Your Courageous Life

birthday notes

 

Andy had tapped his guy friends for hints about a place to take me for the weekend. Where to? They pointed him towards Pacific Grove, which is near Carmel and Monterey. We’d tried to take a trip to Carmel and Monterey last year, and it was not a disaster but it was less fun than expected, mostly because we’d thought Carmel would be this ultra-cute little beachy town, and instead we found it to be ultra-swank and exclusive, and that was a turn-off.

Pacific Grove was the quintessential ultra-cute little beachy town. We headed down on Friday afternoon and arrived at the place Andy had found for us to stay by that evening.

We checked into the Asilomar Conference Center, where things were pretty lively as they were hosting a math conference that weekend. There was lots of recessed lighting around the grounds and in the main house, there were hardwood floors and old chairs. It looked cozy and rustic and perfect. The smell of the trees and the roar of the ocean nearby complimented everything.

Then we got to our room.

Oh, dear.

The room looked like a hostel dormitory, right down to the stained carpets and five (count ‘em, five) basic mattresses thrown on a boxsprings with one thin pillow. The room was like a cave and no one had made any attempt at making the room aesthetically pleasing by hanging nice pictures, coordinating colors, etc. We both walked in and did that thing that two people do when they’re sort of waiting for the other person to say something, first. “Um…it’s…interesting…” I think one of us said. “Hmmmm,” said someone else. “Oh, a fireplace…” said Andy, and then upon examining the pile of newspaper and logs and soot trailing up the wall: “Hmmm. I thought it would be an electric fireplace. Hmmm.”

Meanwhile, of course in my head, I’m going, Ohshitohshitohshitohshit because this was exactly what I was afraid of–that he would plan this really, really great trip for us and that something would be amiss, and how would I say anything? 

I knew how much he was paying for this room, and it was not cheap. I draw the line at stained carpets. My man had gone all out for this weekend and all of the synapses that had been devoting energy into fretting about how much money he was spending on me suddenly got rerouted into being astonished that the place would charge that kind of rate for that kind of room.

I summoned up all of my courage, and just decided to lead off with admitting to him that I felt really craptastic about raising any kind of objection, and that I was so grateful for all that he’d planned and loved him so much…and that I was thinking that this room was not “our room” for this weekend. The whole drive down, we had both excitedly talked about how happy we’d be to sink into a room where we could lay around and read all day, if that’s what we wanted. Then we’d go see the beach. Or not. We wanted to just have no agenda, after a month of agendas and getting the house going and stuff to do. This was not a “no agenda” kind of room. 

“I think we should ask for another room, and if they don’t have another room, ask for our money back,” I said. “I mean, a Motel 6 is cleaner and nicer than this, and that’s far cheaper. What if we saved the money on the room and then we went out for more nice dinners, or used that money to do more stuff around the area, or just didn’t spend it at all?”

It was at that point, that Andy confessed that he was disappointed by the room, too–that this room looked absolutely nothing like the rooms on the website. (WHEW! I was able to breathe again at that point.) So we headed back to the front desk. It took some negotiating, but after looking at another nearly identical room and talking a bit with the manager–who was very polite–they were kind enough to allow us a full refund. They also let us know–and I think it’s fair of me to pass on–that they are planning major renovations, apparently after “getting money from the State.”  I don’t know that I feel fantastic about the idea of this place getting my tax dollars to upgrade their place, given that it’s a private institution, and since Andy and I later discovered that the rate they were charging him for a room was $40 higher per night than what they had printed as their 2009 nightly rate in a local “Guide to Pacific Grove.” 

Nonetheless, we drove just a wee bit down the street to the Rosedale Inn, where the manager had one room left (which was lucky since this massive math conference was going on) and it was $70 less per night, plus all that we’d hoped for–a pillowtop mattress that you could lay around on all day, a fireplace that starts with the flip of a switch, and (my personal favorite) clean carpets. The rooms you see in these pictures are in fact exactly what you get, and I give them two enthusiastic thumbs up if you wish to lay around and relax while on vacation (and if you like clean carpets).

And from there, we enjoyed hanging out in the general area, driving the short distance to Big Sur, taking pictures, stopping at roadside cafes, eating breakfast at Aliotti’s and getting a chance to practice speaking Italian. We also kept talking about what had happened with that room–I think we were both impressed with ourselves for speaking up, getting honest, and co-creating something different than the original plan. I think we were both thrilled with being able to just. let. go.

So basically, I just had a weekend where I feel like someone totally loved me up and if there were any words for adoring this man any more, I haven’t found them yet. Thank you, Lovey!