My husband Bill gave me the Christmas gift of sharing one of my favorite Christmas stories: his true-life account of the Miracle on Cemetery Lane. I had to persuade him to do it, but he finally relented and I’m happy to share his guest post with you today. May you experience some miracles this season, or may you instigate creating some miracles for others.
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I can vividly remember walking down a dark road, aptly named Cemetery Lane, that one Christmas Eve night many moons ago. I was alone and kicking a rock in front of me as I trudged the one mile stretch from the bus stop to the Brown house around 9 or 10 pm. The Brown House was actually a duplex that housed some mystery people underneath us whom we never saw but would hear the nonstop Stevie Ray Vaughn blasting at all hours. It was an actual bus stop during the day but at night the buses stuck to the main highway.
I shared it with three other buddies from college who had all gone back home for Christmas. I had to work the afternoon shift Christmas Day at the Gant, an upscale condominium rental place in Aspen. To me at least, being a Gant Man was a prime job — driving the courtesy van around for our
This was my first holiday away from home in my life — it was one of those things where I did have to work but deep down probably felt like it was an important thing to do since I was post-college and now on my own.
I have no doubt that my parents pleaded with me to find a way to come back but I let the chips fall where they did, so that is how I ended up in the darkness walking down that road. We can be creatures of habit so I had convinced myself to go to a Christmas Eve service in town and then catch the bus back home. We get used to doing all these
A million thoughts whirled through my head as I made my way home, although as a husband and parent of two boys now it is hard to truly channel that feeling of aloneness that was so real back then. I can picture the moonlight making visible the big butte to my left across from our house on the right. (Woody Creek Tavern was several miles down the road and if I can veer off the story for a sec I have to mention the one time I saw Hunter S. Thompson. Woody Creek was his hangout and one day when we happened to be milling around in the driveway he drove right by us in his land yacht of a convertible. We yelled out to
I guess you could say I was feeling a little sorry for myself as my Sorels crunched through the snow and I walked up the steps to our door.
Leaning against it was some large green bundled object. I was taken aback and didn’t figure out what it was until I got to the door and pulled the Christmas tree back so I could unlock it and get inside. I hit the lights and brought the bundled tree into our living room. I feel like I stared at it for a little while in utter amazement before finding a knife and cutting the string bundling it up.
I propped it in the corner, turned on some Christmas music and had to figure out what to do next. Safe to say that we had zero Christmas decorations in the house so I had to improvise with pretty limited resources. I went to my fly fishing gear and cut off a big strand of 6x tippet (creative license — it might have been 8x) as I microwaved some popcorn. For the next 20
I am just this second realizing what happened next was probably the precursor to an item that is on my tree right now. I got some cardboard and cut out a cardboard star to place at the top. My first date with Paige (after she turned me down for dinner) was to go pick out a Christmas tree, and we came back to my house on Keyway Drive and decorated it, including cutting out a cardboard star which 25 years later still makes an appearance on our tree and probably symbolizes our marriage as much
If you are like me you have some gaps in your memory—like some big gaps — certain years might be hard to write more than a paragraph or two. Yet the crazy thing is how vivid this whole experience was.
It’s almost embarrassing to admit the next part but it’s like I was living in a dream so I decided to continue the mirage. As I went to bed, I put out cookies for Santa Claus (as Mom always had us do) and then went to sleep. I was woken up the next morning by my dear friend Elizabeth Hightower (now Allen) and her buddies coming over to wake me up to ski before we all had to work that afternoon. I stumbled out of bed to show them the miracle tree and was stunned to see the cookies had been eaten. They claimed to know nothing about them so all I knew was that 12 hours ago I was walking home alone to an empty house and now I had a decorated tree and Christmas magic had consumed the snack I had ridiculously left out for Santa.
We skied that day and I worked that afternoon. I had yet to find out where the tree had come from. My roommates, still some of my closest friends in the world, denied any involvement. The girls would have loved to have claimed credit but said it wasn’t them. Days later, while at my other job as a waiter and bartender at the Aspen Mine Company, the culprit finally confessed. It was the dishwasher who had heard me talking to someone about being alone and took it upon himself to find out where I lived and to deliver the Miracle on Cemetery Lane. I feel terrible that I cannot remember his name — I know he looked exactly like the brother on Bloodline who caused all the trouble. He was a thoughtful dude who pulled off a completely random good deed that will always define for me the meaning of Christmas.
I should probably end this there but in my one moment on Paige’s
The reality is that any cocktail party chatter about good intentions and ideas holds no candle to anyone out there actually helping out one person.
As a footnote, I must say that I did try and pass this on the next year. My old buddy Billy Crook and I went out and chopped down a tree and left it at the doorstep of another old friend’s father’s house who was about to go treeless at Christmas for his first time. I guess I will never know but doubt it was as meaningful of a gift as The Miracle on Cemetery Lane was for me. I think my one bit of wisdom in this whole event was the decision to stay in Aspen. Being alone helped provide a real contrast to my 50+ other Christmases spent surrounded by a loving family.
Due to that one random act of kindness though, I experienced love in an unexpected manner. It reinforced my awareness of how lucky I am to be able to share in that love and hopefully those of us blessed with it can pass some along to those in deficit. This holiday will be our first without my father who passed away in January. My family will undoubtedly express his absence in different ways. For me, I think I will mainly feel gratitude for all his love and support.
Nothing can last forever but that is what makes our memories so dear and acts of compassion so meaningful.
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To read my last post, a behind-the-scenes account of the Nashville Christmas Parade, click here: If Life is a Parade, Are You In It?
To read my post on starting a reading exchange with your loved ones this holiday, click here: How We Rocked Jolabokaflod
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