I often became immobile and silent when he unrolled his paper, because the art was beyond anything I had imagined. His work woke me to the possibilities of sunrises over purple mesas set far in the distance with orange and red-streaked clouds feathering over black and Prussian blue in a sky stuffed with multi-colored, carefully shaded, light-blue and white, puffy New Mexican rain clouds.  He did crayon layering like I’d never seen. His horses were horses, unlike my elementary rectangular pig-like horses with long snouts and spindly legs. There were lights and darks, shading, and perspective, but mostly he took my breath away with his use of color. His beautiful color was alive with nature’s spirit.

I miss those days. I still have my First Grade drawing of “Dick and Jane’s Visit to Grandfather’s Farm,” framed by my delighted mother, praised by my teacher, and now hung on my wall. It is mundane compared to those works of my friend. I asked him how he knew how to draw so well. He said he “just looked.” When he told me his secret, I was speechless and breathless all over again. I realized that in all my six long years of life, I had not yet learned to look.

This Christmas season is a rich one for me. My grandmother’s story of “Shoes for the Santo Niño” premiered in New Mexico as an opera for children.

A historic legend of the Santo Niño from Atocha, Spain told of men imprisoned because of their faith, who were permitted to eat only the food brought by their families. When a caliph ordered that only children twelve years old and younger were allowed to deliver the food, these children noticed that the prisoners were being fed by a young boy they did not know. Those who had asked the Virgin de Atocha for a miracle began to suspect the identity of the little boy. The touching story of the Santo Niño depicts the mysterious love that intervenes to save individuals trapped in need and suffering.

When I was a child, I was shocked to find a peppermint abandoned and lying in the snow. A peppermint was a rare gift I would not have thought of dropping. So too did the Santo Niño de Atocha represent an extraordinary treasure. My painting of the peppermint reminds me of treasures we pass by in our rush to get on with life, and the legend of the Santa Niño reminds me to take time to care.