In Saint Augustine

there is an old lighthouse that aided the HM and I in being tourists.  Husband-of-Mine was set to climb to the very top.   I had every intention of doing the same (two-hundred-and-nineteen steps, so it made me a little nervous).  I  suggested that he climb to the top, and I'd watch from below.  He could then text me if it seemed like a bad idea for me to follow.


I heard nothing.  I walked into the structure and headed for the stairs.

Oh, my lighthouse stars, Reader Dear! The stairs were very narrow, and almost as see-through as a piece of chicken wire!

I turned into a chicken by step three!

"The view was terrific up there!" the HM said when he'd returned to solid ground.

"Yeah," I said, "it was pretty terrific down here, too.  You looked great up there waving!"

























In Saint Augustine there was also a nice little foot-traffic-only street full of shops and eateries.At this one bar-slash-cafe, we happened upon a performance custom-made for the mass of Baby Boomers that populated the place.

 And we took in performances by street performers, too.

Though, I had to dash after this young man, and ask if he'd re-enact for me.  First time through, as he strolled along singing, I was sans working phone.  Alas!  It necessitated me rushing to find the HM, so as to borrow his recording device.   

"Please," I requested of the singer, "could you repeat for me?"

He was so obliging!

"I'm going to look for your name in lights!" I vowed to him.  (Viewer Dear, if you know this man's name, won't you be a real dear and tell me; it'd be so much easier to find if I knew it)

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Then there was this, too:
That first night in Saint Augustine, the HM and I ate at Harry's Seafood Bar and Grill.  We sat on the balcony overlooking the bay.  I swooned.  It was really just frabjous, Reader Dear. I mean, you know, add it all up--the warmth, the elevated outdoor spot, the excellent view of the water, the fine food and wine.  There was just one more thing for which I was pining, one more happening that would make this evening exceptionally memorable:  a visit with Catalina!
Catalina, I'd been told, liked to show up in a bridal gown, wearing cheap perfume and hanging out in the ladies room of this very eating place.
Reader Dear, (I suppose I must tell you) Catalina is a ghost!  Ah, I was determined to see Catalina.  During the course of the meal, I confess, I made three trips to the ladies room.  Each time, I was the lone human in the room.  "Catalina," I begged, "please, please show yourself to me.  I believe in you!  I'll be so sympathetic to your plight!"   
Well, then I hung around as long as I could, but nothing alerted my senses to Catalina's presence.
"I'll be back," I told her.  "I badly want to see you!"
Before dessert, I tried again.
This time I pleaded with Catalina to just slightly move the blind on the window. Or turn on a faucet.  Anything to prove she was there! I pleaded and cajoled to no avail.  I returned to the balcony, and explained to the Yard Man that Catalina was letting me down.
He merely laughed and rolled his eyes.
In my final attempt, at the end of our meal, I visited the restroom one last time and explained to Catalina that I was used to visiting with spirits. 
"So you see, Catalina," I said with sincerity, "in the off chance that you don't want me spreading the news far and wide if you grant me a visit, your secret is safe with me.   I've already chatted with one spirit; I don't have to brag about seeing another.  If you want me to tell no one, then mum's the word!"

And that's all I've got to say, Dear Reader.
Ahem.  It was a terrific evening!
Absolutely the best!

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