Temperature and timelessness (First Sunday in Advent)
Many notions rumble through my mind. Like how 17 degrees Fahrenheit (-8 C) is pretty damned cold! That was the temperature we felt as we entered the cloud bank, pictured above. Not that it had been warm right before we drove into what was freezing fog, but WOW! Nature and weather are pretty amazing elements, let me say.
Thankfully freezing fog was the forecaster's term; there was no fog, only clouds as we headed from Nevada into California on Interstate 395. That icy spate lasted until we turned off Highway 36 for Highway 44, when bright sunshine lifted temps a few degrees, yet the sun's warmth was like stepping into a different realm, for the scenes we encountered on 395 were like an alternate reality. They made me think about a similar scene I wrote in The Hawk, when Lynne and Sam observe an icy vista right before Christmas. Yet I conjured that from my imagination. Driving through it, mile after mile, was wholly something else.
December, and Advent, are similar, in how many on this planet dive into an altered manner of living; decorating and gift-buying and for children waiting with baited breath for Christmas Day. Or wondering why other families seem to have all the trappings that advertisers blare are a must for personal happiness and overall life satisfaction. Yet for me, as a Christian, those details pale when I ponder the personal message of this month, of Advent, of a baby in a manger. I felt that somewhat as I peered at icy shrubs, frosty trees, white permeating the landscape. Thankfully the road was dry, but the horizon was bleak, also beautiful, like tree limbs would snap off like icicles. I have never seen such frozen tundra, with no snow yet frost even clung to power lines. The temperature fluctuated between 19 and 22 degrees F, finally rising to 26 when we reached Highway 44, where trees still possessed frost, but the blue sky allowed warmth to emerge.
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| Doyle, California. |
Bethlehem wasn't that frosty over two thousand years ago when a carpenter left his village, his heavily pregnant wife at his side, probably riding a mule, or I'd like to think Mary wasn't on her feet all those miles. What Advent means to me is contemplation, miracles, love. Waiting not for Santa or presents under a tree but a more timeless, formless occurrence that is commemorated every year by those with and without faith in the millions. Millions, maybe billions, of us anticipate December for this or that reason in the chill and the heat, the sun and the rain, and the bone-chilling cold I experienced yesterday morning. We had planned to stop in Susanville for a snack, but it was too dang cold to get out of the car! Instead we drove through that town, not pausing until we reached Redding, where we had Chinese food for lunch, and where the temperature was a pleasant 61 F. A lit Christmas tree decorated the restaurant's entrance, flashing bulbs indicating it is indeed the season to be.... I breathe deeply, smile, then am grateful to be home where it's not as chilly as Reno, where all my trappings exist, where my family is not, but family is a vague term at this time of year. For what happens later this month, my family is as vast as the ends of the planet, as wide as I wish to make it. Time matters at times, while at others it's as meaningless as the forecast that Susanville was supposed to be sunny. Instead an icy beauty ruled, unexpected but necessary. I don't know why, I just take it on faith that's what was meant to be.
