My first few months on the job in Pennsylvania culminated in a restructuring where I once again had to take down headcount. Like having to do health and safety for 18 months during a pandemic, this was not something I was anxious to do. Never a good thing in the best of times, the ongoing pandemic complicated it more than usual. Along with other issues, it was a long and arduous task that came to a head on the day before my birthday. What did I do to celebrate my birthday? I went to the office to clean up the aftereffects, then went home at 3:00, did my last few calls from my new, empty house, threw together a quick dinner and went to bed at 7:00. I woke up with the alarm at 5:45 the next morning and spent the day after the day on Teams, dealing with the panic and anger as the shock turned into accusations of mismanagement and furious Glassdoor reviews.
Friday morning, I made my way to pick up a rental car at Philadelphia airport, along with most of Philadelphia. Seriously, I’ve never seen so many people waiting for cars. I guess President’s Day weekend is a popular time to rent from Dollar Rental Cars. I fiddled with my mask as I waited with at least 75 or more people, shoulder to shoulder. After what felt like hours, I finally headed home to load up a sturdier vehicle than my baby for a trip north to the Poconos Mountains (or the ‘Poke-your-nose Mountains’ as my 3-year-old son called them). In a last-minute stroke of inspiration, I threw my hiking boots in the trunk. Philadelphia (also known as ‘Fluff-i-da’ by the same 3-year-old) has no snow after several days of unseasonably warm temperatures, and there was no way to know if the mountains were any snowier.
I programmed the Google for a popular local restaurant (according to TripAdvisor) in Clarks Summit for lunch and made my way to Scranton. It’s been at least 20 years since I was last there with the kids, going to a NOAH event hosted by a longtime supporter of the albinism community, Margaret Mary Campbell. It felt familiar. When we lived in Harrisburg for three years, we often made this trek north to go back and forth to New Hampshire, so those memories and the general lack of change meant I had feelings of déjà vu all the way up.
The NOAH event MM had organized included a tour of a coal mine as a part of a gathering. Our fondest memory of the occasion was the infamous stop at Wawa to pick up hoagies and sodas for lunch. MM was insistent that was the lunch menu and for some reason the kids and I were feeling treasonous, so tried to find something other than hoagies for lunch. We still joke about what happens if you don’t want hoagies in Scranton. It was also the trip when the fan belt broke on my old Mazda Protege, and we had no air conditioning in the heat of summer. The timing was such that I couldn’t go all the way to Hartford or Manchester from our home in southwestern New Hampshire to get a rental car, so driving with no air conditioning was required. We drove the over four-hour trip to northern Pennsylvania with my daughter moaning in the backseat – as if the heat was only affecting her. Ah yes, great memories!
As I pulled into Clarks Summit, I realized that all the parking was with old fashioned meters. According to the Google, parking meters were introduced in 1935. After parking on a side street and inspecting the meter, I’d say the parking meters in Clarks Summit are probably original. These required quarters – quarters? I don’t think I’ve had a quarter in my possession in about 8 years. No little note about which App they use – it’s quarters or a parking ticket for you, you anti-American tourist. Needless to say, I carried on towards my final destination in Hawley.
I did finally find a restaurant that had their own parking lot in some little town along the way, lest my reader think I went hungry or resorted to a chain with a drive through. I had a lovely panini in a pub-style bar with a great selection of local beers. A little cosmic dissonance – panini and beer, but perfect for a late lunch. In the end, I arrived just in time for early check-in. Apparently, the inn I chose is for romantic getaways for couples, so the standard welcome spiel didn’t quite work when it was a single woman checking in for a weekend alone, but I’m good with working in the plural.
The inn is on the main drag in Hawley and seems to draw a local crowd to its restaurant.
I made myself ready and went to dinner in a relatively casual Ted Baker pantsuit but was obviously overdressed – as usual. As I sipped my wine and waited for my meal, one of the very drunk locals came over to sit at my table to compliment my outfit and make small talk. He was drunk enough that even simple answers to his questions seemed to confuse him. His young son came over to try to bring him back to the family table, but he persisted in talking to me for a time. Finally, he allowed his son to lure him back. As they left, his wife apologized, and I laughed it off. Though, it made me sad that his son was witnessing his father in this condition. I tried not to think about similar situations in my own childhood, but said a little prayer for his wife, and hoped the boy wasn’t scarred by seeing these things happening around him.
I set Saturday as the spa day for the weekend. The spa I chose was incredible and reminded me of one my sister and I went to in the Rioja region of Spain. My spa treatments were lovely and intense. Afterwards, I decided I’d stay the day and take full advantage of the jacuzzi, sauna and steam room. Even though these were separated by gender, the women still insisted on wearing swimsuits in the sauna. I was so tempted not to, but I finally went with the norms and wore mine. Though I decided to strip it off once I got to the steam room – it was just so disgusting to be wearing any kind of clothing. Most of the other guests were at lunch by then, so I figured I’d be on my own. I enjoyed going from heat to cold shower, though no one else seemed to understand that this is the reason there’s a shower in the area by these amenities. Later, as I relaxed in the quiet room, a snow squall came up. In a matter of seconds, the wind and snow were blowing so hard, it was white-out conditions. I was so pleased that my day indoors turned out to be the right one. Watching the snow whipping through the trees was mesmerizing and beautiful, even though I realized that anyone driving or skiing at the time would be in a tough situation.
