While visiting Andrea and Eric at Thanksgiving, the four of us had a fun time taking the VIA Institute on Character test that Eric uses as part of the class he teaches. We compared results, and mine included this:

I was surprised to see this listed as a strength, having always considered my "honesty" as 90% weakness. I guess this proves that any strength taken to an extreme really does become a weakness.

​Regardless, this probably explains why I feel compelled to share this story about a really bad choice I recently made. Hopefully, by sharing it, you'll make better choices for yourself.

It all started as we were driving to California in October. I'm often on my laptop during long drives, and on the second evening of our trip, while I was taking a break from the laptop, my mouse slid in off my lap desk and ended up behind my seat. During a previous trip, Jim had hurt his shoulder while reaching for something back there, and I didn't want to do the same. And I wanted that mouse. So I unbuckled my seat belt and did some gymnastics to retrieve it. 

It was dark out, and as I kneeled on the seat clutching my laptop and mouse with my rear end pointed toward the windshield, I said to Jim, "This would be a really bad time to get in an accident." Then, before I knew it, (I thought) he had slammed on the breaks and my back went flying into the glovebox. Notice how pointy that glove box is in the photo below.

Let me quickly point out that Jim did not slam on the brakes! He had the car (Telsa Model Y) in "Full Self Drive" mode and the speed limit changed right after I made my comment (which caused the car to gradually slow on it's own), and at the same time, we hit a bump in the road. I was feeling very relaxed, so really did get slammed into that glove box. I'm still not sure whether being relaxed was good or bad for my back.

One thing that definitely was lucky was that my spine didn't hit anything, it was more the side of my back. But it hurt! Thankfully, I was pretty sure right away that the muscle (or muscles) took the hit, and I figured they'd heal. Also, thankfully, especially given that this was only the second day of the trip, I was able to carry my own luggage and both driving and walking were relatively comfortable. Surprisingly, a bruise never emerged.

The thing that really hurt was rolling over in bed and getting in and out of bed! I went a full week before I was able to roll over without waking up at night. 

Nine weeks later, I'm relieved to report that I've pretty much forgotten about it. As I write, I said to Jim, while twisting my back, "I can't feel even a ... well I guess I feel a tiny twinge when I twist just right." But I don't think I thought about my back at all over the last two days.

I recognize that I was really lucky. And I feel really stupid. But didn't want to let my embarrassment stop me from sharing a story that might help you avoid my mistake!

​I leave you with two thoughts ...

In early February, Jim hurt his back. Actually he hurt it the previous summer. But it got bad (really bad) in early February after he'd been working with a physical therapist to resolve what now seems like some minor back pain. In hindsight, the PT didn't understand the problem, and Jim ended up with a bulging disc. 

The problem culminated one morning, when he woke up hardly able to walk or even move. 

He tried, unsuccessfully, to schedule an appointment with his doctor online. Feeling a need to act fast, he considered going to Urgent Care, but feared they'd just send him to the ER. Worried, I suggested we just start at the ER. But first we had to figure out how to get him there.

The pain was so bad we discussed calling an ambulance, but he managed to get himself to the car. One of our (many) nurse nieces recommended the best nearby hospital, I entered the address into the GPS, and off we went. ​

Jim was in so much pain he couldn't speak for most of the ride. I took my delivery role seriously and focused on the navigation given that we were heading to a new hospital in an unfamiliar area. 

As we neared our destination, Jim mustered the energy to open his eyes and speak. In a very soft voice he said, "It's times like this when I'm so thankful I have a wife like you. Heading straight to the ER was exactly the right call ... and ... you just missed the turn."

Yeah, I've never been known for my navigation skills. Plus I'm easily distracted. So when Jim started paying me a compliment, I got lost in the moment and found myself automatically heading to ... the mall. Which, in my defense, isn't that far from the new hospital :D 

Our Big Sur Vrbo host instructed us (three times) to text when we were within an hour of the cottage. Just to prove how responsible we were, I texted the night before our arrival to confirm that we were in the the state and to let her know what time we expected to arrive the next day. We'd been informed that we'd be able to access the cottage without her help, but still the owner seemed determined to understand all the details surrounding our arrival. Surely they'd had issues with others in the past, right?

