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quaint shmaint

How often do I give grumpy? Usually I am able to laugh at myself, or life that is going slightly askew around me. Day before yesterday I found myself unable to shake a nasty mood. Two reasons for that, I figure. First, I was cut off. That is my Room 101, I think. Not to be able to communicate. What I like most about writing is being able to chat with my readers, to tell them a story I enjoy, figuring that they will enjoy it too. (Yes, it's a bit of a fantasy, since I can't really see them and because some of them won't like the story, but there is still the illusion of connection.)Second, I was overwhelmed by knickknacks.

It was the hotel, I think. Too bad, because another person would have found it the high point of the tour. It was small and woody, quiet and quaint, tucked away by the water, and smelling of pot pourri. It was a perfect example of its type -- the folksy friendly B&B. It was the conscious antithesis of the chain hotel. And after I'd been in the room for five minutes, I was longing for the nearest Ramada.

I could feel myself getting grumpy the moment I arrived, brushing aside ornamental fishing nets that looped over the entrance, and knocking over a couple of throw pillows and a porcelain dog with my bag. The mood did not improve when the owner, with a self-deprecating smile, said that they did not have intenet, and that cell phone service was sketchy. Feel free to use my own phone, she said, smiling. It was a rotary phone.

Grrr, I said.

I beg your pardon?

Sorry about the broken dog.

Yes, the scenery was lovely. My room looked out on a pristine lake with six or seven mountains in the background, and an eagle or two hovering up high. But ... but I wanted to call home and check email. I wanted to wander around the room without knocking over figurines and flowerbowls, or having to look at depictions of royalty or animals in varying degrees of cuteness. I wanted to take a shower without having to crouch down under the charmingly old-fashioned nozzle. I didn't know what to do with the 147 superluous pillows on the bed (I finally threw them all on the floor). I didn't know what to do to the people walking their dogs past my large scenic window, who insisted on waving in a friendly fashion (I decided to wave back, half-heartedly).

Don't say it. I know I was behaving badly. I was at the wheel of a vintage Bugatti, wishing that it had air conditioning. But, darn it, there are times when you want air conditioning.

Anyway, all that was the night before yesterday. I am now ensconced in a boring utilitarian (is that a tautology? I don't think so) Best Western. I won't describe it to you since you know what it looks like. No individuality, no personality. But the phones and ethernet cables work, and I am back in touch with my world.

I stare out the window at my parking-lot view. Hmmm. Times I wonder about myself. An eagle would be kind of cool, right about now.


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