A Christmas Story: Kristine Style

 Last evening I decided to brave the holiday crowds and headed out to do some shopping on the last Friday before Christmas. So with my holiday cheer and as much patience as I could muster firmly in place, I arrived over at the Bed, Bath and Beyond to make my final purchase of the season. As I wandered through the store I eventually saw the item I thought I wanted to purchase: 12 feet over my head and decidedly out of my reach. So off I went to the front counter where a lady informed me she would send someone directly. After several minutes I noticed a young man scampering towards me, kicking something down the aisle, in bending to pick it up, he knocked something else off a shelf, and in doing so his radio fell off his hip and went skittering across the floor.  With an exasperated look at me and a wave of his hand at it, he leaves it lying on the white tile floor in lieu of helping me as quickly as possible. I gave the young man a wave and a smile and motioned for him to take his time, and retrieve his radio, which he did. Smiling hello as he approached the final few feet, I smiled back and turned and pointed towards the ceiling. We casually had some discussion about the item that was not just out of my reach, but out of his as well, so he quickly departed to retrieve a ladder from across the aisle.  As he was trying to make it back across said aisle to me, his sojourn was interrupted by yet another, obviously more impatient, customer. He helplessly began to listen to the man’s request, shrugging his shoulders and throwing me a glance of sincere apology. Once again I wave at him as if to say, no worries bro. You could see the visible sigh of relief in his posture and after a few minutes, he returned to me, ladder in tow. As we start to chat about my pending purchase, about his many encounters with unruly customers this holiday season, and about the weather, he climbs the ladder and I begin to toss instructions at him, “No that one. Yes. The one to the right. Damn. that’s not the one either. I want the one that looks like the one here.” He finally finds, in the far back right of the top shelf, exactly what I was looking for and makes his way triumphantly down to earth grinning all the way. I was like, “Dude you just made my Christmas! Thank you so much for all your help.” “Hey no problem” he responds, “I wish all our customers were as warm and friendly as you.” I smiled and shrugged at him and as I could not read his name tag I asked him his name. “Colton,” he said. I reached out my hand to shake his “Kristine” I replied. We cheerfully exchanged “Merry Christmases” and off I went to pay for my present.

So about a minute later, as I am standing at the back of the line, here comes ole Colton around the corner. He sees me in line and says, “Hey Kristine! I’ll take you over here.” and motions for me to come down to his register, which I gladly did. As Colton began to ring me up I retrieved my wallet and started counting my money to see if I had enough cash to make my purchase or if I needed to put it on my credit card he said “Here let me help you out” and promptly gives me a ten percent discount on my 100 dollar purchase. I was like “Awwwww…dude, you did not have to do that but that’s cool thanks so much.” Now as I am about to walk away sending another “Merry Christmas” Colton’s way, he says to me, “Hey, Kristine you know what you said to me back there, about making your Christmas? Well I just want to say, you made mine too.”  I hesitated and looked back at him and smiled and said “Hey dude no worries…might just as well be the reason someone smiles today, eh?”  As the realization of my remark came to him he smiled a smile as big as Texas and nodded his head in agreement and as I finally departed I realized in that brief encounter Colton and I left each other better off than we when we found each other. 

Kumbaya my friends, kumbaya. Oh…and Merry Christmas.

The moral of the story: be kind, be friendly, be patient. And regardless of whether you have known someone for years or just a few minutes leave them better off than when you found them.

The River

The Intro

 Ever since I was 12 there has been a spot out in the boonies that I still hold near and dear to my heart and still visit regularly. Deep in the heart of North Central Florida, there is a place that we who live in the area refer to as “the three rivers.” It is a section of land that oozes Spanish moss, where the distinct odor of bass bedding in the tall grass, and the heavy taste of a hot summer breeze are simply present. There in that nugget of the backwoods, snuggled deep down in the south, lies the apex of country life that exists out upon the banks of those majestic rivers that gently weave their way through the rolling countryside. It is there that the Suwannee, Ichetucknee and Santa Fe rivers meet as if cordially shaking hands while they float lazily past one another. Although we spent some time on the other rivers it was the crystal waters of the Ichetucknee that have always held sway over me and my friends and it is there, even to this very day, that we travel from our homes across Florida to drink, laugh, love, and enjoy each others company and of course the beauty of NCF at its finest.

Now in my youth, I drank a lot of beer, tripped on a lot of acid, and smoked a shit ton of weed out on that river. My friends and I tubed,

canoed, swam, caught crawdads, grilled out, and just had an all-around wonderful time. Although the years have left us with a few grey hairs, a few extra pounds, and hopefully a bit more sense (of course that remains to be determined),

those years have also left us with a wealth of memories and stories that happened out on that river. This story is dedicated to those friends and those fantastic memories that I hold so very dear. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

                                                    

         Francine "The Story"

Now as life would have it I still get together with several of my friends that I have known since I was 12 and spend some time down

on the river. That’s right; since I was 12. Amazing anyone would want to be friends with me for that long!

At any rate; my friend Patty’s father owns a cabin out on the river and once a year about 6 or 7 of us get together for what we refer to as “girls' weekend” to raise a little hell, do a little grilling, some tubing and some…well….drinking. Now I should probably set the stage:

The cabin is at the top of a rather large bank or, some would say, a small hill and there is a path of stepping stones that will, when you are sober, take one gently down to the dock which sits along the crystal blue river. Now this particular evening the tequila shots and beers were flowing freely and all of us had been down on the dock for quite some time and we were, as usual on the first night on the river, getting rather intoxicated.

