I was chasing ghosts last night. That is not a metaphor. I mean I was actually chasing ghosts at the St. Augustine lighthouse and museum with a crew too clever by half for the hapless guide, who banged on walls (for lack of poltergeists’ chain rattling) and spoke with a speech impediment. His tales of death and dismemberment were marred by a sort of Sylvester puddy-tat “S” slur, “The schix, schisters were schlottered…” You get my drift – I couldn’t take him seriously.
But I didn’t want to be left alone in the basement where the ghost of one of the lighthouse keepers gets frisky and feels-up the female guests. And there were a lot of stairs… We ate a rushed dinner at the A1A Alehouse before the tour, and as we were ascending the 219 steep, steps to the top, Lauren said, “That fourth glass of wine was probably inadvisable…”
I was fleet of foot and happy. Sometimes there is nothing more to say than that. It was just a great night to be alive with my loved ones. And sober.