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My Vacation to Blissville

Have you been there lately? To Blissville? I had a rare Sunday afternoon off. No plans, no one home but me. I needed to get away from the house, in particular, the garden. I have a tendency to go out there to cut a few roses and two hours later, I’ve pruned everything in sight. And it isn’t pretty. My poor Mexican sage looked so pathetic, I had to dig it up. So for the welfare of the garden, I took a mini vacation.

My Blissville is located in spas. In northern San Diego, I have two terrific choices. So I set my VCR (I know, no one calls them that anymore) to record Tom Brady (I mean the Patriots), and I headed off to the Park Hyatt. For the price of one treatment, I had access to all the bliss I could handle.

Treatments usually aren’t that relaxing for me. They feel great and all, but I have this medical condition. It is called “PMMT (People Make Me Talk).” I am not sure how common it is, but I have a severe case of it. By the end of a treatment, I usually know my masseuse’s hobbies, number of children and where they live. I figure, why should they have to keep quiet. But that is ok, because the best is yet to come. The places where there are no people: the Jacuzzi, the steam room and the sauna. After I’ve been to each, I repeat until I feel guilty about using up so many of those soft thick white towels. I’m not done yet. I head over to the ADULT pool. The one for quiet and relaxation.

View from the Park Hyatt Pool

I am reading a hilarious memoir. It is called “Mennonite in a Little Black Dress.” My friend Vicki suggested it. She thought I’d enjoy the author’s style. She was right. The book starts with the author being in a car accident and having to go home to her Mennonite family. You see her husband left her for a guy named Bob. He met Bob on And it just doesn’t stop. What had me giggling on my chaise lounge today had to do with her mother. She drinks tuna juice from the can (can’t waste it), her farts in Kohl’s stop a service dog in its tracks and her grandson can now do “the big job” on the toilet.

All this relaxing made me hungry and thirsty. I ordered a mango passion fruit drink and a tossed salad with shrimp. Hold up your thumb and index finger. Make the letter “C.” That is how big the shrimp on this salad were. Jumbo shrimp is no longer an oxymoron.

After four hours, it started thundering and lightening out. This is not common in San Diego in September, so I took it as a sign from the gods that I used up my time. I slowly walked back to the spa. I dropped the sandals and robe into the hamper. I lingered in the dressing room and tried all the lotions. On my way out, I joked with the receptionist about how long I had stayed. She told me I still had two more hours before the spa closed….it was tempting, but I drove home.

I hope you have a Blissville somewhere near you. And don’t feel guilty about spending time there.