As we drove up the coast, Jim commented about how easy it is to travel when there are no deadlines, and that had proven to be true. So when the owner suggested that we should meet up at the Starbucks in Carmel before checking in, just to say hello, we were a little disappointed. But again, I was determined to prove we were friendly, responsible, sociable, and all the other good stuff I assumed she sought from her best renters. I even thought she might like us so much she might decide to throw in the two nights we'd paid for originally, but lost when we re-booked the second time. Thank goodness we'd brought extra clothes, I was starting to imagine the extended stay already.

We arrived at Starbucks five minutes early and smiled profusely at every woman who walked through the door. They all smiled back, but none seemed at all interested in who we might be. Finally, five minutes after the scheduled meeting time, I pulled out my phone to text our host and saw her text to me: "I am parked behind Starbucks in a white Volkswagen camper van. See you soon." Sure enough, we walked around to the back of the building and there she was, looking like a supermodel posing for an Instagram photo. 

We exchanged pleasantries, and then she got down to business (yet again), summarizing rules, instructions, questions and guidelines. Early on in the conversation she said, "something recently chewed a hole through the screen in the kitchen window, so don't open that window" and "don't leave the door open, because we don't want whatever chewed through the screen to get inside" and "a guy will be by to fix the screen tomorrow". I took one look at Jim, and knew we were in trouble. ​

As instructed, I used the land line provided to call our host and let her know that we had arrived and made it into the house. She then went through another list of instructions, guidelines and suggestions, including the tip to keep all of our food in the refrigerator, even dry goods, just to be sure there was nothing that might attract mice, and she let me know that there was an electronic rodent repellant device in the house. (It chirped about every 15 seconds, which made it hard to miss.) She also instructed me to be sure to keep all linens on the bed at all times to avoid creating a fire hazard given that there was a heater in the teeny tiny bedroom, and we were also asked to avoid use of the wood stove in the the living room. Signs posted around the cottage instructed us to minimize our use of toilet paper, stagger our showers, and call if we had any questions, among other things.

Finally, our host asked if we would be OK, and I let her know that I was sure we would be just fine. I'd found my way back to my friendly voice and was eager to move on and salvage our trip. I did let her know that one or both of us might not stay at the house overnight, so if she called back and we didn't answer the phone, she shouldn't worry.

It's worth mentioning that when we walked into the cottage for the first time, Jim saw two "droppings" on the kitchen floor. One looked like a mouse dropping and the other was bigger. I tried to assure Jim that they were some sort of seeds, but after I pulled out my glasses for a better look, there was no denying that neither was a seed. I'd mentioned this to our host on the phone, and she asked me to text pictures. (Apparently there was limited connectivity there.) So I dug the droppings out of the trash, photographed them, and texted her a photo. 

She called back (was it multiple times?) and offered to let us stay at her house, although I'm sure she meant her other Vrbo rental which is right on the property where she lives 20 minutes east of Carmel (not even close to the water), and she said a bunch of other things I don't remember. I was sure that staying closer to her was not the secluded getaway experience on the ocean we were seeking, so politely declined the invitation.

One time she called back to let me know that she was sure her husband had tracked those droppings in from outside when he'd been at the cottage earlier in the day applying ... get this ... rodent repellant to the outside of the house. Honestly, every time we spoke, things seemed to sound a little bit worse.

In the end, we considered sleeping in the car, but rejected the idea for a variety of reasons. So, I pulled out my computer, found my way to an old email message containing the phone number for the Carmel River Inn where we'd stayed in 2022, called them on the land line, and made a three night reservation. Then we drove the hour back to Carmel.

Thankfully, we love the Carmel River Inn tiny houses! They're very clean, comfortable, and perfectly designed for a short term stay. When we walked through the door, a space had never looked so inviting! 

