountain of multiplication. After a few months of hard work, I was the first person in my class to be 100 percent mastered in multiplication. Without my key of perseverance, I wouldn’t have been able to do this. By the end of fourth grade, I began to feel pretty confident in my mathematical abilities, because I was able to persevere and cross all the bridges that got in the way of solving a math problem.

We only had a few entries in youth nonfiction, but I felt a solidarity with these youngsters. I was that kid several decades ago. I was the 14-year-old writing for my high school newspaper and sending in (very bad) poetry to The Atlantic in the hopes that the editors would publish it. Keep at it, kids. The world is waiting to hear more of your voice.

— SPENCER F ORDIN, NONF IC T ION JUDGE

new ecconcepts o n c e p n ma matth h in

Juliette Anderson is a seventh grader at Santa Fe Prep. She enjoys writing, ballet, and math.

40 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

Without ut m my yk key ey o off pe p er rs se er rv v ve er ra an nce

In fifth grade, I was put into the advanced math group called The Beast Group. I learned how to do more challenging types of math, including problems with negative numbers and how to multiply and divide fractions. I spent many hours working on two online math programs, Beast Academy and Manga High.

At the end of fifth grade, I began to feel even more confident in my math skills.

Over the summer, I worked on expressions and equations on Beast Academy, and kept working at each problem until I was able to get everything right on the tests for each unit.

I was always able to pull some perseverance out of my backpack and navigate the trail of every math problem.

Although math hadn’t always been my strong suit, perseverance helped me overcome my negative feelings about it. And by sixth grade, I felt like math was a part of me and how I defined myself. I was still in the advanced math group and working hard in math. I did pre-algebra and took every opportunity to improve my math skills. That year, I used the key to perseverance to unlock a tall, impenetrable door when I was getting ready for a pi memorization contest on pi day. When I first found out there would be a pi contest, I was determined to memorize as many of the infinite digits in pi as possible. About a week before the contest, I began to memorize some digits. At first, all I knew was 3.141592, but after about 15 minutes, I was able to learn 10 more digits. Every chance I got, I worked on getting over the bridge of perseverance. I learned more and more digits of pi. By the day of the contest, I knew 65 digits. I won the contest using my key of perseverance to open the door that seemed impossible to open.

Perseverance has shown me that I can do hard things, especially when it comes to math. Perseverance is something I use every day just like I use a pencil. It’s always there, waiting for me to pull it out of my backpack, whether it’s in the form of a trail, a key, or a bridge. Without my perseverance to guide me up mountains, the path would be hidden by a forest of trees. Without my key of perseverance to unlock all the doors, there would be no challenges, only things you can do easily and things you can’t do at all. Without bridges of perseverance, every math problem would be a lifelong struggle. Perseverance guides you along through every challenge that comes your way. When you have perseverance, the impossible is always possible. ◀

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41

PASA YOUTH WRITER PRIZE POETRY

DESPAIR ON A COLD NIGHT Khloe Clark, 15, Santa Fe

I walk to the edge of the sidewalk And scream Shattering the silence of the night

like bugs crawling On every inch of my body The feeling of discomfort In my own skin consumed me And every thought I push back, comes flooding back Like a tsunami Waves become greater As the water drains My subsist is slain My emotions are waves Crashing and erupting Like lava coming down From a raging volcano ◀

up from the top of my head refusing to go back down.

My hair is connected to a lot of people around the world through words, experiences, and moments.

My hair can do a lot of different things: stretch, straighten but only for a second, soak up water

that came from so far within

It makes me feel

My hair was a mess tangled and woven into tight knots and lumps and bumps of hair popping

the people with hair like mine.

and no one is out,

in my lungs

Lila Adeyemo, 13, Santa Fe

My hair, although messy, carries the stories of those who came before me and the stories of all

Fall nights when it’s cold

I can feel the sharp cold air

MY HAIR

like a sponge, poof from one way to another, and get combed out and then put back into a tight bun.

My hair is like one big beautiful mess bouncing from one way to another being stretched and pulled in all directions, causing fights, and creating love.

My hair is messy for a reason to tell the story of all the pain, tears, and happiness that we have gone through together over the years that we shared together.

My hair can be tamed but not forever when you least expect it goes crazy going from one place to another in all directions. I have gone through so many people, women, men, children, elderly either whispering about my hair or directly saying it to my face. One of the things that bothers me the most is other women who have straightened their curly hair staring at mine in disgust.

Or seeing little kids being taught by their parents that my hair “isn’t real hair.”

My e emotions m t i o n s a arre e wa wav ve es My name is Khloe Clark, I am a 15-year-old attending The MASTERS program. I’ve lived in Santa Fe my whole life. I am the middle child of four. I am surrounded by creative minds: my mom who is a cosmetologist, and my sister who is an aspiring writer and artist. My passion for writing started in the second grade when I wrote my first “book” about my late dog Lexi. Outside of school, I like to read a variety of books that mostly include novels and indulge myself in old and new films.

42 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

lso a Mela s

My hair cannot be any other way and I will never in my life hide my curls hide who I am away or hide my personality away.

My hair has been touched by many people without permission or with permission even if i’m uncomfortable with it.

My hair has boundaries but people cannot respect them, people cannot see them and when they do they choose to ignore them.

My hair is beautiful no matter what style or state it is in my hair will always have natural beauty and will never ignore that.

My hair cannot be fixed it cannot be tamed it cannot be straight is cannot be wavy it is only curly and those curls hold my personality in every single curl.

My hair although gone now is still traveling from place to place is still my hair no matter where the wind takes it no matter what damage or suffering it has gone through it is still my hair. Even though my hair is now gone my small curls still hold my big personality my hair still tells all the stories that were once told and more and more every day.

My big hair was preparing me for a change for my baby hair. A chance to start over a chance to have my own boundaries with my hair, a chance to be able to correct people when they say my hair is not hair, and a chance to be proud of myself and not be ashamed when a person makes a comment on my hair, a chance to be proud of my appearance.

My hair will always give me a reason to be proud to stand tall, to not be embarrassed My hair will always be by my side night or day day or night.

My hair is my hair and I love my hair everyday every night every second every minute. My hair is my hair and I love it. ◀

THE LADY BY THE LAKE Aerin Zone, 15, Santa Fe

Once upon a timeless night, By a lake just like a gem, Stood a lady close and bright, Who was beauty born from R.E.M. Magical at most degree, Lanterns floating endlessly, Flick’ring over stillest blue, Little suns of orange hue.

Sky so dark above my head, Only light was up ahead.

Masterpiece in human form, To no norm would she conform.

Homely soul like brimstone hearth, Spreading warmth across the earth.

What a pretty butterfly, Dappled rainbow that won’t shy.

I am frayed there at the seams, She’s the being from my dreams.

Lila Adeyemo lives in Santa Fe with her mom, dad, cat, and brother. She is an eighth grader at Mandela International Magnet School. Lila’s passions are art, music, writing, and dancing. When Lila grows up, she has big dreams. She hopes to live in New York City and become a museum curator.

aou ancholic n c h o i c oull so so gr gray

Melancholic soul so gray, Hiding back a salty spray.

Oh for sure a wretched moth, Mottled dim-dull colors both.

Sudden, I was by her side, Gazing at her so wide-eyed, As we stood upon the bank, And she said all straight and frank, “You are more than what you think,” Just when I felt ’bout to sink.

Then she pulled a lantern close, Pointed at the water to expose, My reflection showed the one Next to me, not just someone. ◀

My name is Aerin Zone. I am a 10th grader.

I have loved poetry for years.

PASATIEMPOMAGAZINE.COM

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PASA YOUTH WRITER PRIZE POETRY

ALL THINGS Helena Merlino, 17, Santa Fe

TEARY EYES Ayla Hitt, 13, Santa Fe

Nature calls you in.

She is see through

She tells you the story of unbarred, of twist and

A million things lie within those eyes

drift.

A basic brown

How to be alone,

But so much more when you look

How to be alone with yourself.

Sometimes all you have to do is look

How to give in to the untethered

I looked

Perhaps how to let go.

An ambition that couldn’t be stopped

She tells you about expansiveness,

You can see that she had changed with just

About all the gods in all the worlds you could choose

one glance

to believe in.

She has been beaten to her core

You choose yourself.

And wrung until there was nothing left to

How to take space.

wring

How to grow old.

She used to have something in her eyes

How to say sorry

It was a match that was easily lit

How to multiply and add and divide

But a match box will only last you so long

Mother tells you the story of:

With people left and right blowing out every

Last nights dishes left ashtray

match she tried to light

You learn how to be afraid. ◀

She can’t do it for much longer And each time that she cried she became less

WE ALSO LOVED ...

