Sometimes life is about stopping to smell the roses. Even in February. Even in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Wherever it happens to be, taking in a breath can be rejuvenating. Now it wasn’t that I’ve been scrambling around in a physical frenzy, desperately longing for a space to sit down and rest my aching feet. I wasn’t. What I was, though, was hunkered down in a mental bunker. I was uber-focused on fixing the future. Bills, studying for my business, and doing a lot of scheduling for various members of the family and myself put me on the computer and phone for hours every day for several days. Or weeks. I can’t remember. It all blends together.
I set reminders on my phone to find time, in the next day or two, to remind myself for even more stuff. I had reminders to wake people up, take medicine, make phone calls, and study. I set timers to pick people up, drop people off, and set appointments. 10 minutes for time with each kid, 30 minutes for hubby. Set a timer to pet the dog. I just forgot down time, eating time, and to smile.
Time just blurred together.
I wasn’t ready to look up from my tunnel vision even when my husband invited me to go with him to a luxury hotel for three days. He got to spend those days in a conference room, and I would be free to relax and explore the grounds.
Um. Well. All I saw were the mechanics. Who should take and pick up my daughter from school? Would the kids be ok? Would the house survive? I was still hammering out details, needlessly hovering and unwilling to let go of the responsibility, when we pulled into the wide avenue showcasing the spectacular piece of art that was The Broadmoor.
I let go.
Um. Hotel is an understatement. As we drove, looking for our own spot to call home, stately trees lined the paths and roads. Manicured flora and fauna graced the expansive grounds. Bridges flowed over the lake, dotted with elegant swans. And in the background, craggy, tree-strewn mountains grew around the property, cradling the place in crisp air and breathtaking views.
The entrance was grand, of course. I was now expecting that. What delighted me, however, was the attention to details for the guests. Never did we touch handles. Cars, doors, and elevators were opened with pomp and ceremony. Staff seemed to enjoy assisting us to our room, proudly pointing out things of interest with a smile, a nod, or a gesture. I felt as if I were the only guest there. How could it get any better?
Then the the door to my room opened.
Plush, tasteful elegance greeted us as the door was opened and I couldn’t help but grin. I’ve never been a fan of wallpaper. Til now. Subtle, silky cream curlicues let a hint of light baby green fabric peek through the walls. It cocooned the room that brought me to a time when grace was more important than convenience. Details brought the room into focus. King size bed with cream colored embroidered bead spread. Pillows in rich fabric, inviting hours of lounging in a robe and slippers. Which, of course, were provided. A soft bench at the bottom of the bed, a plump sofa, and reading arm chair provided choices in relaxation. A work station rounded out the furnishings, along with a large tv and plenty of soft-lighted lamps.
And then there was the bathroom. Hotel bathrooms have a sliding scale of function mixed with attractiveness. But ultimately, it provides a means to an end. Not so, at The Broadmoor. I wanted to just stay in it. Really. Yes, there was a huge marble shower, yes the lighted mirror and double sinks were beautiful. It was the deep soaking tub and in mirror tv that made it stand out.
As soon as the bellman left, my husband, bless him, filled the tub for me. Yes, it covered me to my chin. Yes, there was a pillow towel for my neck. Yes, there was hot cocoa ready for me to sip. No wonder this gem has been graced by presidents, sports heroes, and movie stars. It was the perfect place to be pampered, and I had fallen for it. Hook, line, and sinker.