Jim took a shower, during which time the Vrbo host both texted and called me. Again! She wanted to know where we were, and I told her. She wanted to know why we hadn't accepted the offer to stay at her house, and I (again) explained that we were striving to have some time to ourselves. I let her know that we'd probably picnic at the cottage each day, and I assured her that I'd call her, as instructed, when we left the cottage for the last time; sometime on Friday, a day before our scheduled check-out.

She then asked if we liked whale-watching and said her husband, a photographer, could probably get us on a boat. I thanked her and insisted we were really wanting time to ourselves and again assured her we were fine, and I'd call her when we left the cottage for the last time. 

At one point, during one of our phone conversations, I was trying to lighten the mood and let her know that when my son heard our story, he'd probably say, "Your trip was cursed!" That triggered this somewhat entertaining text exchange: ​

I'm happy to report that our time in Big Sure ended on a high note with a cozy dinner at the Big Sur Bakery on Highway 1. 

It's also worth mentioning that before we left the cottage for the last time, and as instructed, I called our host to let her know we were "checking out". Highway 1 was still closed to the south because of the January rock slides, so it just didn't make sense to visit the cottage again the next day given the morning check-out requirement and the fact that we'd need to turn around and drive north to Monterey to start heading toward home ... or anywhere.  

After answering most of the host's questions (so many questions), she asked about our plans for leaving town and then asked to meet with us in-person again before we left the area. (I was kind of prepared for this type of question, because Jim and I had speculated earlier in the day about how she might handle that final phone call.) But I had lost all patience, so simply asked why we needed to meet again. She told me, "I'd like to put a little cash in your hands" suggesting "maybe half of your three-day credit". I told her that would be nice, reminded her that we were striving to have lots of alone time, and asked if she could just credit our account or mail us a check. Thankfully, she offered to mail a check. That, at least, was a pleasant surprise.

Then she asked what I thought of the cottage and asked if I had any suggestions for her.

Of course I had thoughts and suggestions. I always have thoughts and suggestions! But I only mentioned two; replacing the worn sofa and upgrading the bedding which just looked a bit dated. I'm not sure what she was expecting to hear, but apparently that wasn't it. She got extremely defensive, and ended her ... slightly emotional rant ... by telling me that she would not be replacing the sofa nor the bedding! I'd been prepared to offer more suggestions, but sensed she wasn't really all that interested in my ideas.

Because our original booking had occurred over a year before our stay, and all of the rebooking was managed outside the Vrbo platform, we are unable to leave a review for our visit. I'm not sure what I'd have written anyway. While the host was unusual, I do think she's well-intentioned. I'm also guessing that she believed that all of her talk about mice and her efforts to repel them would put our minds at ease. i.e. She just didn't get that she was increasing our anxiety every time she spoke. 

It's also worth mentioning that the vast majority of reviews for the cottage are 100% positive. The setting really is unbelievably beautiful and the inside of the cottage was clean and thoughtfully and artistically appointed, if not a bit worn around some edges. I don't think there were any mice in there. If you're not afraid of the idea of mice being in there, you'd probably love it.

Even ten years ago, this experience would have really upset me and I might have let it scar the vacation, but one of the great things about being retired, or maybe just older, is that we have enough perspective to recognize that this wasn't even a first world problem, and does make for a funny story ... at least we've found it funny.

Plus, it's hard to get too worked up when you're looking at this view, even if it's just for a few hours a day. ​

We first visited Big Sur as COVID was becoming less of a concern in January of 2022. Still cautious, we stayed in a cute (new) tiny house at the Carmel River Inn which suited us perfectly, but only for three nights, because the real purpose of the trip was to see how our (electric) car performed on a road trip. (It did great.) The views as we drove down the coast to Big Sur and beyond were stunning.

The area was so beautiful, and there was so much we didn't have time to do, so we vowed to return again soon and stay longer. 