Santa Fe is filled with talented, up-andcoming young writers, which made it hard to select our top entries for this year’s writing contest. So we wanted to include the following list that spotlights a few more of our favorites, and offer our encouragement to these writers to keep writing and sharing your voices with the literary world.

FICTION The Day Ruby Walked In, by Maci Achilles, 12, Santa Fe, Santa Fe School for the Arts and Sciences Ari’s Manifesto, by Ari Harris, 13, Santa Fe Casa de los Abuelos, by Nallely Muñoz, 16, Santa Fe The Woman in the Mirror, by Camille Padilla, 14, Santa Fe, Tierra Encantada Charter School Inflamed, by Aurora Sandoval, 15, Rio Rancho Primal, by Cruz Smith, 15, Santa Fe, Santa Fe High

NONFICTION Tally Hall, by Jacquelyn Pino, 12, Rio Rancho, Rio Rancho Middle School

of herself Like the fire in her eyes has been stamped out by the tears ◀

Helena Merlino is a senior at New Mexico School for the Arts in the Dance Department. In addition to dance, she is pursuing a writing minor. Helena is excited to graduate and start her post-secondary education where she hopes to continue writing.

44 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

POETRY The Lost One, by Zoey Bollenbach, 17, La Cienega Show Me How, by Julian Rodriguez, 17, Santa Fe, Academy for Technology and the Classics The Golden Night Awaits, by Sofia Smith, 16, Santa Fe, The MASTERS Program And nothing else, by Keilyn Tarango, 14, Santa Fe, The MASTERS Program

Ayla is 13 years old and in eighth grade at Santa Fe School for the Arts and Sciences. She enjoys playing soccer and writing poetry. She’s super excited to have entered in the competition and will be submitting next year and hopefully years after that. She had an idea last year to create a poem about eyes but never ended up making it and this year she wanted to! After many rewrites and edits, she finally came up with a poem she likes and is excited to share it with Santa Fe.

Chicago Meets L.A. at COME CELEBRATE WITH US! Enjoy our New Year’s Eve Prix Fixe Wine Dinner & Performance Featuring Chicago Jazz Vocalist Ivette Camarano accompanied by L.A. Pianist Kyle Moore as we count down to welcome in 2024 with a Champagne toast!

IVETTE CAMARANO Chicago Jazz Vocalist

Chicago Mezza-Soprano, Ivette Camarano’s voice is a masterpiece with a rich, textured quality that goes beyond mere singing—it ignites the soul with a powerful fire in the belly, an instrument of pure emotion. Ivette will be accompanied by L.A. musician and visual storyteller, Kyle Moore, together they create a dynamic musical atmosphere at Vanessie Santa Fe, where the audience can expect a fusion of soulful vocals, intricate piano melodies, and the magic of storytelling—a celebration of two distinct yet harmonious musical journeys exlporing a songbook of traditional Jazz standards, Broadway show and Pop tunes.

4-COURSE PRIX FIXE DINNER & CHAMPAGNE TOAST WINE PAIRING MENU AVAILABLE $120 PER PERSON* ADDITIONAL 4 - COURSE WINE PAIRING, $40 PER PERSON*

Dinner Service: 6:00 PM-8:00 PM | Performance: 8:00 PM-12:00 AM PERFORMANCE + CHAMPANGE TOAST ONLY, $75 PER PERSON*

Call for Reservations:

505-984-1193 Purchase tickets online:

www.VanessieSantaFe.com KYLE MOORE

*Excludes applicable taxes & gratuities.

L.A. Pianist

HAPPY HOLIDAYS Wishing you peace and joy!

David Griego Designs ® exclusively at Santa Fe Goldworks

60 East San Francisco Street | 505.983.4562 | SantaFeGoldworks.com PASATIEMPOMAGAZINE.COM

45

MOVING IMAGES

CHILE PAGES compiled by Holly Weber

CELEBRATE AN ALT CHRISTMAS WITH SFJFF

Af ter its recent sold-out screenings of Remembering Gene Wilder, the Santa Fe Jewish Film Festival again celebrates the actor, writer, and filmmaker at the organization’s signature event, Flix & ChopStix, on Christmas Day. A Chinese dinner at Temple Beth Shalom catered by LuLu’s follows screenings of two of Wilder’s award-winning films, The Producers and Young Frankenstein, at the Center for Contemporary Arts.

“The tradition of Jews eating Chinese food on Christmas likely dates back to the Lower East Side in the late 1890s when Jewish and Chinese immigrants lived in close proximity,” festival director Marcia Torobin says. Not surprisingly, movies were added to the mix as Jewish immigrants were important players in the early movie industry and in Nickelodeon and theater ownership.

All are welcome to attend the dinner with the purchase of a ticket to one or both films.

Tickets for the film and dinner, plus a special double-feature package, are available at santafejff.org or by calling 505-216-0672. Tickets for just the films are also available.

Opening ANYONE BUT YOU Despite an amazing first date, Bea and Ben’s initial attraction quickly turns sour. However, when they unexpectedly find themselves at a destination wedding in Australia, they pretend to be the perfect couple to keep up appearances.

Romantic comedy, rated R, 104 minutes, Dreamcatcher 10, Regal Santa Fe Place 6, Violet Crown AQUAMAN AND THE LOST KINGDOM After failing to defeat Aquaman (Jason Momoa) the first time, Black Manta wields the power of the mythic Black Trident to unleash an ancient and malevolent force. Hoping to end his reign of terror, Aquaman forges an unlikely alliance with his brother, Orm, the former king of Atlantis. Setting aside their differences, they join forces to protect their kingdom and save the world from irreversible destruction.

Action/fantasy, rated PG-13, 124 minutes, Dreamcatcher 10, Regal Santa Fe Place 6, Violet Crown

46 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

Jason Momoa returns to the sea in Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom where he must join forces with his brother, the former king of Atlantis.

THE BOYS IN THE BOAT Opens Monday, December 25 During the height of the Great Depression, members of the rowing team at the University of Washington get thrust into the spotlight as they compete for gold at the 1936 Olympics in Berlin. George Clooney directs. Drama, rated PG-13, 124 minutes, Dreamcatcher 10 THE COLOR PURPLE Opens Monday, December 25 Torn apart from her sister and her children, Celie (Fantasia Barrino) faces many hardships in life, including an abusive husband. With support from a sultry singer named Shug Avery (Taraji P. Henson), as well as her stand-her-ground stepdaughter, Celie ultimately finds extraordinary strength in the unbreakable bonds of a new kind of sisterhood.

Musical/drama, rated PG-13, 140 minutes, Dreamcatcher 10, Regal Santa Fe Place 6, Violet Crown FERRARI Opens Monday, December 25 During the summer of 1957, bankruptcy looms over the company that Enzo Ferrari (Adam Driver) and his wife (Penélope Cruz) built 10 years earlier. He decides to roll the dice and wager it all on the iconic Mille Miglia, a treacherous 1,000-mile race across Italy. Drama, rated R, 131 minutes, Dreamcatcher 10, Violet Crown THE IRON CLAW The true story of the inseparable Von Erich brothers, who make history in the intensely competitive world of professional wrestling in the early 1980s. Through tragedy and triumph, under the shadow of their domineering father and coach, the brothers seek larger-than-life immortality on

the biggest stage in sports. Drama, rated R, 130 minutes, Dreamcatcher 10, Violet Crown MIGRATION A family of ducks decides to leave the safety of a New England pond for an adventurous trip to Jamaica. However, their well-laid plans quickly go awry when they get lost and wind up in New York City. The experience soon inspires them to expand their horizons, open themselves up to new friends, and accomplish more than they ever thought possible. Featuring the voices of Elizabeth Banks, Kumail Nanjiani, Awkwafina, Keegan-Michael Key, Carol Kane, and Danny DeVito. Animated comedy/adventure, rated PG, 91 minutes, Dreamcatcher 10, Regal Santa Fe Place 6, Violet Crown MONSTER Hirokazu Kore-Eda’s Monster centers on Minato (Soya Kurokawa), a young boy displaying increasingly worrying behavior both at school and at home. His mother, Saori (Sakura Ando), decides to discuss it with the teaching staff at his school and it becomes apparent that his teacher, Hori (Eita Hagayama), is the source of all the problems. But is she? As the story proceeds, sequences are devoted not just to Saori’s version of events but also to the point of view of Hori, as well as both Minato and his good friend Yori, in a film that wraps itself in secrets and lies, the truth landing in gray areas depending on who has the focus at any given moment. “Lovingly detailed and accented by an aching score from Ryuichi Sakamoto, who died in March, Monster

SPICY

MEDIUM

MILD

BLAND

HEARTBURN

is one of the finest films of the year, and its structure — like its circle of characters — carries secrets that can only be unraveled through patience and empathy.” (New York Times) Drama, rated PG-13, 126 minutes, CCA POOR THINGS From filmmaker Yorgos Lanthimos and producer Emma Stone comes the incredible tale and fantastical evolution of Bella Baxter (Stone), a young woman brought back to life by the brilliant and unorthodox scientist Dr. Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe). Under Baxter’s protection, Bella is eager to learn. Hungry for the worldliness she is lacking, Bella runs off with Duncan Wedderburn (Mark Ruffalo), a slick and debauched lawyer, on a whirlwind adventure across the continents. Free from the prejudices of her times, Bella grows steadfast in her purpose to stand for equality and liberation. “Beautifully garish, wonderfully twisted, unabashedly raunchy, and at times grotesquely striking.”

