Silent night. Holy night. All is calm. All is bright…
I saw a familiar face recently. And like so many others, even here in a town of 2,000, I hadn’t seen him in a while. We weren’t close friends or anything, but he was a nice blue-collar fellow and we always exchanged pleasantries.
His first name was easy to remember, the same as mine, and it was his birthday.
Another good guy, Eric the Packers’ fan, bought him a beer and he thanked him with a brief toast.
But although it was his birthday, his face was filled with sadness, not delight.
“My wife died last year,” he said to me and my girlfriend Barbara, tears welling up in his soft eyes. “She just died in her sleep. I still don’t know why. She made me a birthday pie and then she was gone five days later. I still don’t know what to do.”
They had been married for more than 30 years and lived in the Pinedale area for almost as long.
“She was my best friend. Now I go home after work and there’s no one to talk to.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“You must have so many wonderful memories,” I finally stammered, as he nodded with a weak smile. “Happy birthday my friend. I’ll buy you another beer.”
Then he disappeared into the solitude of the nearby slot machines, their colorful images splashing behind his diminishing shadow.

Of course we think of Thanksgiving and Christmas as times of giving and joy. We get together with those we love and cherish.
But for some folks, the holidays are like someone sitting on your chest. It’s often hard enough to breathe here at 7,000 feet up without the horrible weight of sudden loneliness and pain.
“We should have done something,” I said to Barb as we walked the short blocks toward the lights and wreaths outside our small apartment.
But what? We weren’t going to have a turkey dinner, even for ourselves. Barb was working. I don’t cook much. There’s football on TV. I have phone calls to make.
We have so many losses of our own, long ago and just this year. The many framed photos we have look down on us with times of laughter and parties and travel and catching fish.
But just like my bar pal’s precious wife, so many are gone. They’re not coming back and sometime soon it will be our turn to leave.
That’s life. Live it to its fullest.
“We’re not here for a long time, we’re here for a good time,” is one of my clownish sayings.
But unlike him, we have each other. I can’t stand a day apart let alone the rest of my life. Who do you tuck in every night and talk to every morning? Who holds you when you hurt? Who shares your accomplishments when you soar?
“Success is nothing without someone you love to share it with,” said Billy Dee Williams to Diana Ross in the movie Mahogany.
You know the drill. Hold each other tight. Don’t go to bed still angry. Always say “I love you,” and then say it again. And again.
Feel the sheer delight, as I get to do, when the parade of mini-marshmallows, the little kids from the nearby daycare centers, walks back and forth to our beautiful library.
Remember and share stories of when you could ice skate and play hockey and shoot baskets and feel the warm sand of the volleyball court on your bare feet, just like across our street.
Figure out in advance, so much better than I did, what to say to someone still devastated. Extend the conversation. Plan to meet again sooner, in happier times, maybe at a brighter place.
Actually help, not hide from, someone who is troubled. Tell them, like I was told so often, that there are better days ahead. Make that phone call to someone who is alone for the holidays. Bring an extra plate next door to a quiet neighbor. Even if they are OK and happy from the outside looking in.
No, you can’t save the world but yes, you can make it a better place.
I’ve lived in, and bragged about, so many wonderful places across our greatest of countries; from Hawaii to the Florida Keys and the splendor in between.
But none are more beautiful than here in Pinedale during Christmas. We are all blessed and should be thankful every day, let alone when the courthouse tree lights up, along with the frosty faces of our families and friends, our children and seniors.
And it’s especially a time to reach out to those with still-heavy hearts.
She made him a birthday pie and then she was gone.
Merry Christmas dear Pinedale.
And to all a good night.