A Christmas Preview

Even before the blizzard of holiday catalogues began drifting through the mail slot I found myself wrapped in thoughts of Christmas. It happened in New Orleans on an August afternoon when the temperature hit 110 and the air was drippingly humid.

There in the French Quarter near the Mississippi River I suddenly heard carols sung by Nat King Cole. I saw windows flocked with snow and wreathed with twinkling lights.

A sign said: “Santa’s Quarters.”

I pushed the door and stepped into air-conditioned winter. Clerks had rosy cheeks and benevolent smiles. Smells of Christmas potpourri mixed with candle wax and ribbon candy filled the air.

Fir trees were decked with snowballs and icicles. Mechanical elves, with bells on their toes, hammered and tapped in toy-factory tableaux.

Cool Cavern

Shelves held dolls of every size, as well as angels and reindeer and creches. This cool cavern at 1025 Decatur St. is open seven days a week, all year.

It fills more than 3,000 square feet with Christmas cheer, from traditional ornaments to tree toppers with a distinctive New Orleans flavor: ceramic pieces and pralines, jazz trumpets, crawfish and Mardi Gras masks.

Music is stirring. From “O, Tannenbaum” to “Winter Wonderland,” it had me humming. As I paused before leaving, my purchases safely tucked into a tote bag, the silky words of Nat King Cole made me laugh: “Oh, the weather outside is frightful.”

How did he know it was August?

I like to buy trinkets when I travel. I enjoy the folklore and traditions of other places.

In New Mexico and Arizona I am a pushover for ristras, those garlands of chili peppers that form slashes of scarlet against pale adobe walls. One of my favorite marketplaces for ristras is the Son Silver West gallery on the road to Bell Rock in the Red Rock country of Sedona, Ariz.

Hundreds of strands of fragrant peppers hang from wooden beams: there are plump Chimayos, wreaths of red and green peppers and clusters of garlic and blue corn.

At Indian Gardens, north of Sedona on the Oak Creek Canyon road, is Garland’s Indian Jewelry, a rock-ribbed fortress that houses a superb collection of silver and turquoise, trade beads, and necklaces of olive shell and smooth, white clam. The rich choice of kachinas and top-quality Indian pottery make this a rewarding stop on the scenic route from Phoenix to Flagstaff.

The Garland family also operates Garland’s Navajo Rugs in Sedona and the cozy Garland’s Lodge in Oak Creek Canyon. Their loyalties and honor are well known.

Crisp Duck

One afternoon at Indian Gardens, as I concluded a purchase of white heart beads from a woman named Elsie Maiden, I mentioned that I was staying at Garland’s Lodge.

Elsie smiled wisely and said: “I know what you’re having for dinner, lucky you.” She guarded the secret of the handsome chef, Amanda. And the crisp duck turned out to be as perfect as the fish and filets and peppery soups of other nights.

On a simpler scale, a small outdoor Indian market has been established at the vista point at the top of Oak Creek Canyon toward Flagstaff.

Licensed vendors make and sell jewelry at prices below most curio shops, because there is no middleman. Besides, you can visit with the men and women who spread their wares on blankets. The Indians accept traveler’s checks but not credit cards; gentle bargaining is practiced.

Museum shops also prove to be happy hunting groups for gifts. I find, in my Christmas closet at home, that I’ve stashed tote bags from shops at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City and the Library of Congress in Washington.

I have books of matches from the Presidential libraries of Harry Truman in Independence, Mo., and Jimmy Carter in Atlanta. I have small treasures from the new African and Asian museums of the Smithsonian, and bookmarks and candlesticks from the restored village of Deerfield, Mass.

Now to make an assault on those drifts of holiday catalogues, with their blessed toll-free phones and swift deliveries.