(Chicago Sun-Times) Sci-fi/fantasy, rated R, 141 minutes, CCA, Violet Crown

Special Screenings DIE HARD (1988) Friday, December 22, through Sunday, December 24 NYPD cop John McClane’s plan to reconcile with his estranged wife is thrown for a serious loop when, minutes after he arrives at her office, the entire building is overtaken by a group of terrorists. With little help from the LAPD, wisecracking McClane (Bruce Willis) sets out to single-handedly rescue the hostages and bring the bad guys down. Action/ thriller, rated R, 131 minutes, Jean Cocteau Cinema THE SHINING (1980) Wednesday, December 27, and Thursday, December 28 Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson) becomes winter caretaker at the isolated Overlook Hotel in Colorado, hoping to cure his writer’s block. He settles in along with his wife, Wendy (Shelley Duvall), and his son, Danny (Danny Lloyd), who is plagued by psychic premonitions. As Jack’s writing goes nowhere and Danny’s visions become more disturbing,

Box office Center for Contemporary Arts Cinema, 1050 Old Pecos Trail, 505-982-1338, ext.105, ccasantafe.org Dreamcatcher 10, 15 State Road 106, Española; dreamcatcher10.com Jean Cocteau Cinema, 418 Montezuma Ave., 505-466-5528, jeancocteaucinema.com No Name Cinema, 2013 Piñon St., nonamecinema.org Regal Santa Fe Place 6, 4250 Cerrillos Road, 505-424-6109, sfnm.co/3o2Cesk Violet Crown, 106 Alcaldesa St., 505-216-5678, santafe.violetcrown.com

Jack discovers the hotel’s dark secrets and begins to unravel into a homicidal maniac hell-bent on terrorizing his family.

Horror, rated R, 146 minutes, Jean Cocteau Cinema TOMMY BOY (1995) Friday, December 22, through Sunday, December 24 After his beloved father (Brian Dennehy) dies, dimwitted Tommy Callahan (Chris Farley) inherits a near-bankrupt automobile parts factory in Sandusky, Ohio. His new stepmother, Beverly (Bo Derek), wants to cash out and close, but Tommy’s sentimental attachment to his father’s employees spurs him to make one last-ditch effort to find someone who will buy their products. With his father’s tightly wound assistant, Richard (David Spade), in tow, Tommy hits the road to scare up some new clients. Comedy, rated PG-13, 97 minutes, Jean Cocteau Cinema

Continuing ANATOMY OF A FALL For the past year, Sandra, her husband, Samuel, and their 11-year-old son Daniel have lived a secluded life in a remote town in the French Alps. When Samuel is found dead in the snow below their chalet, the police question whether he was murdered or committed suicide. Samuel’s suspicious death is presumed murder, and Sandra becomes the main suspect. What follows is not just an investigation into the circumstances of Samuel’s death but an unsettling psychological journey into the depths of Sandra and Samuel’s conflicted relationship. “Anatomy of a Fall ... is the kind of craftily constructed, skillfully executed movie designed to mainline straight into sophisticated pleasure centers.” (The Washington Post) Crime/drama, rated R, 151 minutes, Violet Crown THE BOY AND THE HERON Twelve-year-old Mahito struggles to settle in a new town after his mother’s death. However, when a talking heron informs Mahito that his mother is still alive, he enters an abandoned tower in search of her, which takes him to another world. A semi-autobiographical fantasy about life, death, and creation, in tribute to friendship, from the mind of Hayao Miyazaki. “This is not a happy-go-lucky story, but an old-school fairy tale meant to frighten, confuse, and excite. It’s the good kind of scary: the kind that helps prepare children for the terrors of the real world.” (The Washington Post) Fantasy/adventure, rated PG-13, 124 minutes, Violet Crown GODZILLA MINUS ONE Postwar Japan is at its lowest point when a new crisis emerges in the form of a giant monster, baptized in the horrific power of the atomic bomb. “Godzilla Minus One offers an alternative to shared universe syndrome. It’s an artfully made throwback to kaiju classics and likely the first Godzilla movie that dares to make you cry. See it on the biggest screen possible.” (Rolling Stone) Adventure, rated PG-13, 125 minutes, Dreamcatcher 10, Violet Crown THE HOLDOVERS A curmudgeonly instructor (Paul Giamatti) at a New England prep school remains on campus during Christmas break to babysit a handful of students with nowhere to go. He soon forms an unlikely bond with a brainy but damaged troublemaker, and with the school’s head cook, a woman who just lost a son in the

Vietnam War. “This is [director Alexander] Payne’s first movie set in any kind of past … But it doesn’t feel stuck there.”

(New York Times) Comedy/drama, rated R, 133 minutes, Violet Crown THE HUNGER GAMES: THE BALLAD OF SONGBIRDS & SNAKES Years before he becomes the tyrannical president of Panem, 18-year-old Coriolanus Snow remains the last hope for his fading lineage. With the 10th annual Hunger Games fast approaching, the young Snow becomes alarmed when he’s assigned to mentor Lucy Gray Baird (Rachel Zegler) from District 12. Uniting their instincts for showmanship and political savvy, they race against time to ultimately reveal who’s a songbird and who’s a snake. “Feels like a natural extension of the saga, balancing bloodsport, endangered young love and a heightened level of political commentary that respects the intelligence of young audiences as only Collins can.” (Variety) Action/adventure, rated PG-13, 158 minutes, Dreamcatcher 10, Violet Crown OPPENHEIMER Christopher Nolan’s biographical feature film about American scientist J. Robert Oppenheimer (Cillian Murphy) and his role in the development of the atomic bomb. With Robert Downey Jr., Emily Blunt, Matt Damon, and Florence Pugh. “Murphy embodies Oppenheimer so naturally that you may start thinking you’re watching documentary footage of the real thing. The film humanizes Oppenheimer. … Murphy’s perfect portrayal leaves us with an image of a brilliant mind put to work to kill a nation, a people, and maybe the entire world. There’s a price to pay for that kind of knowledge.” (Robert Nott/The New Mexican) Drama, rated R, 180 minutes, Violet Crown PRISCILLA When teenager Priscilla Beaulieu (Cailee Spaeny) meets Elvis Presley (Jacob Elordi) at a party, the man who’s already a meteoric rock ‘n’ roll superstar becomes someone entirely unexpected in private moments: a thrilling crush, an ally in loneliness, and a gentle best friend. Directed by Sofia Coppola. “Priscilla is neither lurid nor sugar coated. It’s a sensitive, if slight, look at a young woman rousing from a dream and confronting waking life.” (Vanity Fair) Drama/romance, rated R, 110 minutes, Dreamcatcher 10 TROLLS BAND TOGETHER Poppy (Anna Kendrick) discovers that Branch (Justin Timberlake) and his four brothers were once part of her favorite boy band. When one of his siblings, Floyd, gets kidnapped by a pair of nefarious villains, Branch and Poppy embark on a harrowing and emotional journey to reunite the other brothers and rescue Floyd from a fate even worse than pop culture obscurity. Comedy, rated PG, Dreamcatcher 10, Regal Santa Fe Place 6 WISH Young Asha (voice of Ariana DeBose) makes a wish so powerful that it’s answered by a cosmic force, a little ball of boundless energy called Star. With Star’s help, Asha must save her kingdom from King Magnifico (Chris Pine) and prove that when the will of one courageous human connects with the magic of the stars, wondrous things can happen. Musical/fantasy, rated PG, 95 minutes, Dreamcatcher 10 PASATIEMPOMAGAZINE.COM

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Margaret and Bill Franke Invite All To Share Truchas Artists

Hand Arte Gallery 137 Cty Rd. 75 Truchas, NM 87578 505-689-2443 by appointment

A Joyous Christmas From

The UniTed ChUrCh of SanTa fe Whatever your journey, you are welcome!

