Autumn at the Inn, Part 1

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Our story tonight is called Autumn at the Inn, Part 1.

And it's a story written for all of you who have ever dreamt of taking a little trip to the village of Nothing Much.

It's about a faded business card passed from friend to friend. An address of an inn on a lake far away,

geese flying overhead, a black cat, rustling leaves, and the start of an adventure taken when it's needed most.

So switch off your lamp, set down your device,

and get as comfortable as you can.

Let go of any leftover thoughts.

You have done enough for the day.

Let your whole body relax

and take a deep breath in through your nose

and out through your mouth.

Again, breathe in

and release it.

Good.

Autumn at the Inn. Part 1

It came as a recommendation from a friend.

I'd been going on,

a bit wistfully, I'm sure,

about missing the bright leaves and crisp scents of autumn

after living somewhere

where the seasons barely budged throughout the year,

it had its benefits,

the sunshine, and the months and months of warm weather.

I got to spend a lot of evenings out on the deck.

I went for beach walks

while many others in less friendly climes were scraping ice from their windshields.

And almost none of my paycheck went into a mitten budget.

But every autumn, I found myself longing for a chill in the air,

a day to kick through fallen leaves and feast on cider doughnuts.

In fact,

and I'd probably deny this it got out,

sometimes in the fall,

I turned the air conditioner

all the way up,

dressed in jeans

and my one flannel shirt,

and I pretended

I had a few favorite movies,

all set in September and October,

and I'd watch them with the sweet cinnamon coffee in my hands.

I'd pull the curtains tight to block out the sun and the sight of my neighbors walking the sidewalks in shorts and flip-flops.

I'd light a pumpkin candle and try to fool myself

into feeling

properly autumnal.

And I guess that's what I would have done again this year,

except for the friend

who'd clearly had enough of my lamenting

and slipped me a worn business card from his wallet.

The card was simple,

off-white, creamy stock,

printed with faded, dark green ink,

the name of an inn,

an address,

a phone number,

and a line drawing of an old stately building beside a lake.

He said he'd visited years before and still thought about it.

I ran my finger over the lines that made up the lake,

And had a sudden image in my mind

Of geese flying overhead,

Tall trees crowned in red and gold and orange

And a bench by the water.

I'd prodded my friend a bit

What made this place special?

What did he remember from his trip?

Nothing much, he answered.

Just that when I came back

I felt like my shelves had been restocked.

Gosh, I'd love to go back.

I guess that's why I've kept the card in my wallet all this time.

I like just knowing that it's there.

I asked him if he wanted the card back,

but he shrugged

and said I should keep it.

I'd need it to call and make a reservation for a trip,

to go see the leaves change.

I slipped it into my pocket,

and we went on to talk of other things.

I actually forgot all about it until that night

when I was changing for bed

and found it.

I set it down on my bedside table,

propped against my lamp, and went to brush my teeth.

By the time I finally crawled into bed,

it seemed too late to call.

Maybe, I thought,

I should sleep on it.

Maybe it wasn't the right time for a trip.

Maybe it was silly

to travel so far, just to stay at an inn and

feel a bit of the fall air on my neck.

But I couldn't sleep.

I turned from side to side,

thinking about the ten-day forecast I'd checked before shutting things down for the night.

Hot and sunny,

every day for the foreseeable future,

humid and unrelenting.

I sat up and reached for the card.

The moonlight snaking through my blinds

glinted off the ink.

And again I imagined those geese overhead,

the bench by the water.

I dialed the number,

shaking my head a bit at my rashness.

I fully expected to leave a message. I was sure there'd there'd be no one at the desk at this time of night.

But a quiet voice answered right away.

Oh,

hi, I stammered. I didn't think anyone would be up.

Well, actually, I wasn't. But my cat got me up.
He was meowing at the door and wouldn't stop till I came down to the office.

And that's when the phone rang.

It sounded like this might not have been the first time that had happened.

I imagined her with a pen already in her hand

and a large desk calendar spread out in front of her,

ready to take my reservation.

When would you like to come? she prompted.

Oh,

um

actually,

I hadn't thought that far ahead.

I

just a friend passed me your card, and I could kind of use a getaway.

Of course.

Let me see. We just had a cancellation,

and it's during peak color season.

Does that sound good to you?

That's perfect.

She told me the dates,

starting in just a few days,

and I was glad that it was enough time to plan and travel,

but not enough to second guess myself.

She took my name and number,

and we were just about to hang up when I stopped her.

One last thing.

What's your cat's name?

She laughed quietly and said, Sycamore.

And I'm sure you'll get to meet him. He'll even sleep on your bed if you let him.

After I'd hung up,

I wrote the dates on the back of the Inn's card

and slid back down into my sheets.

In the morning

I'd have a full list of to dos

travel plans and laundry

pulling my suitcase out from the high shelf in the closet

and arranging to have the plants watered while I was gone.

I'd need to do a bit of shopping for warm clothes,

a good pair of sturdy shoes or boots to hike in,

and my camera. It was ready to be picked up from the shop

where it had been repaired.

And even with all of that on my mind,

as soon as I pulled the blanket up over my shoulder,

I fell quickly and deeply asleep.

I dreamt of a view from a window on an upper floor,

looking out across the lake

at a forest of vibrantly swathed trees.

