This will be the summer I take a streetcar south to find out once and for all if the blinking light I see nightly is from a lighthouse or not. I remember well enough the romance of seeing a skylight when I was a boy, only to find out later it was no more than an advertisement for the opening of some ridiculous shop in a strip-plaza. I'm older now and well prepared for a let-down. My definition of romance has changed somewhat, and I don't get down to the lake often enough anyway.