Christmas EvE - sunday, dECEmbEr 24 morning sErviCEs

8:30 am - ContEmplativE Communion 10:00 am - sanCtuary sErviCE with spECial musiC

Christmas EvE

5:00 pm - ChildrEn’s Carols and CandlEs A special story and a gift for every child.

7:00 pm - CandlElight Choral sErviCE All services livestreamed at unitedchurchofsantafe.org

The UniTed ChUrCh of SanTa fe The Rev. Talitha Arnold, Pastor

Bradley Ellingboe, Director of Music • Dr. Jessie Lo, Pianist

1804 Arroyo Chamiso (at St. Michaels Drive) 505-988-3295 | unitedchurchofsantafe.org 48 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

STAR CODES LET’S KEEP OUR HEARTS OPEN to the potential of a miracle this week.

It’s not inevitable — that’s not the nature of miracles — but it is possible. We could also see strange weather and misunderstandings create real problems.

The stars cause us to soften our hearts and pay great attention to our surroundings.

Neptune speaks to us this week between chapters in our life, bringing great dreams and festive magic on a good day and confused frustration on a tough one. Heart-centered, creative Venus trines Neptune, and both mental Mercury and active Mars square Neptune, calling us to use our gifts of intuition and imagination.

These Neptune transits can add a glow to life and power to our empathic prayer but can also bring foggy weather and misperceptions. We need to pierce through the fog. Visualize what steps could help our world heal, both on the personal and local scale and our massive global challenges. Then take steps in that direction after Mercury turns direct on January 3.

The sun and retrograde Mercury conjunct in Capricorn on Friday and loan us competence to complete work. Feel a more festive element as Mercury enters Sagittarius late Friday night. Our emotions run deep undercurrents with Venus in Scorpio all week; sometimes we’ll want to be in the heart of the party but minutes later we might need solitude.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 22: Rest and contemplate this late morning as the moon conjuncts Jupiter in Taurus. Midday, organize to complete, clear the decks, and prepare as the sun and Mercury conjunct in Capricorn. A layer of grim efficiency leaves and seasonal twinkling arrives as Mercury enters Sagittarius tonight.

Observe the moon-Jupiter conjunction glowing in evening’s sky.

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23: Restlessness and introspection can make it appear as if we aren’t paying attention to beloveds as the moon conjuncts Uranus. People aren’t tracking clearly, so clarify intentions, times, and places.

Find humor in minor mistakes and keep a playful attitude. Good food, comfort, and cuddliness further; work with that delicious Taurus moon.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24: Buzz around, visit, hold an open house, check out the sites, and share a joke as the moon enters communicative Gemini. Keep a lighthearted approach. Review and update traditions. The evening settles as the sun sextiles Saturn; stroll through memories. Conversations about the present moment may be more difficult than those about the past or future.

MONDAY, DECEMBER 25: Expect to get up early this morning, whether celebrating Christmas or not, under this nervy, creative, talkative Gemini moon.

It’s a great day for Zoom, phone calls, letter writing, and visits, but don’t expect anyone to focus for long. Savor rather than hurry as Venus trines Neptune.

Encourage everyone to speak up and share stories; engage imagination and watch the heart warm.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 26: Be off schedule, out of time, cozy, comfortable.

Let people unwind at their own pace without heavy expectations; recover from burnout and over-extension on this full moon in Cancer. We need acceptance, safety, cuddliness, and tasty food.

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 27: Watch a potential for misunderstandings or strange weather conditions this morning. Stay situationally aware and clarify misconceptions as Mercury squares Neptune and conjuncts Mars. Conversation tonight can be pointed, sharp, but fascinating, but don’t set off each other’s defenses; we armor up quickly.

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 28: Do not hurry, do not insist. Let anger and frustration dissolve as Mars squares Neptune. Let it be a day of not knowing but of dreaming and imagining. Ponder possibilities in this moment between chapters. Evening grows communicative and celebratory as the moon enters Leo tonight. ◀ Contact astrologer Heather Roan Robbins at roanrobbins.com.

Words dss can’t express sss our gratitud ude de THANK YOU to the writers who entered the Pasatiempo Writing Contest, THANK YOU to our readers, and THANK YOU to this year’s supporters.

compiled by Pamela Beach

A R T S . E N T E R TA I N M E N T. C U LT U R E .

FRIDAY 12/22

DJ Boost

Tesuque Casino, 7 Tesuque Road, 800-462-2635 Top 40 and classics; 7:30-11:30 p.m.; no cover.

Gallery and Museum Openings

Robert Fox Trio

Keep Contemporary

Club Legato, 125 E. Palace Avenue, 505-988-9232 Jazz pianist; 6-9 p.m. today and Saturday; no cover.

142 Lincoln Avenue, Suite 102, 505-557-9574 Bestiary, paintings by Milka Lolo and Fran De Anda; through Jan. 15; reception 5-8 p.m.

In Concert

SATURDAY 12/23

Paradiso Santa Fe, 903 Early Street, 505-577-5248 Local soul/funk band; 7:30 p.m.; $20.

EntreFlamenco

Hillary Smith & ChillHouse

Theater/Dance El Flamenco de Santa Fe, 135 W. Palace Avenue, 505-209-1302 Antonio Granjero and Estefania Ramirez; 6:15 p.m.

Fridays and Saturdays through December; $25-$45; entreflamenco.com.

Theater/Dance EntreFlamenco

El Flamenco de Santa Fe, 135 W. Palace Avenue, 505-209-1302 Featuring Antonio Granjero and Estefania Ramirez; 6:15 p.m., encores Saturday, Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Dec. 29-31; $25-$45; entreflamenco.com/tickets.

Winter Cabaret: In the Clouds

Wise Fool New Mexico, 1131-B Siler Road, 505-992-2588 Circus-arts troupe; 2 and 6 p.m.; $10-$15 in advance, $20 at the door, youth $5.

ReVóZo Flamenco

Deck the Halls

Vanessie Santa Fe, 427 W. Water Street, 505-984-1193 Featuring EmiArteFlamenco Academy Youth de Santa Fe Dance Company; 6 p.m.; $40, show and dinner $80; vanessiesantafe.com.

A Christmas Carol

Unitarian Universalist Santa Fe, 107 W. Barcelona Street, 505-982-9674 Upstart Readers present a dramatic reading of Charles Dickens’ Christmas tale from Dickens’ own performance script, performed in Victorian dress; 2 and 7 p.m.; $15; upstartcrowsofsantafe.org.

Deck the Halls

A Christmas Carol

The Garden Stage at La Tienda, 7 Caliente Road, Eldorado Upstart Readers present a dramatic reading of Charles Dickens’ Christmas tale from Dickens’ own performance script, performed in Victorian dress; 6:30 p.m. today and Monday; $15; upstartcrowsofsantafe.org.

La Luz de las Noches

Santa Fe Botanical Garden, 715 Camino Lejo, 505-471-9103 Farolito-lined paths and holiday lights; at the gift shop: jewelers Kenneth Johnson (Muskogee Creek) and Cody Sanderson (Diné); performers Vicente Griego, ReVóZo Flamenco, and Los Niños de Santa Fe dancers; 4:30-7:30 p.m. through Jan. 1; $27, discounts available; santafebotanicalgarden .org.

Christmas Classics & Carols

First Presbyterian Church, 208 Grant Avenue Baritone Travis Bregier sings It’s Beginning to Look Like Christmas, Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

Let It Snow!, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and other popular tunes; 5:30 p.m., doors 5:15 p.m.; donations accepted.

First National 1870 Annual Holiday Tree & Train Celebration

62 Lincoln Avenue Santa Fe Model Railroad Club display with Polar Express and Hogwarts Express trains, a special holiday freight train, Victorian and winter villages; 9:30 a.m.-noon and 1:30-4 p.m. weekdays through Dec. 29.

12/22

Hillary Smith & ChillHouse at Paradiso Santa Fe

CALENDAR LISTING GUIDELINES

50 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

Santa Fe Pro Musica Holiday Bach Festival Santa Fe Botanical Garden presents violinist Rachel Kelli (pictured) and Lightning Boy Foundation hoop dancers ShanDien LaRance and Edwin Felter on Friday.

La Luz de las Noches

Santa Fe Botanical Garden, 715 Camino Lejo, 505-471-9103 Farolito-lined paths and holiday lights; at the gift shop: jewelers Cree LaRance (Tewa/Hopi/Diné) and Steve LaRance (Hopi/Assiniboine), and violinist Rachel Kelli and Lightning Boy Foundation hoop dancers ShanDien LaRance and Edwin Felter; 4:30-7:30 p.m. through Jan. 1; $27, discounts available; santafebotanicalgarden.org.

