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Show (Jt, f t &f $Lmie ftm nW f : 1 Park City's brightest lights... When I was a little girl we used to spend the holidays at my grandparents house in Southern California. We lived in Northern California, so although there was a change in scenery there was no change in the climate. And there was no snow. But my favorite part of the visit during the holidays was the long drive we would take at ' night to "see the lights". I was nestled in the back seat of the car with my sister, while my mother and grandparents would all sit up front with their special hot buttered rums we girls drank hot buttered "nothings". Probably the years have been kind to my memory of that car. It was most likely no more than an oversized Oldsmobile but my memory makes it out to be a huge Cadillac. (Ever notice how many grandparents have a Cadillac?) Going out to see the lights was always such u fine adventure. This was all light years before anyone ever thought there would be an energy crisis in the land of plenty. I remember Santas that would pop out of smokeless chimneys, jolly snowmen and snowladies that really waved their hands at me, and reindeers that pranced on the rooftops. But my very favorite was the grand house in Beverly Hills that had an honest-to goodness ice skating rink on their enormous front lawn with mechanical snowperson ice skaters (Now, I know they were mechanical, but at the time my only concern was that these snowpersons would n elt in the Southern California heat. My all-knowing grandparents grand-parents assured me the snow persons were kept in the deep freeze all day long and only danced at night. Look, I w.isn't such a cynic then, I bought that line.) I haven't thought about those visits to "see the lights" in years. Not until this week when traveling uptown at night my no-longer-Santa-believers squeeled with delight at the folks down the street who had lit up their yard with white lights that looked like reindeer. (The 920 block of Little Kate Road.) So, then I remembered the group of wonderful lights up at the Silver King Condos and I swung the car up there. My normally very sophisticated nine-year-old said, "Oh, mom, this looks like a fairy tale place". Driving up Main Street I pointed out the Family Jewels, nicely lit up and with a wonderful display of greens as well. When we pulled into our driveway at home my almost-too-cool-for-the-entire-season-eleven-year-old said, "Hey mom, those blinking lights over at Danny Parkers house look like a Pac-Man game.' I looked at the long rows of lights with every third or fourth light popping out and I laughed, it did remind me of the electronic game. Our lives have been pretty hectic lately and our frequent evening jaunts uptown have been made a little more memorable by driving out of the way to "see the lights". It's always hard to know which things you do with your children that they will remember. I hope this is one of those things... There is one less bright light in Park City this season. Wayne Putman, that jolly old elf, who for so many years, 31 to be exact, had played Santa for Park City children. I have so many images of Wayne. He was one of the very first people I met when I moved to town. It was Wayne at the rodeos, Wayne in the parades, Wayne fixing my street. Probably he never knew my name. But he always waved and smiled at me just the same. There are two clear images of Wayne that stand out for me. The fabulous photo shot by Pat McDowell of Putt-Putt in his 4th of July hat and vest lighting the stick of dynamite to welcome in the 4th with a bang. The other is the first time I saw Wayne as Santa. It was my first Christmas in Pa-k City and my seven-year-old was beginning to question the whole Santa business. After a three minute visit with Wayne she came running back to me and said, "Oh, mom, I'm so glad we moved to Park City. The real Santa Claus comes here to visit kids." If there is anything fitting about the tragic death of Wayne, it is that he would die in the season for which he is most associated with, Christmas. So very many people will miss you Wayne. Bye-Bye, Putt-Putt. |