That led us to book five nights in January of 2023; this time at a tiny cottage on a cliff in Big Sur with beautiful views of the ocean. It would give us the opportunity to experience even more of the scenery and eliminate a lot of driving. It was a splurge, but we figured we aren't getting any younger, so why not?

We found the place via Vrbo and were instructed to contact the owner before booking to explain "a little about ourselves". We did, and that led us down an ... interesting ... application process. After reviewing the ten documents we were sent (18 pages in all), and returning the three forms that required initials, signature and/or answers (e.g. "What do you plan to do in Big Sur?"), I was invited to continue the application process with a phone interview.  

The owner was inquisitive; she wanted to know our ages and how we spend our time, whether or not we'd been to Big Sur previously, and she was eager to answer all of our questions about the property and the area. I was eager to get off the phone, so after supplying polite (and enthusiastic) answers to her questions, I let her know that my husband wasn't eager to sleep with mice (nor was I, for that matter), and she confirmed that had never been a problem. Finally, we wrapped up the call, she rendered her verdict ("approved"), and we exchanged our good-byes.

Was I starting to wonder if this had progressed from unusual to weird? Yes. But I figured the owner might have had some sketchy renters in the past, and I was eager to help her understand that we'd be the perfect guests. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, and I did. 
​
But more importantly ... I had passed all of the tests! I was then invited to pre-pay the splurge-level price to reserve the little cottage by the sea. Confident that this would be one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences,  I was starting to feel like I'd been accepted into an elite group. It really didn't occur to me that it might have been smart to slowly back away from this opportunity. Afterall, it was already starting to feel like the beginning of a really great, and somewhat humorous, story.

And the views ...

As luck would have it, the weather reports started predicting rain showers all day and every day of our stay. It wasn't what we were hoping for, but we've always been able to entertain ourselves, so started to plan some indoor activities. We were even convincing ourselves that watching the rain along the coast might be a ... different ... sort of beauty. Given that the place boasts a total lack of connectivity, we figured we might even experience some sort of spiritual awakening or something.

The day before we were scheduled to leave, and after watching the weather reports degrade from rainy to muddy to flooding to rock slides, we were informed that all access to the rental was blocked, so we'd need to re-book our visit. On one of the pages of one of the ten documents we were sent, it clearly stated that refunds were not an option, but we were happy to rebook and selected some new dates in March, so that wasn't a problem. Really, it felt like a stroke of good luck given the weather forecast.

Again we were sent ten documents, and again we completed and returned three of them. We even let ourselves hope that we might have some nicer weather. All was not lost, and once again, we appreciated the flexibility of being retired.

Fast forward a month, and Jim hurt his back; big time. It became immediately obvious that there was no way we were going to be driving to California anytime soon, so once he was home from the hospital (a relatively quick trip to the ER) and we'd worked ourselves into a healing routine, I contacted our Vrbo host to let her know about the injury and to ask about rescheduling ... again.

Suddenly, the long application and interview process was starting to feel like a benefit; after all, the host and I had become friends, and I figured that was going to be a real benefit since we'd need a favor to re-book again. (The ten documents clearly stated that our problems were not the hosts' problems.) But even though I thought we'd become "friends", I quickly realized that it hadn't rendered any of those documents we'd signed moot, and that clearly meant "No Refunds!" But why worry about money, when the value of good health had just become so obvious to us?

My new "friend", the host, generously offered to credit us for any days she was able to re-book during our scheduled stay. That ended up being three nights, so all was not lost (just two of the five nights), and we re-booked for October. She offered to let us re-purchase the two nights we'd lost, but my perspective had changed, and I wasn't willing to dig this hole any deeper. Again, we were sent ten forms, and again we completed and re-submitted the three requiring answers, initials, and/or signatures. 

Jim's back eventually healed, and on a Saturday in late October, we pulled out of the driveway, and headed toward California. We planned a leisurely drive with multiple stops along the way including Mesa Verde National Park and the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and Museum in Simi Valley north of LA. The weather was beautiful, and all was right in our little corner of world (if not chaotic in other places like Washington DC, Ukraine, Israel and Palestine).