The Night Before Christmas

Santa Fe Playhouse, 142 E. De Vargas Street, 505-988-4262 An irreverent holiday comedy by Andrew Neilson, directed by Emily Rankin; 7:30 p.m. today and Saturday, 2 p.m. Saturday; $15-$75; santafeplayhouse.org.

St. Francis Auditorium, 107 W. Palace Avenue A Baroque Christmas, traditional carols, music of J.S. Bach, Corelli, and Handel; 4 p.m.; tickets start at $35; 505-988-4640, ext. 1000, tickets.sfpromusica.org.

Sin Nombre Brass Quintet

Santa Fe Desert Chorale

Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi, 131 Cathedral Place Candlelight Carols; 7 p.m.; $10-$100; 505-988-2282, desertchorale.tix.com.

St. Bede’s Episcopal Church, 550 W. San Mateo Road Including Sweelinck’s Hodie Christus natus est, The First Noel, and music of Irving Berlin, Mel Tormé, and Buddy Greene; 4 p.m.; no charge.

Santa Fe Pro Musica Holiday Bach Festival

St. Francis Auditorium, 107 W. Palace Avenue A Baroque Christmas, traditional carols, music of J.S. Bach, Corelli, and Handel; 7:30 p.m.; tickets start at $33; 505-988-4640, ext. 1000, tickets.sfpromusica.org.

Nightlife

Annalisa Ewald

Agave Restaurant & Lounge, Eldorado Hotel & Spa, 309 W. San Francisco Street, 505-995-4530 Classical guitarist; 6-9 p.m.; no cover.

Email press releases to pambeach@sfnewmexican.com at least two weeks prior to the event date.

12/24

Christmas Eve farolito walk along Canyon Road

Inclusion of free listings is dependent on space availability.

Nightlife

¡Tamalada!

Tumbleroot Brewery & Distillery, 2791 Agua Fría Street Traditional tamale-making workshop; 4:30 p.m.; $50 includes two draft drinks and four tamales to take home; kids $25; holdmyticket.com/event/425101.

Instrumental Jazz Jam

Club Legato, 125 E. Palace Avenue, 505-988-9232 Robert Fox Trio hosts; 6-9 p.m.; no cover.

Wine & Jazz Night

Nightlife

Tesuque Casino, 7 Tesuque Road, 800-462-2635 Crawfish Boyz, Dixieland jazz; 6-9 p.m.; no cover.

Arable, 7 Avenida Vista Grande, Eldorado, 505-303-3816 Accordian and percussion duo; 6-8 p.m.; no cover.

THURSDAY 12/28

Robert Fox Trio

Holiday Fare

AlmaZazz!

Club Legato, 125 E. Palace Avenue, 505-988-9232 Jazz pianist; John Trentacosta on drums, and Cyrus Campbell on bass; 6-9 p.m.; no cover.

¡Felices Fiestas! The Holiday Traditions of New Mexico

Museum of Spanish Colonial Art, 750 Camino Lejo New Mexico Deputy State Historian Nicolasa Chávez describes the multicultural origins; $10, ages 18 and under no charge; rsvp@spanishcolonial.org.

Shane Wallin

Tesuque Casino, 7 Tesuque Road, 800-462-2635 Singer-guitarist; 6-9 p.m.; no cover.

La Luz de las Noches

SUNDAY 12/24 Christmas Cheer

Wise Fool New Mexico presents its Winter Cabaret: In the Clouds on Saturday. New Mexican file photo

Neighborhoodwide Annual pedestrian-only holiday tradition, with farolito-lined streets and adobe walls; begins at dusk.

Events

Holiday Fare

Center for Contemporary Arts, 1050 Old Pecos Trail Santa Fe Jewish Film Festival’s annual tradition: The Producers and Young Frankenstein 2 p.m., followed by dinner at Temple Beth Shalom; screenings only, $8 or $14; one film and dinner, $32; both films and dinner, $38; santafejff.org/tickets.

Santa Fe Botanical Garden, 715 Camino Lejo, 505-471-9103 At the gift shop: Santa Clara Pueblo potter Jason Garcia, Santa Clara Pueblo R&B guitarist Jacob Shije, and singer-songwriter Westin McDowell; 4:30-7:30 p.m. through Jan. 1; $27, discounts available; santafebotanicalgarden.org.

Canyon Road Christmas Eve farolito walk

Santa Fe Symphony

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 Nochebuena Clasica!, Vivaldi’s Guitar Concerto and Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez, with guitarist Jason Vieaux; also, Corelli’s Christmas Concerto and Mozart’s Symphony No. 36; 4 p.m.; $25-$92.

Call for ticket availability.

Nightlife

Doug Montgomery

Flix & ChopStix

La Luz de las Noches

Nightlife

Nightlife

Skyfire Lounge, Bishop’s Lodge Resort, 1297 Bishops Lodge Road, 888-741-0480 Classical/jazz/flamenco guitarist; 4-9 p.m.; no cover.

Tesuque Casino, 7 Tesuque Road, 800-462-2635 Oldies, country, and standards; 6-9 p.m.; no cover.

Gustavo Pimentel

Gustavo Pimentel

Club Legato, 125 E. Palace Avenue, 505-988-9232 Jazz saxophonist; 6-9 p.m.; no cover.

Westin McDowell

Theater/Dance

WEDNESDAY 12/27

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

El Flamenco de Santa Fe, 135 W. Palace Avenue, 505-209-1302 Featuring Antonio Granjero and Estefania Ramirez; 6:15 p.m., encores Wednesday, Thursday, and Dec. 29-31; $25-$45; entreflamenco.com/tickets.

Deck the Halls

A Christmas Carol

The Garden Stage at La Tienda, 7 Caliente Road, Eldorado Upstart Readers present a dramatic reading of Charles Dickens’ Christmas tale from Dickens’ own performance script, performed in Victorian dress; 6:30 p.m.; $15; upstartcrowsofsantafe.org.

EntreFlamenco

La Emi Winter Flamenco Series

Benítez Cabaret at The Lodge at Santa Fe, 750 N. St. Francis Drive, 505-992-5800 Guest appearances by Vicente Griego; with Gabriel Lautaro Osuna, Brisyda Zàrate, and Fabian Sisneros; 7:30 p.m., doors 6:45 p.m., encores Dec. 29-31; tickets start at $25; 505-660-9122, emiarteflamenco.com.

Santa Fe Pro Musica Bach Ensemble

St. Francis Auditorium, 107 W. Palace Avenue Bach and Beyond, music of Glass, Bach, and Arvo Pärt, led by violinist Colin Jacobsen; 7:30 p.m.; $33-$98; 505-988-4640, ext. 1000, tickets.sfpromusica.org.

Nightlife

TUESDAY 12/26

La Reina at El Rey Court, 1862 Cerrillos Road, 505-982-1931 Singer-songwriter; 6 p.m.; no cover.

Max Gomez & Friends Holiday Concert

Tumbleroot Brewery & Distillery, 2791 Agua Fría Street Americana singer-songwriter; 7:30 p.m.; $25-$40; holdmyticket.com/tickets/423900.

Flashbacks Duo

Skyfire Lounge, Bishop’s Lodge Resort, 1297 Bishops Lodge Road, 888-741-0480 Classical/jazz/flamenco guitarist; 5-8 p.m.; no cover.

Rio Chama, 414 Old Santa Fe Trail, 505-955-0765 Pianist-vocalist; Great American Songbook; 6-9 p.m.; no cover.

Santa Fe Botanical Garden, 715 Camino Lejo, 505-471-9103 Artist Kat Kinnick, running 4:30-7:30 p.m. through Jan. 1; $27, discounts available; santafebotanicalgarden.org.

Holiday Fare

La Luz de las Noches

Santa Fe Botanical Garden, 715 Camino Lejo, 505-471-9103 Farolito-lined paths and holiday lights; at the gift shop: carver Randy Brokeshoulder (Hopi, Diné, and Shawnee); performers Jemez Pueblo musician Adrian Wall and the Acoma Pueblo Enchantment Dancers; 4:30 p.m. through Jan. 1; $27; santafebotanicalgarden.org.

Santa Fe Pro Musica Holiday Bach Festival

St. Francis Auditorium, 107 W. Palace Avenue Bach and Beyond for Families; 10 a.m.; no charge; sfpromusica.org.

