Why I Chickened Out: The Peaks of Otter

See, I told you I'd write about chicken. Actually, my title is only half what this blog is about, and I'm doing this in reverse chronological order for all you Scorpios out there.

I'm getting a little personal here, sorry. I try not to do that usually, but I can't help myself. I've had a bear of a couple of years. My ultra-supportive (and tired of my insanity) boss ordered me to take a week off. So I did, this week. The goal was to get away from all the stressors, most of which are in my head, frankly, which makes escape a little hard. But I tried, and it's been a good week.

(Side note: with Monday being a holiday, I still have three and half days of relaxation coming my way. Not bad.)

I spent the first part of my vacation on the beach. More on that later. Yesterday, Thursday, I drove down to the Peaks of Otter Lodge, one of the lodges off the Blue Ridge Parkway. It was lovely. I was very, very glad to be away from everything, and it was, I decided upon arrival, just what I needed. So I hung out on the porch reading NYT book reviews (I'm way behind) and writing in my journal until the heavy fogged cleared a bit - we've had a lot of rain over the past couple of days - and then I went for a walk around the lake, and looked at the old log cabin that had been Polly Woods' Ordinary (Polly Woods was a widow; an "ordinary" is a place where the needs of ordinary travelers - shelter, food, etc. - are met), and then back to my room for more reading. It was nice.

The lodge has a cocktail lounge, so I went for a G&T to accompany my Vanity Fair perusal, then had dinner. Now, dinner was something special, which shocked me, frankly. I had the yummiest fried chicken ever. And it was half a chicken. (See, I'm talking about chicken again!) So, even though I left more than half a plate of food, it was scrumptious, and I highly recommend it. Dessert was a white russian back in the cocktail lounge, and then back to my room for more reading before bed.

(Another side note: I fell on the wooden bridge on the way to my room, bruising my bottom, but more seriously, my ego. It was wet and slippery.)

So, it's dusky by this time, and I stay off the porch because it's cold to me (which is anything below 70). And I read more VF. And then...the scampering begins. And the chirping. And the chattering. And the scratching. And I try to ignore it. And I try to convince myself that it's birds. And I stand on the bed peering up at the oh-so-high rafters. And I consider putting my iPod on, which I decide against because, well, if there's a wasp in the room, I want to know where it is. And this goes on. For two hours.

Those of you who know me really well know that I have a lot of little neuroses and anxieties, but the one truly irrational phobia I have is mice. I am TERRIFIED of mice and rats. Now, I'm afraid of heights, but that makes sense, because you can die if you fall off a building; and I'm afraid of clowns, but who isn't?; and I'm a little skiddish about both bridges and trains, but again, that's logical, and for me, it's also paired with a nice healthy fascination. Nobody ever died from seeing a mouse in their house. I don't think. I stopped hiking the Appalachian Trail because of the mice. Not the bears (never saw any), but the mice.

So I left.

The nice boy at the front desk offered to get me another room, but I was in such a state by the time I finally went to the front desk that I just wanted OUT. So I came home, through the fog on the Blue Ridge Parkway, and got here around midnight. And I slept until 11:30 this morning, almost never happens.

I was afraid I'd regret my decision because it was so lovely there, but I don't. Maybe I'll go back one day with a friend and a special up-front request for a mouse-free room. I'm going to try to get a massage today or tomorrow to compensate for my loss.

And just a quick note about the beginning of my vacation: I went to Ocracoke Island on the Outer Banks. It was perfect. Lovely, small village, all mom and pop establishments, only three miles square. The sixteen-mile long island is almost all national park. I rented a bike to get around, and saw everything. The beaches were amazing, wild and beautiful. It's the only time I've ever been on a beach where I looked to the right and the left, and as far as I could see, there were no people. I hope to go back every year. It was awesome.

Enjoy your long weekend.