The drive to California, and then up the coast, was really beautiful! Nature was clearly on our side this time around.​

Our Big Sur Vrbo host instructed us (three times) to text when we were within an hour of the cottage. And just to prove how responsible we were, I texted the night before our arrival to confirm that we were in the the state and to let her know what time we expected to arrive the next day. We'd been informed that the key to the cottage was hidden onsite, and we could let ourselves in, but still the owner seemed determined to understand all the details surrounding our arrival. Surely they'd had issues with others in the past, right?

Along the way, Jim commented about how easy it is to travel when there are no deadlines, and that had proven to be true, so when the owner suggested that we should meet up at the Starbucks in Carmel before checking in, just to say hello, we were a little disappointed, but again, I was determined to prove we were friendly, responsible, sociable, and all the other good stuff I assumed she sought from her best renters. I even thought she might like us so much she might decide to throw in the two nights we'd paid for originally, but lost when we re-booked the second time. Thank goodness we'd brought extra clothes, I was starting to imagine the extended stay already.

We arrived at the Starbucks five minutes early and smiled profusely at every woman who walked through the door. They all smiled back, but none seemed at all interested in who we might be. Finally, five minutes after the scheduled meeting time, I pulled out my phone to text our host and saw her text to me: "I am parked behind Starbucks in a white Volkswagen camper van. See you soon." Sure enough, we walked around to the back of the building and there she was, looking like a supermodel posing for an Instagram photo. 

We exchanged pleasantries, and then she got down to business (yet again), summarizing rules, instructions, questions and guidelines. Early on in the conversation she said, "something recently chewed a hole through the screen, so don't open the window" and "don't leave the door open, because we don't want whatever chewed through the screen to get inside" and "a guy will be by to fix the screen tomorrow". I took one look at Jim, and knew we were in trouble. 

Click here to read what happened next ...

Neither of us remembers too much about what she said after that, although we have pieced together a few snippets. 

I remember interrupting to remind her that I'd told her that my husband doesn't like mice, that he really doesn't like them, and suggesting that we change the subject. She said she didn't remember that part of our conversation, and we all agreed that we needed to understand the situation, so a bit more conversation was necessary. 

We also remember that we were instructed to buy our groceries at the Safeway nearby and get to the house as soon as possible since it would be dark soon and the road (Highway 1) is very curvy. We both smiled and nodded, but our brains had drifted elsewhere.

She also raised the topic of mice a second time, assuring us that if we simply followed her six (or so) suggestions, she was sure they wouldn't get in the house. She even added that traps (both traditional and electronic) were set inside the house in both the living room and kitchen. And Jim remembers that she said, "Don't worry if you hear a zap."

Later in the conversation, she, get this, raised the topic of mice a third time. At that point I remember that I was no longer able to keep a fake smile on my face, and I stopped trying. Given that she'd told me she'd never had a problem with mice when we talked on the phone in December, I was having a lot of trouble believing that now.

But I figured that anger would not be my friend in this moment, so I didn't express my feelings ... at least not verbally.

Finally, we were released from the conversation and made it back to our car. We decided to purchase some groceries and discuss our options during the hour-long drive to the cottage. I assured Jim that I would not try to convince him to (try to) sleep in the place if he had any concerns after we saw it. Our goal was to arrive before the sun set, just because most situations look better in the daylight. We'd assess everything after seeing the place for ourselves.

Inside the grocery store, we were (mentally) distracted. In the end, we settled on breakfast food, salad stuff, peanut butter and crackers ... and a four-pack of mouse traps. We remembered that there weren't many restaurants or stores along Highway 1, but figured a trip back to Carmel wouldn't be the end of the world. For now we needed to get on the road and make a plan.