Alex Murzyn Trio Kyle Moore

Vanessie Santa Fe, 427 W. Water Street, 505-984-1193 L.A.-based pianist; 6-9 p.m.; no cover.

Pat Malone

TerraCotta Wine Bistro, 304 Johnson Street, 505-989-1166 Jazz guitarist; 6-8 p.m.; no cover.

Tesuque Comedy Club

Tesuque Casino, 7 Tesuque Road, 800-462-2635 Scott Record and Dobie Maxwell; 4:30 and 6:30 p.m.; $10 cover; 6:30 and 8:30 p.m. Dec. 29 and 30.

OUT OF TOWN Madrid

Madrid Christmas Open House

Townwide Holiday lights and extended shops hours; weekends through December shopping days.

◀

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A guide to performances & events for the weeks ahead Carousel: NYE at the House of Eternal Return

The Lone Bellow

Meow Wolf, 352 Rufina Circle, 505-395-6369 Dance to Ana M, Bacon, Callie Jones, Red Flag, Saint’s Ball, and Spoolius; doors open 9 p.m. Dec. 31; $45 and $55; meowwolf.com.

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 Indie-folk trio’s 10th anniversary tour; 7:30 p.m. Jan. 16; $25-$130; lensic.org.

New Year’s Eve Love & Happiness Dance Party

Taos Center for the Arts and San Miguel Chapel Tibetan singer-songwriter; 7:30 p.m. Jan. 17 and 18; $25 and $35; ampconcerts.org.

Music

Peter Williams and The Sticky

St. Francis Auditorium, New Mexico Museum of Art, 107 W. Palace Avenue Republic of Tuva throat singers; 7:30 p.m. Jan. 19; $25-$75; performancesantafe.org.

The Met: Live in HD

Harwood Museum of Art, 238 Ledoux Street, 575-758-9826 Violinist Elizabeth Baker, violist Laura Chang, cellist Sally Guenther, and pianist Debra Ayers; music of Brahms and Dohnányi; 5:30 p.m.

Jan. 20, 3 p.m. Jan. 21; $24 and $30; taoschambermusicgroup.org.

Yungchen Lhamo

Tumbleroot Brewery and Distillery, 2791 Agua Fría Street, 505-393-5135 Led by Raashan Ahmad; 9 p.m. Dec. 31; $12-$15; tumblerootbreweryanddistillery.com.

Tumbleroot Brewery & Distillery, 2791 Agua Fría Street Funk band; 7:30 p.m. Dec. 29; $10 in advance, $12 at the door; holdmyticket.com/event/424299.

Winter Reverie

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 Verdi’s Nabucco, with baritone George Gagnidze in the lead role, and soprano Liudmyla Monastyrska as his vengeful daughter Abigaille; 11 a.m. Jan. 6; $22-$28; lensic.org/events.

Slaughter Beach Dog

Meow Wolf, 1352 Rufina Circle, 505-395-6369 Rock band; Sun June opens; 7 p.m. Jan. 9; $27.50; meowwolf.com.

Leo Kottke

Taos Center for the Arts, Lensic Performing Arts Center, KiMo Theatre, Albuquerque On the road again; 7:30 p.m. Jan. 10, 12, and 13; tickets start at $42; lensic360.org.

Ringing in the New Year

Joe Illick & the NYE Orchestra

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street Soloist Augustin Hadelich; Burch Violin Concerto, Sarasate’s Carmen Fantasy, and Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 2; 5 p.m. Dec. 31; $30-$80; open rehearsal 1 p.m.; $5 and $20; lensic.org/events.

Chicago Meets L.A.

Vanessie Santa Fe, 427 W. Water Street, 505-984-1193 Jazz vocalist Ivette Camarano, accompanied by pianist Kyle Moore; prix fixe wine dinner 6 p.m. Dec. 31, performance 8 p.m.; $120 per person, performance and champagne toast only, $75 per person; vanessiesantafe.com.

New Year’s Eve Show & Party

Tesuque Casino, Tesuque Road, 800-462-2635 Carlos Medina and Danny Duran’s bands; 7 p.m.-12:15 a.m. Dec. 31; $20 at the door.

Albert Catiglia

Tumbleroot Brewery & Distillery, 2791 Agua Fría Street, 505-393-5135 Blues guitarist; 7:30 p.m. Jan. 24; $25; ampconcerts.org.

SOJA

The Historic El Rey Theater, 622 Central Ave., SW, Albuquerque, 505-510-2582 Roots-reggae band; special guests Hirie and Likkle Jordee; 7:30 p.m. Jan. 25; $38; lensic360.org.

Dust City Opera

Delirium Musicum

Fusion 708, 708 First Street NW, Albuquerque Folk-rock orchestra: Sadness, Madness, & Mayhem, including performances by Conservation Carnivale Science Circus members, Giovanni String Quartet, and tarot readings; 6:30 p.m. Jan. 27; $25 and $150; ampconcerts.com.

An Evening with Jamie Barton

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 Music of Mozart, Carl Nielsen, and Jessie Montgomery, led by Marcello Cormio, with flutist Anthony Trionfo; 3 p.m. Jan. 28; $28-$98; 505-988-4640, ext. 1000, tickets.sfpromusica.org.

Duane Smith Auditorium, Los Alamos High School campus, 1300 Diamond Drive L.A.-based chamber orchestra on tour; 7 p.m. Jan. 12; $35, ages 6-18 no charge; losalamosconcert.org.

Taos Center for the Arts presents Jamie Barton Jan. 13.

Alash Ensemble

Santa Fe Pro Musica

Taos Center for the Arts, 145 Paseo del Pueblo Norte, 505-758-2052 The mezzo-soprano sings operatic selections and contemporary songs; 4 p.m. Jan. 13; $65, concert and artist reception $125; tcataos.org.

Diderot Quartet

St. Francis Auditorium, New Mexico Museum of Art, 107 W. Palace Avenue Caroline Shaw’s Punctum, Bach, selections from Art of the Fugue, and Mendelssohn’s Quartet in A Minor, Op. 13; 3 p.m. Jan. 14; $24-$94; 505-988-4640, ext. 1000, tickets.sfpromusica.org.

Philippe Quint in Charlie Chaplin’s Smile

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 Multimedia program accompanying clips from classic Chaplin films, with the violinist and the Santa Fe Symphony Orchestra; 4 p.m. Jan. 14; $25-$92; boxoffice.santafesymphony .org/8733.

GREAT HEARING CREATES BETTER CONNECTIONS! Our Full Service Audiology Clinic Is Now Fuller with PHINEAS, Our Hearing Dog in Training!

Amy Ray Band

Tumbleroot Brewery & Distillery, 2791 Agua Fría Street, 505-393-5135 Touring in support of her album If It All Goes South; 7:30 p.m. Jan. 29; $25; lensic360.org.

Benise

KiMo Theatre, 423 Central Avenue NW, Albuquerque American self-described nouveau Spanish flamenco guitarist’s stage production Fiesta!; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 2; $29-$95; holdmyticket.com/tickets/416770.

David Wax Museum & Lone Piñon

Tumbleroot Brewery & Distillery, 2791 Agua Fría Street, 505-393-5135 Folk/roots-rock band and New Mexico string band; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 5; $20; ampconcerts.org.

ATTENTION N ADVERTISERS! PASA ATIEMPO EARLY HOLIIDAY DEADLINES

ISSUE: FRIDAY, DECEMBER 29, 2023 RESERVATION AND AD COPY Y DEADLINE: Friday, December 22, Noon ISSUE: FRIDAY, JANUARY 5, 2024 RESERVATION AND AD COPY Y DEADLINE: Friday, December 29, Noon

Dr. Kelly Waugaman, FAAA Audiologist

Dr. Lisa Pulsipher FAAA Audiologist

Call Us To Hear What You Have Been Missing 505-466-7526 5 Caliente Road #5 Santa Fe, NM 87508 eldoaudiology.com

52 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

The offices of the Santa Fe New Mexican will be closed on Monday, 12/25/23 and Monday, 1/1/24.

While normal distribution will occur on th hese dates, Circulation Customer Service will be closed and the call center will re-opeen on Tuesdays, 12/26/23 & 1/2/24 at 6am.

Cory Wong

Donavon Frankenreiter

El Rey Theater, 622 Central Avenue SW, Albuquerque Funk-rock, rhythm guitarist; 8 p.m. Feb. 5; $35 and $160; lensic360.org.

Taos Center for the Arts, 145 Paseo del Pueblo Norte, 505-758-2052 Surfer-cum-singer-songwriter; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 28; $30; tickets.lensic360.org/tickets/424080.

