I was prepared for a spirited lesson in life.

I was not expecting a life lesson in spirits.

Stay with me. Please.

I decided to further my higher education by taking a tour of the Nationality Rooms at the University of Pittsburgh's Cathedral of Learning -- shooting 535 feet into the sky, the 42-story Indiana limestone Gothic jewel is the world's tallest schoolhouse. (Yes, I know Moscow has a bigger one. Doesn't count.)

Before class starts, I sit with director E. Maxine Bruhns in her wonderfully cluttered office.

Everything from cookies to M&Ms and apple juice are offered, but it's the art and artifacts and antiquities riddling the walls and her desk that are even more savory.

Max has worked at Pitt for 43 years, so it's natural she gushes, ever so lovingly, ever so effusively, about her "babies" -- 26 rooms, the first opening 70 years ago: German, Russian, Swedish, Scottish and Early American. There soon will be a new kid on the block: The Welsh Room opens June 1.

To earn a room, Max tells me, a country must prove they have a community, be willing to donate $250,000 to $500,000 for construction and commit to being part of the scholarship program. (Iran tried for one year to "buy" a room and has been consistently turned down.)

Eight more rooms will be opening in the future -- Swiss, Turkish, Danish, Thai, Finnish, Korean, Philippine and Latin American.

Lesson over.

Time to begin roaming.

We stop at each room. I love the way the chalkboards are camouflaged. I love the "secrets" found in some rooms -- behind the cornerstone of the Irish Room, for instance, hides a container with earth from northern and southern Ireland.

I am disappointed by the English Room.

It's the largest and rather cold and somber, sort of like the Brits.

The room's "cornerstone" is a brick from Number 10 Downing Street -- Max's predecessor, Ruth Crawford Mitchell, was visiting London, saw construction being done and asked workers for a souvenir.

When we get to the Russian and Romanian rooms, Max points out that the icons have been replaced. Someone "borrowed" the originals, and the replacements are now anchored in cement.

Sometimes, college students still act like children: Someone drew nipples on two of the busts in the Indian Room; I wouldn't have noticed if Max hadn't pointed out the black dots.

The most beautiful is, pencils down, the Syria-Lebanon Room, the reconstruction of a library and prayer room from a home in Damascus that demands visitors linger longer and momentarily meditate. The German Room, with its stained glass windows depicting Brothers Grimm fairy tales, comes awfully close.

And then ...

We enter the Early American Room.

It's freezing, much more so than any other room. The chalkboard bears barely visible handwriting: "I'm gonna get you."

Grandma Martha Jane Poe McDaniel was here.

Let Max explain.

It seems the room is haunted, occupied by Grandma McDaniel, who doesn't want people rummaging through her two-story spread.

The rooms -- a kitchen/living room and an upper loft bedroom only accessible through a secret staircase -- have been furnished with Grandma's quilt and other family heirlooms.

There's a photo of Grandma in a frame by her bed; Max is certain the descendant of Edgar Allan Poe cracked the glass after a worker moved the portrait. So certain is Max that the room is haunted she spent one night in a sleeping bag -- the noises were one thing, the cold breeze another. But when she realized that her flashlight flying about was not normal, she left.

Sometime soon, members of the Paranormal Society of Pennsylvania will also spend the night, with cameras and recording devices, hoping to prove -- or bust -- the ghost story.

Max is kind enough to offer me an invitation for the big event.

My RSVP? Not a ghost of a chance!