The isolation of island life seems more pronounced at the holidays, mostly in really good ways. As Southcenter Mall beckons, I hug trees. It’s not like me to hug trees, but it helps.

Every year, beginning just after Thanksgiving, I undergo a month-long, recurring pattern of involuntary pre-Christmas bodily reactions: recoil, nausea, flinch, repeat. Yes, it’s the commercialism, but also the subtly different gift-buying obligation. I get all Scroogy.

I pretty much blow off all the small children, in-laws and neighbors for whom I should be shopping. Then I flail about at the last minute, grasping at tacky trinkets, and fail miserably, which as a Catholic boy who married a Jewish girl, fits perfectly into both our families’ guilt-encouraging traditions.

My counterintuitive solution to this personal Noel malaise is to buy gifts for myself. Last Christmas, I gave myself a new iPhone, a device which I regard, without shame, as critical to life on Vashon. Maybe this is true for you, too?

My smarty-pants iPhone provides me with the continuing illusion that I don’t live on a remote, sparsely populated, password-protected island. It gives me access to the outer world, where people care about fashion, being on time and car hygiene.

Recently, my Google iPhone app came out with voice-activated search, which is wonderfully convenient for people who swoon at the sound of their own voice. So it was with enthusiasm that last week, in advance of Stormageddon, I asked Google to “Call Vashon Electric.”

“Calling Vashon Electric,” she replied (why is the phone a she?). A guy answered, “Hello?” after one ring. “Is this Vashon Electric?” I asked. “Yup,” he replied. I proceeded to explain how I needed to remember how my generator-to-breaker connection thing worked, and could he quickly review it with me on the phone?

In the midst of talking me through it, he asked my name and when he had done the work. I told him, but he said he couldn’t find my name in his system. Where had he done the work? “Where?” I replied. “On Vashon, of course.”

“This is Vachon Electric, in New Hampshire,” he said. I think I started laughing, then apologizing, then laughing again. “Hey, no worries,” he said. “I’m happy to walk you through your generator hookup.”

If he’d been here I would have given him a kiss, a bro hug and some jam. But he wasn’t here; he was 3,000 miles away and three hours later into his evening. Christmas spirit and generosity from New Hampshire, where after all, the state motto is “Live Free or Die.”

The very next day, I told Google to call Oriole Fabrics in New York City, from whom I needed to purchase 100 yards of diamond white bridal tulle (I know, right?).

“Calling Oriole Fabrics,” she chirped. A guy answered. “Hello, Oriole Fabrics,” he said, like a statement, not an invitation. “In New York City?” I enthused. “Yeah, so?” I smiled to myself and explained my purchase and shipping needs. “That’s  $112 plus shipping.” “And how much is shipping?” I asked. “What do you care?!” he barked. Taken aback, I stammered “Well, I want to know how much shipping costs…” knowing that was redundant. “Why? You gotta pay shipping anyway. What, you gonna not buy it if it’s too much?!” I was getting annoyed, or confused, or something. “Well, if it’s going to cost $200 to ship, yes, actually, I might not buy it!”

“You’re being ridiculous.” he said.

I regrouped, then screamed “I LOVE NEW YORK!” There was a long pause, after which, clearly bored, he said, “So you want it, or not?”

“Yes, fantastic! I want it!” I don’t know what his impression of me was, but I’m pretty sure I sounded like an alien fruitcake. The New York motto is “Excelsior,” whatever that means.

The two calls were so similarly hilarious and bizarre, and came in such close succession, I figured it must mean something and that meaning would be perfect for the last paragraph of this column.

But alas, I have no idea what to make of it, except that within a mere 24 hours, I’d connected with two strangers from foreign lands and loved the feeling of a big, generous, crackling world out there.

It’s the holidays, and out here on the edge of the continent, that’s a nice feeling.

— Kevin Joyce is a writer, humorist and father who lives on Vashon.