Portugal. The Man

On Stage

Brad Mehldau: 14 Reveries

Teatro Paraguas, 3205 Calle Marie, 505-424-1601 Blue Raven Theatre presents aerial dancer Talia Pura’s one-woman show based on the life cycle of butterflies; 7:30 p.m. Jan. 11-13, 2 p.m. Jan. 14; $25, students $15; blueraventheatre.com.

Sunshine Theater, 120 Central Avenue SW, Albuquerque, 505-764-0249 Portland, Oregon-based rock band; 8 p.m. Feb. 6; $43; lensic360-org.

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 The jazz pianist performs cuts off his new composition; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 7; $35-$95; performancesantafe.org.

Robert Jon and The Wreck

Tumbleroot Brewery & Distillery, 2791 Agua Fría Street, 505-393-5135 Southern rock band; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 8; $30; ampconcerts.org.

Kelly Hunt and Stas Heaney

GiG Performance Space, 1808 Second Street Folk singer/banjo player and fiddler; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 9; $25; gigsantafe.tickit.ca.

Los Angeles Guitar Quartet

Duane Smith Auditorium, Los Alamos High School campus, 1300 Diamond Drive Known for programs ranging from bluegrass to Bach; 3 p.m. Feb. 10; $35, ages 6-18 no charge; losalamosconcert.org.

A Mardi Gras Celebration with Delfeayo Marsalis and the Uptown Jazz Orchestra

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 Part of the 2024 Art + Sol Winter Arts Festival; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 10; $35-$115; performancesantafe.org.

Bentano Quartet

St. Francis Auditorium, New Mexico Museum of Art, 107 W. Palace Avenue Music of Mozart, Shostakovich, and Mendelssohn; 3 p.m. Feb. 11; $24-$94; performancesantafe.org.

Matisyahu

Meow Wolf, 1352 Rufina Circle, 505-395-6369 Reggae singer/rapper on his Hold the Fire tour; 7 p.m. Feb. 14; $50.50-$145.50; meowwolf.com.

Rosanne Cash

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 With John Leventhal; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 14; $59-$84; lensic.org/events.

BeauSoleil avec Michael Doucet

Tumbleroot Brewery & Distillery, 2791 Agua Fría Street, 505-393-5135 Cajun band; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 16; $30 in advance, $35 at the door; southwestrootsmusic.org.

Santa Fe Symphony

Metamorphosis

The Peking Acrobats

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 Accompanied by musicians; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 1; $35-$59; lensic.org/events.

MOMIX

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 The modern-dance troupe in Alice, Moses Pendleton’s choreography inspired by Alice in Wonderland; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 6; $36-$114; lensic.org/events.

Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 Comic drag troupe celebrating its 50th anniversary; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 12; $36-$114; lensic.org/events.

Tradition and Invention: American Jazz Dance with Nan Giordano & the Giordano Dance Chicago

LewAllen Galleries, 1613 Paseo de Peralta, and Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street Presentation by the artistic director of Giordano Dance Chicago; 5:30 p.m. Feb. 20; $125 (at the gallery); secure.performancesantafe .org/9039/9064. Giordano Dance Chicago jazz troupe; 7:30 p.m.

Feb. 21; $35-$115; secure.performancesantafe.org/842/8865.

Spectrum Dance Theater

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 Choreographer Donald Byrd’s production of Grief, depicting the experiences of Mamie Till-Mobley after the murder of her son Emmett Till; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 29; $49-$75; lensic.org/events.

Happenings

Ways of Seeing: Four Photographic Collections

New Mexico Museum of Art, 107 W. Palace Avenue Photographs from the mid-20th century, including works

by Ruth Bernhard, Edward Burtynsky, Harry Callahan, Adam Fuss, David Michael Kennedy, and Minor White; opening Jan. 20; through July 7, 2024.

Creative Connections — A Celebration of Aunties

Institute of American Indian Arts, 83 Avan Nu Po Road Native American arts, food, music, and a presentation from Indigenous Performance Productions, with director Kendra Potter (Lummi), executive creative producer Andre Bouchard (Kootenai/Ojibwe/Pend d’Orielle/Salish); performers include Nora Naranjo Morse (Santa Clara Pueblo), Laura Tohe (Diné), and IAIA students; 5:30 p.m. Jan. 23; $40; performancesantafe.org.

Opera in the Films of Francis Ford Coppola and Martin Scorsese

Unitarian Universalist Santa Fe, 107 W. Barcelona Street, 505-982-9674 Pasatiempo contributor Mark Tiarks kicks off the first of Santa Fe Opera Guild’s public offerings; 6 p.m. Jan. 23; $10 and $20; santafeoperaguild.org.

The Writing Generation Series

Via Zoom Free readings by New Mexico writers, and creative-writing sessions; Santa Fe Poet Laureate Janna Lopez launches the series with a reading of her collection such is; 6 p.m. Jan. 24; session follows 6 p.m. Jan. 31. The series continues with online readings and workshops offered by Santa Fe Community College and Institute of American Indian Arts graduates and professors through spring.

Backcountry Film Festival

SALA Los Alamos Event Center, 2551 Central Avenue, Los Alamos, 505-412-6030 Winter Wildlife Alliance presents films on outdoor adventures, the enviroment, climate change, and ski culture; 7 p.m. Jan. 24; $15; winterwildlands.org.

The Aunties: Women of the White Shell Water Place

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 Multimedia storytelling, with Nora Naranjo Morse (Kha’p’o Owenge/Santa Clara Pueblo), Deborah Taffa (Quechan/Laguna Pueblo), and Laura Tohe (Diné, Tsénahabiłnii, Sleepy Rock People clan); 7:30 p.m. Jan. 24; $25-$85; performancesantafe.org.

Winterbrew

Santa Fe Farmers’Market Pavilion, 1607 Paseo de Peralta Annual New Mexico Brewers Guild’s craft beer tasting event; 6-9 p.m. Jan. 26, $10-$45; eventbrite.com.

2024 Souper Bowl

Santa Fe Community Convention Center, 201 W. Marcy Street, 800-777-2489 The Food Depot’s fundraiser with local chefs competing in this best-soup challenge, 11 a.m.-2 p.m. Jan. 27, adult VIP $100 in advance, $150 day of, child VIP (13 and up) $30, general admission $30 in advance (by 12/27), $50 in advance, $75 day of, children $15, ages 12 and under no charge; 505-471-1633, thefooddepot.org.

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 American Classics, with violinist Alexi Kenney performing Barber’s Violin Concerto No. 1; also on the program, Bernstein’s Chishester Psalms, Copland’s Four Dance Episodes from Rodeo; 4 p.m. Feb. 18; $25-$92; boxoffice.santafesymphony.org/8735.

Mauro Durante & Justin Adams

San Miguel Chapel, 401 Old Santa Fe Trail The percussionist-violinist and guitarist fuse love songs of southern Italy and the blues of North Africa and North America; 7:30 p.m.

Feb. 20; $30 and $50; ampconcerts.org.

Dylan LeBlanc

Paradiso Santa Fe, 903 Early Street, 505-577-5248 Singer-songwriter-guitarist; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 22; $18; ampconcerts.org.

Terence Blanchard, E-Collective, and Turtle Island String Quartet

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 Paying tribute to jazz composer Wayne Shorter; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 22; $49-$72; lensic.org/events.

Judith Hill

Lensic Performing Arts Center, 211 W. San Francisco Street, 505-988-1234 Singer-songwriter; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 23; $30-$55; lensic.org/events.

Las Migas

National Hispanic Cultural Center, 1701 Fourth Street SW, Albuquerque, 505-246-2261 Spanish flamenco-crossover quartet; 7:30 p.m. Feb. 24; $22-$44; ampconcerts.org.

Severall Friends

New Mexico School for the Arts, 500 Montezuma Avenue Telemann in Paris, with flutist Sandra Miller, violinist Elizabeth Blumenstock, viola da gambist Mary Springfels, cellist Katie Rietman, and harpsichordist Kathleen McIntosh; 4 p.m. Feb. 25, $30 in advance; severallfriends.org.

Lensic 360 presents Leo Kottke in Taos Jan. 10, Santa Fe Jan. 12, and Albuquerque Jan. 13.

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AT THE GALLERIES

New Mexico Museum of Art

107 W. Palace Avenue, 505-476-5072 Selections from the 20th-Century Collection, through December • The Nature of Glass, group show, through December • Manuel Carrillo: Mexican Modernist, photographic exhibition; through Feb. 4 • Rick Dillingham: To Make, Unmake and Make Again; through June 16; nmartmuseum.org. Closed Mondays.

