Story 13/24: Every Christmas Eve the four of us grab our dog, get in our car and head east. We like to look at Christmas lights on houses. It’s not an unusual thing to do during the Christmas season. The difference is that our tradition has a square footage minimum.

The Allen clan likes to snoop on the upper crust of society. We cross the Salt Lake Valley and trespass opened iron gates—gates leading to neighborhoods we’d never be able to afford to live in—and troll mansions. Very refined, right? Just to add to our red-neck-ed-ness, we do it after getting an order of Crazy Bread from Little Caesars Pizza. I know what you’re thinking—Classy, Classy.

Magic and wonder lie beyond those steely gateways. Christmas lights are hung in expert rows along pitched rooftops and around large spruce trees that would need a scaffold to climb. Storybook hedges—not bushes, never, ever shrubs—line every pathway and every border of every home. Even the snow looks managed with added sparkles and sculpted snowdrifts worthy of a Walt Disney movie set.

As we drive through areas called, Olympus Cove or Walker Lane, we’re overcome by a beauty that only wealth and a labor force can provide.

The view from their side, I suspect, is a little different. Our white car creeping along, windows fogged over with the steam of garlic bread and coveting. Or else, the thumping music of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas” and Wham’s “Last Christmas” just might give us away!

The only time that this whole ceremony gave us pause was last Christmas Eve when we came upon something out of a Horror movie like the Exorcist—an old church converted into a house. Paranormal blue lights leading to the front door and swirling fog! Yikes! Other than that, we like our little tradition and don’t plan on giving it up anytime soon!