Thirteen degrees. Dark. Snow and Ice. Had to drop my car off at the shop thanks to an unexpected off road jaunt the week before Christmas. I passed St Pat's cemetery twice, once on the way and once on the way back and couldn't help but notice that there's no fence. Fairmount cemetery has a fence, a nice wrought iron fence, but not St Pat's and none of the cemeteries relocated from the Jefferson Proving Ground have fences.
So now I'm freaked out.
I suppose what I should do is go and find Sister Mary Margaret McShillelagh and punch her in the throat. Imagine telling a six year old that cemeteries have iron gates, not to keep people out, but to keep spirits in. That horseshoe over your door isn't for good luck, it's to keep your dead relatives from visiting. That old frog told me that in 1978, and the week before Christmas, 2011, while we were finishing up the Prince's Eagle Scout project, I found myself scouring the ground looking for any nails he might have dropped in the cemetery so that no angry Civil war soldiers followed us home.
Speaking of cemeteries, look what we found during our trip to Philadelphia last week. If this ghost shows up I guess I'll have to take her to the zoo.