The room was lovely. Two giant beds and a tv and a bathroom and a microwave and a little frig. What could be better? A while later, my vaca buddy arrived with more mini snacks and a few bottles of my favorite beer and hers. "So, mom, what's with the check-in lady?"
I loaded our beers into the mini frig." You know, I just have a strange feeling about her, but can't put my finger on it, even though she sounded nice enough, there was something..."
"Yeah, she complimented me on my outfit, said I looked nice. I'm telling you, Mom, no teacher looks nice on a Friday afternoon after a full week of teaching kookie kids."
"Hmmm. I don't know, there sure is something." We left for dinner, both surreptitiously exiting the lobby without being seen.
We ate in a restaurant where someone else set the table, cooked for us, and cleaned up after us- even loaded the dishwasher(I'm sure). When we came back to the 'Inn' there was no one at the desk, and we made it back to our room without being complimented in a creepy way.
The next morning, I went downstairs and had a free coffee at my leisure. When the sun came up, I went back upstairs and knitted until my daughter woke up. There was construction going on, but it didn't phase us in the least. We lounged and chatted and had the best time catching up even though we talk on the phone often. After lunch, I loaded her cooler with snacks and beer and we went down to the pool. The check-in lady was back. Her sweet voice said, "Cute outfits." Her face said something different. It was her eyes. Something in her eyes.
When we got down to the pool, I knitted as my fun vaca pal read from a book about Ted Bundy. There was chatter from people in the water when we got there, and as I knitted and listened to the high tale of this Bundy maniac, their voices grew louder and then stopped. It took me a moment to notice. When I looked up, the people in the pool had migrated down to the deep end where we sat, and they were mesmerized by Bundy's story. What a sight. Strangers at the Inn, listening to murder and mayhem.
My daughter went upstairs to take a much-needed nap- reading to strangers can be exhausting! I decided to stay and for a moment a wave of hoity-toity hit me. I put my knitting away and got a beer out of the cooler. A young couple came down and got in the pool and I heard the man say something about champagne waiting in their frig upstairs. I leaned back into my pool lounge chair, crossed my ankles, trying to look like I did this all the time, which of course, I did not. I casually opened my beer and promptly sprayed myself and most everything around me with ice crystals as the beer had frozen in the frig upstairs. The couple's conversation skipped a beat, then continued on in low voices. I casually collected myself, put the beer back into the cooler, and dripped my way out of there. Note to self: hoity-toity does not pay off if you are not hoity-toity at heart.
The rest of the weekend went well, we walked in an old cemetery, something we both enjoy- it's nice to NOT find your name on a tombstone while on vacation. Another lay low evening, we ordered delivery dinner, watched an old movie and slept well- and then it was time to go home. I collected vital gifts to bring back to my workmates. We checked out together, and the creepy lady sent us off with creepy compliments.
We rolled our suitcases to our cars and hugged. "Mom! I've got it!"
"What?"
"It's cats. She reminds me of someone who lives with her mom in a dank basement with a lot of cats, and she escapes to this job on the weekends.Her house may look a lot like the house on the hill in Psycho."
"Cats. Yesssss, I can see that." We headed to our homes.
On Monday, I delivered trip gifts in some staff cubbies. A notepad here, a pen there, little bottle of lotion here, shampoo there. Staff were confused until I explained and then they took the simple treats and went on about their day.
We enjoyed that trip so much, we vowed to do it again next year. News of the break-away vaca success reached far and wide. When the next year came around, a friend asked me where I would be going on this year's breakaway trip. Memory of this surprised me. "We're thinking of going to here instead of there," I said, feeling good that the simple, yet important trip had made a name for itself.
"Didn't you go there last year?"
"Yes!"
A co-worker passed by. "Oh! It's that time of year again, isn't it? Do you think I could have the shampoo this time?" I loved that request more than I can say. I work with folks who travel the world on a whim. Without second thoughts, or qualms.Something about having my annual passport-free-nearly local trips be remembered, meant a lot to me. People are people in so many ways. I find that encouraging sometimes.
Another member friend came by and wanted to hear all about the trip I had taken with my eldest. When I told her, she grew sooo excited! She said, "Let's do it! I want to do that! We can go to the Umstead!"
"Uh, I'm afraid the Umstead doesn't qualify for this kind of trip, friend." My heart felt so good that my simple trip sounded Umstead worthy. Seriously. I explained to her the rules of simplicity and no expectation, no pressure, and flexibility in adventure and she still wants to try it. She is a delight and so fun to be with, but I'm not sure I could handle more than one of those special trips a year. I'll think it over.
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