At one point my friend, we’ll call her…Alice. Yes, so Alice decides she needs to go up to the cabin, and being the wonderful friend that I am I thought I would give her a hand as the more inebriated you are the steeper and more treacherous that damn hill seems to get. So off we go, down the dock, off into the grass, along the stepping stones, all seemingly going fairly well until my friend….ahhheemmm…I mean Alice, comes to the conclusion she no longer requires my assistance and decides that she can “make it up the hill on my own!” All at once she gathers her wits, her keen sense of direction, and herself and attempts to make the final push towards the cabin and as such she snatches herself out of my rather protective grasps, takes two maybe three rather confident yet wobbly steps in the correct direction up the hill and then without hesitation, takes four lurching steps backward down the hill where she unceremoniously lands on her ass, side and face in the mud, the muck, and the leaves.  Now trust me when I say I was, with great concern of course, laughing my freakin’ ass off as I tried to get her back upright which of course she would have none of, continuing to insist that she could do it on her own. She finally made it to her feet, covered in mud with sticks and leaves sticking haphazardly out of her hair. She proceeded to stagger up to the cabin,

in through the porch door where she was met with a chorus  of “holy shit what happened to you?” At once, not waiting for a reply, Patty takes ole Alice into the restroom to help clean her up and as I walk up and into the cabin, still chuckling to myself, I see that down the hallway some of my friends have, trying to get a look at what was occurring in the bathroom,

stacked themselves up one head on top of the other peering into the crack of the half-opened door when we hear Patty ask Alice once again what happened. Alice bellows out, in honest indignation and in her deep southern drawl, “That damn Francine pushed me down! Can you believe it?! That bitch Francine pushed me down!” In concert, all four heads that were peering through the door turned around and looked at me with expressions that read “Who the fuck is Francine?” Ummm…just for the record; I’ve known Alice since I was 15 and am currently 50. Oh…and my name is Kristine. 

At that point, the pyramid of heads and bodies collapsed into a heap of laughter that echoed through the woods and out across the river. We were literally on the floor rolling around we were laughing so hard. And thus Francine, my evil twin was born. For the rest of the time that we were there that weekend, and I am sure for the remainder of the time we get to enjoy each other’s company out at the cabin, whenever anything goes asunder we all know that it will have been ole evil Francine at work once again. Alice, I love ya girl!

The Sign

 Dedicated to the Memory of my Grandfather Neil Campbell:

I don’t really know if you believe in signs, but I do. I believe that we all have loved ones that have passed on that surround us with their love and want us to live happy, healthy, wonderful lives and I believe that these signs should be looked upon as the most treasured of gifts. 

 And so; it was a misty double rainbow that appeared over the lush green pastures and hills of Dingle that I received as a gift from my great-grandmother (times 3) as my feet touched the sandy shores and ragged cliffs of Ireland for the very first time. And was it, as some people would have it, mere coincidence that I met on a solitary mountaintop deep in the heart of the Argyll Forest, the Duke and Duchess of Argyll, the head of Clan Campbell and the apex of my journey two years ago to that vast and beautiful country? 

                                

Was it just coincidence that I found my grandfather’s name “Neil Campbell” carved into a monument in the center of the small town of Inveraray the home and seat of my family’s clan? Or was it by chance that I came across a road sign bearing my grandfather’s adopted name along a gravel trail that lies along Loch Fyne? Could it have been just dumb luck that a Scottish bagpiper, much to my surprise and delight, came piping down a small boreen in the middle of the forest where I sat upon a hill amongst the purple heather?

 All coincidence one could say, but not me. I believe that they were signs. That they were an affirmation of the pleasure my grandfather and those who came before him felt at my sojourn back to my roots. 

And thus it was on top of a bridge in St Augustine, overlooking the Tolomato River, where I once again received a sign. One that would give me the courage that I needed to move forward with a dream. And thus the story goes as follows: Since my return from Ireland I told myself that I would settle down in St Augustine. You know, get a job, go back to school, put away my foolish yearnings to return to Ireland and just live a normal life. And although I have done that I still found my mind wandering time and time again back to my wild ideas of crossing Ireland and Scotland on foot. 

 On this particular day, I was taking a walk through town, out along the salt marshes, and up and over the Vilano Beach Bridge. And, as I often did, I found myself thinking very deeply as I walked about the possibilities of making a journey across Scotland. Across the lands of my ancestors, through the Argyll Forest, along the craggy shores of Loch Lomond, and deep into the history of my family. As I chugged along that day, making my way up the steep bridge, head down into the wind, not paying attention to anything except my feet, my mind telling myself to forget those foolish dreams but thinking of hiking through the hills of Scotland none the less, I looked up and there, just a few feet in front of me, was a man that so closely resembled my grandfather that it stopped me dead in my tracks. 

 As I stood there mouth agape, the gentleman pulled alongside me, looked straight into my eyes, held them briefly in his steely gaze, and then, as if in grand approval, gave me a wink and a nod. And it was there in the wake of his passage that I could have sworn I heard the words ‘follow your heart’ swirling somewhere on the salty breeze. It seemed as if time itself had stopped and I stood…motionless. Then, as if breaking myself free from the chains of indecision, I turned to watch as he disappeared over the horizon and out of sight. 

I'm not sure how long I stood there in quiet contemplation of what I had just experienced but eventually, I turned and walked in silence down the other side of the bridge; peering occasionally back over my shoulder and finally making my way down onto the shell rock beach, out along the water, and onto the boulders that jutted out into the jetty. I seated myself upon the rocks and looked out across the sea towards Scotland and beyond. It was there that I came to the realization that once again I had received a gift beyond measure. One that would solidify my desire to return to Scotland and Ireland and one that made me realize that I could do it, that I would do it, and that living a dream is a grand and wonderful thing and not foolish…at all.

   The Clan Campbell Castle In Inveraray, Scotland