What a Bunch!

We have seen this past weekend coming for a long time. We were the overflow accommodations for an Irish/American wedding party being held at a nearby farm. Half the inn has been reserved since we arrived in January for this occasion. Over the last few weeks the rest of the inn sold out. Nothing new there, but one by one the room occupants called to advise us of their particular special needs.

Room 2 - no salt, fats or egg yolks.
Room 4 - allergic to walnuts.
Room 8 - a vegan.
Room 10 - can’t have bread.

So a challenge lay ahead to attempt to feed all these needs with one menu. It drives Richard into a frenzy when the general public won’t eat what is offered, he cannot understand because he eats everything and has always enjoyed trying new foods.

On Friday night we had almost finished checking in our finicky household when the boozy Catholics rocked up three sheets to the wind, hefting crates of wine for the wedding celebrations on the morrow. Half of them got lost along the way (distracted by the pool table) during the welcome tour of the inn. When we got to the place where the breakfast menu was written I asked them to let me know if they had any problems with what was offered. Much to my relief one of them answered, “No darlin’ we eat and drink everyting, can’t you tell?”

Dream Weavers

The majority of people who call us to reserve a room for a break or an anniversary are dreaming. They are dreaming of a surprise birthday treat for their spouse, a romantic weekend without their children or some long desired time on their own with no outside demands.

Our job, as we have discovered, is not just to try and set the scene for these dreams, but we also have to feed their imaginations and hope during these phone conversations. We are frequently answering questions and listening to their dream weaving for half an hour before we can bid them goodbye. We know they are dreaming because the very same people show up, having declared themselves “outdoor people” for example and spend all of two hours outside and the rest of the time closeted in their room with a movie and the air conditioning running. Couples on a “romantic” anniversary weekend have the most fearful row because one of them is not in tune with the others romantic reverie. They end up eating alone and we become the silent, somewhat embarrassed witnesses to the imploded dream.

The dreaming part of their getaway must in some circumstances be the best part as it sometimes turns out, but we are continually surprised by the difference between what people dream about themselves and their lives, and what is in fact the truth when they show up.

Hope is a powerful thing, but reality is a one way street.

Sister Solo

A couple of weeks ago in mid week, we had an empty inn. A woman called to inquire about a room - we sighed and took her reservation. We usually ask the question, “And this is for two adults?” She replied “No, just me.”

The next day she arrived and we welcomed her, joking that she had us at her service for the whole two days of her stay. She wanted to be low key and non-demanding. She had her own stash of food in the guest fridge and asked for peanut butter on toast or scrambled eggs and salsa for her breakfast.

On her second morning Richard was chatting to her in the common room and she said to him. “I am having such a wonderful time, it is so quiet and restful here, but I don’t want you and Virginia to feel like you have to cook anything special for me. I’ll just eat whatever you are eating.” Richard thought for moment. The statement had been made in an effort to be easy, since she knew she was the only guest at the inn.
“Well, its like this.” He said “It works the other way around...we eat what you eat and if you don't eat it, we have it the next day.” It made her laugh and the following day she called to ask us what kind of ice-cream we liked at the local homemade ice cream shop down the road.

One guest at the inn could be a pain when you need some down time, but this one so enjoyed her quiet stay here that it was a total pleasure for us too.

Evil Coffee Maker Attacks Inn Keeper

Memorial weekend was two thirds over. We got up early on Monday morning with our full house still snoozing peacefully. Richard reached into the fridge and grabbed the milk by the lid and as he pulled it out the whole carton fell to the floor covering his shoes, legs and the six feet around him in creamy Half and Half (milk and cream). Someone – probably me had not screwed on the top properly.
I was in the middle of concocting granola muffins. Richard went downstairs to change and I got the floor wiped up as I mused over the saying “Its no use crying over spilled milk.”

An hour later the house was waking up and there was a trail of sleepy heads wandering to the Keurig machine for their first beverage of the day. Richard walked into the breakfast room to discover an ominous queue. The whole machine had packed up due to some blockage in the boiling water outlet. He hurried to the kitchen with the offending machine to clean it out and rinse some vinegar through, meanwhile, we filled up the Mr. Coffee (12 cup) in the kitchen to keep the coffee drinkers mollified.

I kept on cooking.

Richard turned on the large coffee urn (30 cups) ready for the breakfast rush at 8.30am and as he did sparks blew out of the electric socket and there was a frightening smell of burning. Just as he was rushing back into the kitchen with the urn in his arms, the Mr. Coffee maker spilled over and there were coffee grounds all over the table and floor. Mr. Coffee doesn't like making twelve cups of coffee all at once on Memorial Day and had a hissy fit. We had three useless coffee makers and twenty guests pawing the ground in the breakfast room. I kept on cooking and Richard flew around the kitchen in a whirl of coffee grounds, white vinegar and screw drivers.

We survived the morning. Mr. Coffee eventually supplied enough to keep everyone coffeed up (six cups at a time). The loose wire in the urn was located and tightened up and the Keurig got descaled and cleaned out.

After everyone had been fed and left the breakfast room, we were cleaning up the mornings detritus and I reached for Mr. Coffee’s glass carafe with a soapy hand. The bloody thing slipped from my fingers and crashed into the sink leaving it with a large crack in the side. It sort of rounded up the morning in a surprisingly satisfying way. All for one and one for all. The Circle of Life and all that.