It was Christmas Eve, 2017; my first Christmas without my husband, Dale. My sister, Lisa, and I had spent the majority of the night visiting friends, ingesting magical holiday fare, and exchanging gifts. We arrived at Lisa’s apartment at about 10 p.m. or thereabouts. The plan was to check on her two kitties, Stella and Daphne, and then go to my house to open packages, drink sparkling grape juice, snuggle up with Barney, and watch “A Christmas Story” for at least the one thousandth time.
We had purchased special Christmas pajamas (mine with silver bells and wreaths) and it was our goal to honor Dale on this sacred night by spending the remainder of the evening with our memories and each other.
Something seemed amiss the moment we stepped inside Lisa’s tiny apartment. She went to the kitchen right away, and as she had suspected, there was a recurrence of an ongoing leak that was the result of a faulty roof. There before us, trickling steadily down newly painted walls, was a miniature waterfall that filled her kitchen sink and went spilling out onto the floor. The water came down from an unsightly break in the ceiling above us. From the looks of things, that leak had no intention of letting up any time soon.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
She stood there, hands on her hips, and shook her head in disbelief and dismay.
“I’ll call for help,” she said and pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket. After a short conversation, she put her phone away and smiled rather weakly at me. “The guys are coming over to help.”
“What guys?” I asked. “Who did you call?”
“Our friends,” she said as she began gathering up dishes that she had placed on the countertops. Within five minutes, three men came through the door and headed to the kitchen. My sister’s best friend followed. Aha! Two of the men were my sister’s best friend’s brothers, and though I was not sure who the third man was, he seemed willing and eager to assist.
In no time at all, the men designed what they referred to as a “bladder” from a large trash bag and placed it under the gaping hole in the ceiling. As the temperature was slowly going down, the leaking had slacked off just a bit and it looked as though the makeshift bladder was going to save the night. As quickly as they arrived, they left, wishing us a Merry Christmas as they stomped by us, chunks of ice and snow tumbling down off their shoulders.
“Wow,” I said. By the way, wow is one of my favorite words. I love to use it when I cannot think of anything clever to say about something or someone I am impressed with. And so, I decided to say it again for good measure. “Wow.”
Lisa smiled, gathered her things, (including her own Christmas pajamas; hers were decorated with reindeer) made sure the two kitties were fed and had plenty of water, and locked the door as we left.
We got out into the car and decided we would take a ride through Caribou, as it was also part of our tradition to look at the dazzling houses that lit up the skies of our little city.
“Those bright white LED lights are like the stars in the sky,” my sister remarked. I rolled my window down just a bit and held my hand out. It was snowing, and pillowy designer flakes covered the palms of my hands; their exquisite beauty short lived on my warm skin.
We had just begun to climb North Main Hill, when we noticed the cream colored Cadillac stopped right ahead of us in the middle of the road. Lisa drove up slowly beside the car and the driver immediately lowered the window. There before me was a stunning woman, just about my age, with light blond hair and diamond earrings that twinkled.
“Is everything OK?” I asked.
She shook her head and rolled the window down all the way. “We are looking for the inn,” she said. “Do you know where it might be? We are so late getting here, I am afraid our room might be taken by now.”
“The inn?” I asked. “Just what inn are you looking for?”
“The Old Iron Inn,” she answered. “I have been around and around every street in this place and I cannot find it.”
“Oh, I know exactly where it is,” I said. “Just follow us.”
She waved at us and closed her window. We pulled ahead of her, turned right onto Park Street, turned right on Glenn Street, then left on High Street and led her right up to the entrance of the Old Iron. She got out of her car and walked up to the passenger side of the window. “Oh, thank you, girls! How can I ever repay you?”
Lisa leaned forward and smiled. “No need to repay us. Just have a beautiful Christmas Eve.”
We watched her walk carefully back to her car and I called out, “God Bless you!” She blew us a kiss and pulled her car up into an empty space. Lisa and I left the parking lot and headed out toward my house, neither of us speaking for a while.
“Lisa, do you know what just happened?”
“I do,” she said.
I looked out into the darkness. We would not see decorated homes for miles.
“Well,” I said. “ First of all, three wise men came to the rescue and temporarily fixed that leak. Then, we went out searching for all of those brilliant stars. And then … I paused and waited for her to complete the sentence.
“And then,” she said, “we guided someone to the inn and hopefully, there was room!”
We looked toward each other then and in perfect unison we spoke. “Wow!”
My friends, I am a storyteller by nature. I constantly look for that one spark — that one component that turns the simple into the sensational. To some people, that experience on Christmas Eve, 2017, would have been just an ordinary Christmas Eve with maybe a few glitches here and there. Lisa and I, however, saw the night quite differently. We will always remember it as exciting, symbolic, and magical. We are already speculating on what Christmas Eve 2018 may hold in store, and I give you my word — or words — that I will share it with each of you.
And so, I end this Northern Yarn by wishing you a Merry Christmas. May 2019 bring you glorious adventures, an abundance of love, and countless blessings. And one more thing: there are miracles all around us waiting to be discovered, we just have to keep our eyes and our hearts wide open.
Belinda Ouellette lives in Caribou with her Goldendoodle, Barney. You may email her at: barneydoodle34@gmail.com.
