St. George Island

In order to properly honor my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary, my family decided to take a 7 day break from reality. My gracious Aunt rented a veritable mansion on the oft overlooked island of St. George which lies 4 miles off the coast of Florida. Access to the island is gained over this miracle of a bridge which appears would probably be engulfed by thrashing waves with even the slightest of breezes. As we crossed said bridge for the first time, I could hear the theme from Jurassic Park reverberating through my ears. The scene was so reminiscent of Jeff Goldblum's first glimpse of pterodactyls flying over what would become the island of amusement and death. I was hoping that the death part would not be a part of my reality, but a childlike thrill entered my heart as I watched the seagulls and pelicans swoop & dive past our car and into the water in a daring display of precision. I was in awe.

Our home for the coming week was the furthermost house on the island, 7 miles from the magical bridge, 7 miles too far for a phone carrier to extend reception. Chateau by the Sea, the house had been dubbed, and it's up for grabs for a little under $2 million. Yeah, holy cow. That's what I said too when we pulled in the driveway of the 3-story mammoth. I rushed in quickly to take it all in.

1st floor - pool room & a chamber which we shortly thereafter dubbed "the throne room."

2nd floor - 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, 2 of which were equipped with jacuzzi tubs (score!), a deck to relax upon, and entrance to our own private swimming pool.

3rd floor - kitchen, living room, another master suite complete with another jacuzzi tub & an extra bathroom just for kicks.

5 TVs, a PlayStation (boo!), a sound system that spans the entire house complete this brilliant creation.

Oh, & did I forget to mention that this all lay on the edge of our own private beach, so the sea shells weren't over-picked, we didn't have to fight for sand space, & even my grandmother felt comfortable waltzing around in her swimsuit. 100 yards off the shoreline dolphins jumped & celebrated their freedom in the water. My family & I, were a bit more cautious. As the story goes, where there are dolphins, sharks lurk close by. St. George Island, as a matter of fact, had hosted its 3rd annual shark fishing classic just the week before, so I was pretty certain that if there were sharks around they would be TICKED! Either way though, I wasn't going to take any chances. I never swam more than 10 feet away from my Daddy, and I always cleverly nestled myself behind 1 or 2 more daring swimmers. Shark bait I am not, or as my Papa always says, "My Mama didn't raise many fools, & I sure ain't one of them!"

All in all our week went splendidly. There was the one morning that Mimi attempted to wake me up at 7 am. According to Mountain Standard Time, that's 5 in the blasted morning, so needless to say, I was not at my best. I can't remember exactly what I said or did, but as I was functioning somewhat below my normal level of cognizance, that's no surprise. All I can say is that my 4-year old niece was thereafter terrified to wake me & Mimi did not repeat her attempt to make me an early bird. I need my beauty sleep, ya know? There was also the night that we visited the Big Tent market 5 minutes before closing. We should have known better than to shop at a circus themed grocery store, but intuition did not kick in in this instance. Quickly we scavenged the aisles for food-like items. I always thought I'd make an excellent contestant on Shop-Till-You-Drop, and my family seems to share my skills because in 5 minutes we had all filled our carts & proceeded to the checkout counter. There is where the mischief began. Our checker made small talk with us for about a minute until we were all rudely interrupted by 2 teenage girls banging fervently on the door which had already been locked for closing. "Where's our mother?!?" they screamed, then proceeded to make claims of a violently ill sister who occupied the parking lot. "She's in the back counting money," the checker retorted. "She'll be out in a minute." The next thing I know the girls were pounding ruthlessly on the door, yanking persistently at the handle, & screaming obscenities that would have made a sailor blush. My Aunt, who had been about to leave the store, retreated a few steps, and the checker tried to focus on checking. She emptied all of our buggies, charged us the required fees, then pulled out her keyring to open the door for us. Timidly we walked out of the store as the girls stared us down. As Papa closed the door, one of them stealthily slipped through the remaining crack. Smart move on her part. She got locked in. The other girl had rejoined a group of stragglers in the lot. As we loaded our cars, they crammed themselves (all 15 of them) into their clown-car & drove hastily off, to go grab their shotguns, we presumed. In the meantime, the girl who'd been locked in the store had been granted release & paced swiftly back & forth ranting about being left behind. We all quickly filed into our cars, and peeled out of the parking lot with all possible haste. Like I said, my Great-Grandma didn't raise many fools & none of us where among them (at least on this occasion).

Despite these moments of exasperation, days, as a whole were uneventful. We spent them lazing around the pool, the beach, or in our spacious house. At night we visited the town. Seafood restaurants abounded. Oysters & shrimp became the food of choice. Well, maybe not on my part...OK, definitely not on my part. I detest seafood, but I mostly found acceptable alternatives.

The atmosphere, though not perfect, was perfect for us & at the end of the week not a one of us was happy to go. Reality was just too far away, life too complicated and exhausting, but what overwhelmed us all more than anything was the prospect of going our separate ways - some to Louisiana, some to Tennessee, and me to far distant Utah. If our week in paradise proved anything to me, it's that families should not be separated. Families need each other. Through the week we all felt the absence of my older brother, & in these weeks following I especially have felt the absence of the relations we renewed.

On the drive back to Tennessee my Aunts and I picked up a book-on-tape from a Cracker Barrel. Their selection of books yielded only 2 possibilities that sounded interesting and were the proper length for the duration of our journey. We picked the longer of the 2, a Christmas novel by Richard Paul Evans entitled "Finding Noel." I am certain that it was an inspired choice, almost as ingenious as my idea to re-solidify our melted salt water taffy in the air vents of my Aunt's Nissan Altima. We were all in tears by the end of the last CD, mostly because the story rang so true to our week on the magical island of Saint George. I will never forget the final words of the book.

"Christmas" or in my case vacation, "is really no more than...humanity's search for the familiar...And in the end all any of us are looking for is home."

More & more as the years go by, I realize, if my family is there, it is home. Anytime. Anywhere.