During the drive we discussed our options. Jim offered to sleep in the car. And I knew there were a few small (and very nice) hotels along Highway 1; I'd just read about one of them in an article entitled, The Most Romantic Hotels in the US. I also knew that those hotels were even more of a splurge than our (non-refundable) cottage. Jim also suggested that he could get a place for himself in Carmel. We settled on the plan to wait until we arrived at the cottage to make any decisions. I had high hopes, still clinging to the fact that our host had assured me (in late 2022) that she'd never had any problems with mice. Unfortunately, the parking lot meeting had undermined her credibility.

We arrived at sunset and the views really were something.

As instructed, I used the land line provided to call our host and let her know we had arrived and made it into the house. (We clearly understood that cell service was spotty at best at a far corner of the property, and there was no Internet service unless we were willing to drive ten miles to a nearby library.) She then went through another list of instructions, guidelines and suggestions, including the tip to keep all of our food in the refrigerator, even dry goods, just to be sure there was nothing that might attract mice, and she let me know that there was an electronic rodent repellant device in the house. (We soon realized that it chirped every 15 seconds or so, which made it difficult to distract ourselves from the topic!) We were instructed to be sure to keep all bedding on the bed at all times to avoid creating a fire hazard given that there was a heater in the teeny tiny bedroom, and we were also asked to avoid use of the wood stove in the the living room. Signs posted all over the cottage itself instructed us to minimize our use of toilet paper, stagger our showers, and call if we had any questions, among other things.

Finally, our host asked if we would be OK, and I let her know that I was sure we would be just fine. I'd found my way back to my friendly voice and was eager to move on and salvage our trip. I did let her know that one or both of us might not stay at the house overnight, so if she called back and we didn't answer the phone, she shouldn't worry.

It's probably worth mentioning that when we arrived, we found two "droppings" on the kitchen floor. One looked like a mouse dropping and the other was bigger. I tried to assure Jim that they were some sort of seeds, but after I pulled out my glasses for a better look, there was no denying that neither was a seed. I'd mentioned this to our host on the phone, and one of the times she called back, she asked me to text pictures. I reminded her there was no cell service, but she said that if I sat on the left arm of the couch I could get a signal. So I dug the droppings out of the trash, photographed them, and texted her a photo.

She called back (was it multiple times?) and offered to let us stay at her house, although I'm sure she must have meant her other Vrbo rental right on the property where she lives 20 minutes east of Carmel (not even close to the water), and she said a bunch of other things I don't remember. I was sure that was not the secluded getaway experience on the ocean we were seeking, so politely declined her invitation.

One time she called back to let me know that she was sure her husband had tracked those droppings in from outside when he'd been at the cottage earlier in the day applying, get this, rodent repellant to the outside of the house. Honestly, every time we talked, things sounded a little bit worse.

In the end, Jim offered to sleep in the car, and I'd have slept with him, but we didn't see any extra bedding and pulling the sheets off the bed seemed like it would be a real pain in the neck, let alone the fact that it was likely to violate some rule included in one of the ten documents we were sent. So I pulled out my computer, found my way to an old email message containing the phone number for the Carmel River Inn where we'd stayed in 2022, called them on the land line, and made a three night reservation. We then headed back to Carmel.

We love the Carmel River Inn tiny houses! They're clean, and perfectly designed for a short term stay. When we walked through the door of our unit, a space had never looked so welcoming. 

Jim took a shower, and then, of course, the owner of the cottage both texted and called me. Again! She wanted to know where we were, and I told her. She wanted to know why we hadn't stayed at her house. 

I explained that we'd come to Big Sur to have time to ourselves, I let her know that we'd probably picnic at the cottage each day, and I assured her that I'd call her, as instructed, when we left the cottage for the last time; sometime on Friday, a day before our scheduled check-out.

She then asked if we liked whale-watching and said her husband, a photographer, could probably get us on a boat. I thanked her and insisted we were really wanting time to ourselves and again assured her we were fine, and I'd call her when we left the cottage for the last time. 

At one point, during one of our phone conversations, I was trying to lighten the mood and let her know that when my son heard our story, he'd probably say, "Your trip was cursed!" That triggered this text exchange a few hours later: 

There was no doubt we were in California.

