VeeJay
4/16/2008, 07:56 PM
Mrs. VJ and I just celebrated our 9th anniversary. We spent a few days in Charleston, SC and spent last night in a B&B in Durham, NC. The house was built in 1775-76. There are 200+ year old Magnolia trees on the property. Stunning, I've seen lots of Magnolias. These were teh awesome.
The house had a winding, creaking staircase leading up to our internet-chosen lair. Steps were not crafted to fit a 12EE foot, lemme tell you. Mrs. VJ travels with anywhere between 500 and 680 pounds of stuff in her luggage entourage. Putting it in the trunk before the drive up there, I casually asked, "What's in here - the corpse of Andre The Giant?"
So I struggled trying to get the Pullman behemoth up the narrow creaking steps. I was able to lift it two steps at a time, grunting like a boiler room worker on The Titanic, until I finally hoisted it to the second floor.
Reportedly, there's a ghost of some young daughter who died, was killed or jumped to her death or burned at the stake or poisoned or jilted or otherwise wronged at some point over the last 240 years. I woke up a couple of times to pee and di'nt see nuttin.' Tripping over stuff to get to the toilet, I figured I took out a couple of relics or heirlooms and heard stuff falling over. Mrs. VJ says "You OK?" I said "Yeah, but I'm not sure about this thousand year old Tiffany lamp."
So I envision me in the A.M., trying to get Andre The Giant down the stairs, and see me missing a step, falling head over heels and smashing my head against a pine knot at the base of the stairway. A hunnert years from now, some guest from Rhode Island pipes up "I saw a big sumbitch at the top of the stairs, struggling with a huge suitcase; he cursed at me and then disappeared into the wall."
"Ghost reported." Heh.
The house had a winding, creaking staircase leading up to our internet-chosen lair. Steps were not crafted to fit a 12EE foot, lemme tell you. Mrs. VJ travels with anywhere between 500 and 680 pounds of stuff in her luggage entourage. Putting it in the trunk before the drive up there, I casually asked, "What's in here - the corpse of Andre The Giant?"
So I struggled trying to get the Pullman behemoth up the narrow creaking steps. I was able to lift it two steps at a time, grunting like a boiler room worker on The Titanic, until I finally hoisted it to the second floor.
Reportedly, there's a ghost of some young daughter who died, was killed or jumped to her death or burned at the stake or poisoned or jilted or otherwise wronged at some point over the last 240 years. I woke up a couple of times to pee and di'nt see nuttin.' Tripping over stuff to get to the toilet, I figured I took out a couple of relics or heirlooms and heard stuff falling over. Mrs. VJ says "You OK?" I said "Yeah, but I'm not sure about this thousand year old Tiffany lamp."
So I envision me in the A.M., trying to get Andre The Giant down the stairs, and see me missing a step, falling head over heels and smashing my head against a pine knot at the base of the stairway. A hunnert years from now, some guest from Rhode Island pipes up "I saw a big sumbitch at the top of the stairs, struggling with a huge suitcase; he cursed at me and then disappeared into the wall."
"Ghost reported." Heh.