The short trip into St Augustine from the nearby town took longer than anticipated. Three wrong turns (GPS reading was not easy for either of them); two accidents; a traffic snarl from what they never. Until Janice and Mazie hobbled into their motel. Amazing how an air conditioned room and a bottle of ice water can soothe splintering spirits.
“It’s early still,” Mazie said. “Let’s check out the Ponce de Leon Mission. The desk said it’s right behind the motel.”
“Mazie, aren’t you tired?”
“Tired of sitting cooped up in the car. Walking will do us good.”
Tickets in hand they began their tour of the reconstructed 1513 Spanish Mission. Two hours on foot in the humid 93 degree weather took its toll. They had covered less than half the exhibit. On a bench under a huge live oak tree, with shoes kicked off they watched to hurrying tourists. Mazie burst into laughter. “You should have seen yourself when they fired that big canon. I thought you were going propel yourself all the way to the motel.”
“I didn’t expect it to be so loud.”
“And the Spanish shotgun. You jumped then too.”
“It was loud, but I think when it nearly tossed the rifleman on his behind I was startled.” Janice turned her head to prevent Mazie from seeing her scowl. “You know we saw probable less than half of the exhibit. But I am just too pooped to go on. Can we see the rest tomorrow?”
“You think they’ll let us use this same ticket?”
“Mazie, it doesn’t cost that much.”
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