Minus 50 in the Manger

They are calling it a generational storm. Here in Idaho, we can’t find our cars. We have a cougar with a cub tree’d down the road. TikTok got deleted, forcing the girls outside to build igloos –complete with sternos stolen from the French restaurant. Snow plows worked all night, skies clearing, a friend’s husband walked through the door unannounced on early release from federal prison. Another friend got into the Mayo Clinic and I’m supposed to learn to make cinnamon rolls.

Our neighbor, a writer from Hollywood, did his annual 100 foot conifer of honkey tonk lights, with a life-sized buffalo from a movie set at its base, all aglow like a supersized manger. The tree serves as a kind of beacon. We use it to give friends directions to holiday dinners and is even visible from the air flying back from Palo Alto.

“Why do you do that tree every year?” I ask Graham.

“Because I like them”.

Graham is Jewish.

My daughters say the lights of the tree as seen through the pastures makes them feel safer. “With the leaves off, it’s nice to see our neighbors, everything seems closer”. Whatever your tradition, the shared experience of the holidays makes us feel connected. To see one another, for us to be seen, and perhaps –if only briefly– to not be so alone. Which is to see our fragility.

This time of year the veil is so much thinner. Kids understand the difference between light and darkness. Being much closer to both than we are.

Further south, much further, in the Mojave, my friend reported back from a 10 day silent retreat. “I was out walking amongst the Joshua trees and boulders and came upon a desert tortoise –the largest living creature I have ever seen. It was the size of a small Japanese import car!” he exclaimed. “I was suddenly overcome with a need to find another person,” he said, circling it, unable to tear himself away. “I looked around in disbelief. It was as if it couldn’t possibly be real, the experience wouldn’t actually materialize, unless shared”.

Torn as we are, forever between our solitude and our need to share.

It’s no wonder that all three of the world’s great monotheistic religions started in the desert. Loneliness begets loneliness, until we connect. So strong is this need, we build TikToks, igloos and supersized mangers. After the storm, now a cold front. Minus 50.