Santa Fe

Edition One Gallery

729 Canyon Road, 505-982-9668 A Walk in the Park, photographs by Andy Katz; through December.

El Zaguán

45 Canyon Road, 505-983-2567 Wind, Water & Tremblor: Geologic Ruminations, works on paper by John Brandi; through Dec. 29.

New Mexico Museum of Art Vladem Contemporary

404 Montezuma Avenue, 505-476-5062 Shadow and Light, including works by Larry Bell, Judy Chicago, Agnes Martin, and Leo Villareal; through April 28 • Oswaldo Maciá: El Cruce, sound sculpture; through Sept. 22; nmartmuseum.org/ vladem-contemporary. Closed Mondays.

form & concept

435 S. Guadalupe Street, 505-780-8312 Happening, Doreen Wittenbols’ installation; Lifted Labor, paintings by Andrew Alba; Paper Trails, mixed-media group show; through Saturday, Dec. 23.

Poeh Cultural Center and Museum

Gaia Contemporary

78 Cities of Gold Road, 505-455-5041 Di Wae Powa: They Came Back, historical Tewa Pueblo pottery • Nah Poeh Meng, 1,600-squarefoot core installation highlighting works by Pueblo artists; poehcenter.org. Open Mondays-Fridays.

225 Canyon Road, Suite 6, 505-577-8339 Holiday Small Works Show; through December.

Giacobbe-Fritz Fine Art

702 Canyon Road, 505-986-1156 24th Annual Small Works Holiday Show; through December.

Santa Fe Botanical Garden

715 Camino Lejo, Museum Hill, 505-471-9103 18-acre living museum; santafebotanicalgarden .org. Closed Mondays and Tuesdays.

HERE Gallery

213 E. Marcy Street, 562-243-6148 Small Works — the 40-4,000 Show, paintings

by Gary Barten, drawings by Katherine Meyer, and ceramics by Joey Serim; through Dec. 30.

SITE Santa Fe

1606 Paseo de Peralta, 505-989-1199 Interference Patterns, multidisciplinary work

by Nicholas Galanin; and Water, paintings by N. Dash; through Feb. 5 • Field of Dreams, textile compositions by Billie Zangewa, through Feb. 12; sitesantafe.org. Closed Tuesdays and Wednesdays.

Manitou Galleries

123 W. Palace Avenue, 505-986-0440 Annual Small Works Show; through December.

Meyer Gallery

Wheelwright Museum of the American Indian

225 Canyon Road, 505-983-1434 Paintings by Jhenna Quinn Lewis; through Dec. 28.

Nüart Gallery

670 Canyon Road, 505-988-3888 Equinations, paintings by Juan Kelly; through Jan. 7.

Photo-eye Gallery

1300 Rufina Circle, Suite A-3, 505-988-5152 Reshaping the Earth: Energy and the Environment, photographs by David E. Adams, Bremner Benedict, and Jamey Stillings; through Jan. 6.

Vivo Contemporary

form & concept (formandconcept.center) shows photographs by Eric Cousineau through Jan. 20 in the group show Salt Pillars.

Meow Wolf

725-A Canyon Road, 505-982-1320 (Untitled), group show of works by gallery artists; through Jan. 1.

1352 Rufina Circle, 505-395-6369 The House of Eternal Return, immersive, evolving exhibits; meowwolf.com. Days and hours vary.

MUSEUMS & ART SPACES

710 Camino Lejo, Museum Hill, 505-476-1269 Horizons: Weaving Between the Lines with Diné Textiles, historic and contemporary weavings, prints, photographs, and other related items; through June 2 • Here, Now and Always, artifacts from the collection; long term; indianartsandculture.org. Closed Mondays.

Santa Fe

Coe Center for the Arts

1590-B Pacheco Street, 505-983-6372 African, Asian, European, Native American, and Oceanic objects; email info@coeartscenter.org for tours; coeartscenter.org. Open by appointment.

Georgia O’Keeffe Museum

217 Johnson Street, 505-946-1000 Rooted in Place, O’Keeffe’s studies of trees; through April 15 • Georgia O’Keeffe: Making a Life, art and objects from the collection; through Nov. 15, 2024; okeeffemuseum.org.

Closed Tuesdays and Wednesdays.

IAIA Museum of Contemporary Native Arts

108 Cathedral Place, 505-983-8900 The Art of Jean Lamarr, paintings, prints, and sculpture from the 1970s to the present; through Jan. 7 • The Stories We Carry, jewelry from the museum collection; through September 29, 2025; iaia.edu/mocna. Closed Tuesdays.

54 PASATIEMPO I December 22-28, 2023

Museum of Indian Arts and Culture

Museum of International Folk Art

706 Camino Lejo, Museum Hill, 505-476-1204 Protection: Adaptation and Resistance, works by Alaskan Indigenous artists ranging from regalia to images of traditional tattooing and graphic design; through April 7; Ghhúunayúkata/To Keep Them Warm: The Alaska Native Parka, examples from the mid-19th century to contemporary reinterpretations; through April 7 • La Cartonería Mexicana: The Mexican Art of Paper and Paste, historic sculptures from the collection, exhibited with the work of three visiting cartoneros; through Nov. 3, 2024. Core exhibits: Multiple Visions: A Common Bond, works in the Alexander Girard Wing • Lloyd’s Treasure Chest: Folk Art in Focus, thematic displays from the permanent collection; moifa.org. Open daily.

Museum of Spanish Colonial Art

750 Camino Lejo, museum@spanishcolonial.org Grow and Flourish: Spanish Colonial Arts Society New Acquisitions, historic and contemporary bultos and hide paintings; through December • Generations and Imagination: What Lies Behind the Vision of Chimayó Weavers, highlighting the shifting traditions through four generations of the Trujillo family’s work; through April; spanishcolonial.org. Open Wednesdays-Fridays.

New Mexico History Museum

113 Lincoln Avenue, 505-476-5200 Solidarity Now! 1968 Poor People’s Campaign, a Smithsonian Institution traveling exhibit exploring the grassroots movements of the civil rights era; through Jan. 15. Core exhibitions: Palace Seen and Unseen: A Convergence of History and Archaeology, photographs and artifacts • The Massacre of Don Pedro Villasur, graphic art

by Turner Avery Mark-Jacobs • The First World War, ephemera relating to New Mexicans’ contributions • Setting the Standard: The Fred Harvey Company and Its Legacy, objects from the collection and photographs from Palace of the Governors archives • Telling New Mexico: Stories From Then and Now, artifacts, photographs, films, and oral histories; nmhistorymuseum.org.

Closed Mondays.

704 Camino Lejo, Museum Hill, 505-982-4636 California Stars: Huivaniūs Pütsiv, the first Californian artists whose works reflected personal experiences, mythology, and social justice; through Jan. 14.

Long term: Center for the Study of Southwestern Jewelry, devoted to Diné and Pueblo traditions • Rooted: Samples of Southwest Basketry; works from the collection; wheelwright.org.

Closed Sundays and Mondays.

Albuquerque

Indian Pueblo Cultural Center

2401 12th Street NW, 505-843-7270 Grounded: Honoring Our Cultural Ties with Strength and Resilience • Birds and Feathers: Their Beauty Within Our Traditions, group shows; through April; indianpueblo.org. Open Tuesdays-Sundays.

National Hispanic Cultural Center

1701 Fourth Street SW, 505-246-2261 Hecho en Nuevo México, showcases New Mexican artists whose artworks have been added to the museum’s permanent collection; through Jan. 21 • Hourglass: Paño Arte from the Rudy Padilla Collection, celebrating paños as an art form and the contributions of incarcerated artists to the broader fields of Chicano and American art; through April 14; nationalhispaniccenter.org.

Open Tuesdays-Sundays.

Taos

Harwood Museum of Art

238 Ledoux Street, 575-758-9826 Harwood 100: Centennial Exhibition, including works by Emil Bisttram, Andrew Dasburg, Gene Kloss, and Agnes Martin; through Jan. 28; harwoodmuseum.org. Open Wednesdays-Sundays.

Taos Art Museum at Fechin House

227 Paseo del Pueblo Norte, 575-758-2690 Natural Forms, sculpture by Britt Brown; through Jan. 21; taosartmuseum.org. Closed Mondays.

FINAL FRAME

KEEP CONTEMPORARY

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Camazotz, an 8-inch-by-10-inch acrylic-on-paper painting by Milka Lolo, is part of Bestiary, an exhibition of Lolo’s and Fran De Anda’s work at Keep Contemporary. A reception with drinks and DJs is set for 5 p.m. Friday, December 22. The show runs through January 15, 2024. 142 Lincoln Avenue, 505-557-9574; keepcontemporary.com — Brian Sandford

]