In the dream I smelled the scent

of coffee cake

and heard a tinkling bell

on a black cat's collar.

There was a winding staircase

and a long hallway lined with portraits

that led to a porch full of tables set for breakfast.

I smiled in my sleep.

Autumn

at the the Inn,

Part One.

It came as a recommendation

from a friend.

I'd been going on

a bit wistfully, I'm sure,

about missing the bright leaves

and crisp scents of autumn

after living somewhere

that the seasons barely budged throughout the year.

It had its benefits,

the sunshine,

and the months and months

of warm weather.

I got to spend a lot of evenings

out on the deck.

I went for beach walks

while many others

in less friendly climes

were scraping ice from their windshields.

And almost none of my paycheck

went into

a mitten budget.

But every autumn

I found myself

longing

for a chill in the air,

a day to kick through fallen leaves

and feast on cider doughnuts.

In fact,

and I'd I'd probably deny this if it got out.

Sometimes in the fall,

I turned the air conditioner

all the way up,

dressed in jeans

and my one flannel shirt

and pretended.

I had a few favorite movies

all set in September and October

and I'd watch them

with the sweet cinnamon coffee in my hands.

I'd pull the curtains tight

to block out the sun

and the sight of my neighbors

walking the sidewalks in shorts and flip-flops.

I'd light a pumpkin candle

and try to fool myself

into feeling

properly autumnal.

And

I guess that's what I would have done again

this year,

except for the friend

who'd clearly had enough of my lamenting,

and slipped me a worn business card

from his wallet.

The card was simple,

off white,

creamy stock,

printed with faded green ink,

the name of an inn,

an address,

a phone number,

and a line drawing

of an old stately building beside a lake.

He said said he'd visited years before

and still thought about it.

I ran my finger

over the lines that made up the lake

and had a sudden image in my mind

of geese flying overhead

Tall trees,

crowned in red and gold and orange,

and a bench by the water.

I'd prodded my friend a bit.

What made this place

special?

What did he remember from his trip?

Nothing much, he answered.

Just that when I came back,

I felt like my shelves had been restocked.

Gosh, I'd love to go back.

I guess that's why I've kept the card in my wallet all this time.

I like just knowing that it is there.

I asked him

if he wanted the card back,

but he shrugged

and said I should keep it.

I'd need it

to call and make a reservation for a trip

to go see the leaves change.

I slipped it into my pocket

And we went on

to talk of other things.

I actually forgot all about it

until that night

when I was changing for bed and found it.

I set it down on my bedside table,

propped against my lamp,

and went to brush my teeth.

By the time I finally crawled into bed,

it seemed too late to call.

Maybe, I thought,

I should sleep on it.

Maybe it wasn't the right time for a trip.

Maybe it was silly

to travel so far,

just to stay in an inn

and feel a bit of fall air on my neck.

But I couldn't sleep.

I turned from side to side,

thinking of the ten-day forecast

I'd checked

just before shutting things down for the night.

Hot

and sunny,

every day for the foreseeable future,

humid and unrelenting.

I sat up

and reached for the card.

The moonlight,

snaking through my blinds,

glinted off the ink,

And again

I imagined the geese overhead,

the bench by the water.

I dialed the number,

shaking my head a bit

at my rashness.

I fully expected to leave a message.

I was sure there'd be no one at the desk at this time of night.

But a quiet voice answered right away.

Oh, I,

I stammered.

I didn't think anyone would be up.

Well,

I wasn't, actually.

But my cat got me up.

He was meowing at the door

and wouldn't stop till I came down to the office.

And that's when the phone rang.

It sounded like this might not have been the first time

that had happened.

I imagined her

with a pen already in her hand

and a large desk calendar spread out in front of her

ready to take my reservation

when would you like to come she prompted

oh um

actually

I hadn't thought that far ahead.

I just

a friend passed passed me your card,

and

I could kind of use a getaway.

Of course.

Let me see.

We just had a cancellation,

and

it's during peak color season.

Does that sound good to you?

It's perfect.

She told me the dates,

starting in just a few days.

And I was glad that

it was enough time to plan and travel,

but not enough to second-guess myself.

She took my name and number,

and we were just about to hang up

when I stopped her.

One last thing.

What's your cat's name?

She laughed quietly and said,

Sycamore.

I'm sure you'll get to meet him.

He'll even sleep on your bed if you let him.

After I hung up,

I wrote the dates

on the back of the Inn's card

and slid back down

into my sheets.

In the morning,

I'd have a full list of to-dos,

travel plans,

and laundry,

pulling my suitcase out from the high shelf in the closet

and arranging to have the plants watered while I was gone.

I'd need to do a bit of shopping

for warm clothes,

a good pair of sturdy shoes or boots to hike in,

and my camera.

It was ready to be picked up

from the shop where it had been repaired.

Even with all that

on my mind,

As soon as I pulled the blanket

up over my shoulder,

I fell quickly

and deeply

asleep.

I dreamt of a view

from a window on an upper floor

looking out across the lake

at a forest of vibrantly swathed trees.

In the dream

I smelled the scent of coffee cake

and heard a tinkling bell

on a black cat's collar.

There was a winding staircase

and a long hallway

lined with portraits

that led to a porch full of tables

set for breakfast.

I smiled in my sleep.

Sweet dreams.