Thankfully, this story has a happy, albeit expensive, ending. I've learned that when we find our way to a great place (like the Carmel River Inn), maybe we should just enjoy it, rather than try to improve upon it. 

We've also learned that renting a vacation home for your vacation home is kind of fun. Given that the expense was downright ridiculous, we're not recommending it, but we were able to enjoy it (and laugh about it) while we had it.

And on a final humorous note, check out this framed suggestion I found in the cottage kitchen when we visited the next day:

Had all gone according to plan, we'd have returned with boring stories about the beauty of Big Sur. Luckily, this story is a lot funnier!

This is basically the end of the funniest parts of the story, although there are few tidbits of humor in the conclusion and epilogue.

I'm happy to report that our time in Big Sur ended on a high note. 

We enjoyed a second picnic lunch at the cottage, and then watched the sun set as we headed toward Carmel on our way to dinner at the Big Sur Bakery on Highway 1. We'd attempted to eat there the previous night, but none of the seven tables in their small dining room had been available, so we'd made a reservation for the next night. 

The wait staff was friendly and fun, the atmosphere was cozy (complete with a fire in the fireplace) and the menu was extremely small, always a good sign. Jim had the chicken, I had the trout with a glass of wine, and everything was excellent. The dessert menu contained one item, Apple Tarte Tatin, and we shared a piece that was worth the splurge. On the way home, we declared the dinner a "top ten" vacation restaurant experience.

When we got back to the Carmel River Inn, Jim noticed a 220V outlet next to our parking spot, and so we were able to charge the car overnight. Another bonus. We headed home the next day at a leisurely pace, just for the fun of it.

It's also worth mentioning that before we left the cottage for the last time, and as instructed, I called our host to let her know we were "checking out". Highway 1 was still closed to the south because of the January rock slides, so it just didn't make sense to visit the cottage again the next day given that the check-out time was 11:00 am and we'd need to turn around and drive north to Monterey to start heading toward home ... or anywhere.  

After answering the host's questions, and asking a few of my own to be sure the thermostat and windows were properly set, she asked about our plans for leaving town and then asked to meet with us in-person again before we left the area. (I was mentally prepared for the question, because Jim and I had speculated earlier in the day about how she might handle that final phone call.) I asked why we needed to meet, and she told me, "I'd like to put a little cash in your hands." She mentioned refunding half of our three-day credit. I told her that would be nice, reminded her that we were striving to have lots of alone time, and asked if she could credit our Visa card or mail us a check. Thankfully, she said she thought she could mail us a check. Then she asked if, after seeing the cottage, I had any suggestions for her. Of course I had suggestions, but only mentioned two; replacing the sofa and upgrading the bedding. She got extremely defensive, and ended her ... rant ... by telling me that she would not be replacing the sofa nor the bedding! I had more suggestions for her, but sensed she wasn't really interested in my ideas.

Because our original booking had occurred over a year before our stay, and all of the rebooking was managed outside the Vrbo app, we are unable to leave a review for our visit. I'm not sure what I'd have written anyway. While the host was unusual, I do think she's well-intentioned. I'm also guessing that she believed that all of her talk about mice and her efforts to repel them would put our minds at ease. i.e. She just didn't get that she was increasing our anxiety every time she spoke. 

It's also worth mentioning that the vast majority of reviews for the cottage are totally positive. The setting really is unbelievably beautiful and the inside of the cottage was clean and thoughtfully and artistically appointed, if not a bit worn around the edges. I don't think there are any mice in there. If you're not afraid of the idea of mice being in there, you'd probably love it.

Even ten years ago, the loss of this much money would have really upset me, but one of the great things about being retired, or maybe just older, is that we have enough perspective to recognize that this wasn't even a first world problem, and it's highly unlikely to affect our lives in any way ... except that it's a funny story.

Plus, it's hard to get too worked up when you look at this view, even if it's just for a few hours a day.