After killing most of the day at the spa, I thought I’d stay and have an early dinner at the resort, but it’s apparently quite popular so no tables available. I finally left and set out for one of the major tourist attractions in Hawley, the old silk mill that’s now a collection of shops. These were very artsy and very clearly both shop owners and patrons were part of the anti-mask crowd, so I strolled through (with my mask firmly on) and left. Nothing really struck my fancy and I felt more out of place than usual. Not to be dissuaded, I went to a brewpub down the road to have a traditional Pennsylvania Dutch pretzel and a pint. Still rather out of place with my mask, I enjoyed both as a late afternoon snack. I find when wearing a mask in an area that has decided COVID isn’t real, that I’m viewed as even more of an outsider than usual. While the infection rates are still climbing and people are dying from it every day, apparently we’re meant to just ignore it.
I decided I didn’t want to eat at my inn again and settled on a ‘bistro’ which was really a glorified diner. When the Chardonnay is Kendall Jackson and the tables and chairs are circa 1970, you know what you’re in for. Even still, the stuffed flounder on the menu sounded good by the description. Unfortunately, it was only made edible by the salt and pepper on the table. I didn’t know that flounder and crab were so tasteless, or maybe it’s just a general lack of any seasoning that did it. At least the wine provided some additional flavors. As I ate my bland dinner, I observed the nearby tables settling their tabs with cash. There you go, those who have quarters for parking also have ample cash for dinner. I have officially gone back in time. Thankfully, I wasn’t stuck with having to pay cash and was able to pay my tab with a card, like most of civilized society.
Sunday was meant to be the day I broke in my snowshoes and went cross-country skiing. I bought my snowshoes 3 years ago after having an amazing time in Michigan over my birthday weekend in 2019. As it turned out, Chicagoland had little snow that winter and I moved to California the next year (to a part of Northern California where it never snows). I thought sure the Poconos would have snow in February, but alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Of course, I’ve never actually bought crampons for my hiking boots since winter hiking hasn’t been a thing for me. Since they didn’t have any available in the area (everyone who needs them has already bought them), I decided to try my luck with just my hiking boots and poles. I bundled up and headed out after a hearty breakfast at the inn.
The day was bright and sunny, and cold. Of course, once I got going, I shed my parka and just wore my cross-country ski jacket. The handy straps inside my parka proved their worth, and I was happy to have it with me to pull it on when stopping for snacks along the way. I kept my gloves on thinking it was best not to take them off with the temperatures in the high 20’sF, but my hands were actually hot, so I alternated wearing them and using my hiking top’s little thumb holes to cover my hands. My poles helped with the ice and were useful checking areas that had a crust of snow to see whether they were hiding flooded parts of the trail. It was so beautiful and quiet! Even parts where I slid around icy patches didn’t take away from the beauty of being out in the woods on a winter’s day.
I made my way along the recommended trail, but lost it about 3 miles in. As I crashed through some heavy brush, I reminded myself not to get too lost (aka don’t keep stumbling along blindly). So, I headed back to do the smaller loop in reverse. The lake was frozen over, and the ice was sighing loudly. I listened to the ice heaving and winds streaking through the tress. Such a peaceful scene with a few birds here and there. There weren’t any people around, except for at the very end, so the silence wasn’t interrupted by any human-made noise.
Going around the lake the other way, I found a part of the trail that was open water and completely flooded. Having no interest in doing a polar plunge, I decided to turn back. This particular trail wasn’t technically challenging, but the snow and ice made it difficult. It felt good to be out in nature exercising after a long month and lack of running due, first to a cold snap that had us close to 0F, and then a workload that left me little time to go out.
I returned to the inn late afternoon and decided to sit near the fire in the bar area for a local gin and tonic. The gin is called Bluecoat and true to its name, is blue. It was ‘different.’ Not sure I’d buy a full bottle, but better than the Diageo collection on the bar. The seating area seemed to be filled with couples, so I attempted to read on my Kindle as I sipped my G&T. Two couples nearby were having a rousing discussion about the trials of education and the relative merits of teaching in a public or private school. Three of them were teachers and the fourth was mostly quiet as they debated the effects of the pandemic and students with parents who are nightmares when it comes to educating children.
Given the lack of prospects for idle conversation, I approached the host in the restaurant about getting something to eat. I wasn’t actually hungry but knew from experience that if I didn’t eat something, I’d wake up starving around midnight when there would be no options on a Sunday night in a remote area of Pennsylvania. Alas, no tables available. My desire not to go out after two G&Ts meant that I settled on soup in my room. At least there were still some Olympics on TV and they let me take a glass of wine up, so a relaxing evening in my room was the order for the night.
Monday, the backlog of work emails and lack of ability to do what I really wanted (snowshoeing or cross-country skiing) led me to have breakfast and head home. While it wasn’t a busy weekend from my usual line-up for long weekends, it was a welcome break from everything going on at work. I’m also heading into another spate of travel for the next few weeks, so real downtime isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Overall, my desire to celebrate my birthday and get a weekend of being offline after the stress at work came together nicely. While I didn’t get to do what I thought I’d be doing, I still had a relaxing time. Mission accomplished.
