So my blogging has been severely limited lately, due to several factors, among them time, access and a severe crackdown by The Man on computer usage at work. What like I'm not supposed to obsessively check and write blogs on the clock? Lame. This weekend I ended up on a 62-foot Schooner with a plastic cup of red wine in one hand while the other gripped to whatever was available for gripping. The seas were high and it took all of my conscious energy to not yell “WHEEE!” at the crest of every wave. The sky was gray, the sand was gray, the ocean was gray but it did little to dampen my spirits. My ancestry is a long line of ship-captains and the sea truly is in my veins. I feel like a different bit of life comes to visit me out there.
I was in Saint Augustine for a four-day adventure that mostly included eating, planning the next place to eat, getting to the next place to eat, recovering from eating and then celebrating by having a beer. It was lovely. I love Asheville but it is such a joy to skip town and see something else. 
The lighthouse on the island also served as a landmark; the spiral-painted tower the only denotation between cardinal directions. We climbed the lighthouse on Sunday morning; being that my only reoccurring nightmare involves spiral staircases I was less than enthused to undertake the process of ascension (and even less that of distention) and my knuckles were white with the strain of my grip. I got quiet; I do that when I'm terrified. I don't like it to be known how hard my heartbeats. I stood on the balcony with an underwater archaeologist who works at the site and he could point out histories and disasters only known by their wreckage. His words gave it all a sense of place.
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