Holiday memories in today’s letters to the editor.
Pick of the day: A special Christmas moment in N.Y.
When I was in my 20s, I was living in New York at 9 Great Jones St. The roommates in the loft were Curt and Nat, both jazz pianists; Terry, an actress-singer; Danny, a Fuller-Brush salesman (go figure, quite the music enthusiast) and me, a dancer. There were also two Siamese cats named Dizzy and Bird. They were named after Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker, of course.
It was barely into Christmas Day, perhaps 2 or 3 a.m. It had been snowing most of Christmas Eve, and I decided to go for a walk in the fresh snow. As I walked along, after roughly a block or two, I realized I was alone in the snowy street. I looked behind me and noticed my footprints, and it occurred to me that with all of the millions of people in Manhattan, mine were the only footprints in those couple of blocks.
That experience was exhilarating to me. It seemed like a prayer and a blessing. I felt a special, individual closeness.
I think of that night often, and that was the most meaningful Christmas I can recall, surrounded by so many people but alone with God on his birthday.