A Room at the Inn

So I've spent the last several days in Washington D.C. at a Leadership and Advocacy Conference.  Instead of spending my non-existent resident salary money on the fancy conference hotel, I stayed at the Kalorama Guest House in Woodley Park.  Now, granted I had to share a bathroom on my floor, and I was on the top-most floor with no elevator, it was very much worth the value.


As I was packing my bag this morning, I started to think about all of the hotel and inn rooms I have stayed in my life.  Now, overnights don't really count.  But, when you've stayed in a room for several days, it becomes like home.  You know which pillow is the firmest, how to set the air vents, even the creaks and moans become familiar.  I often find myself a little melancholic just before I leave;  as I look around one more time making sure I didn't forget anything.


Rooms have a life of their own.  They all have tales of life and death.  They are where new life begins and where life sometimes ends.  They see happy families, tired business travelers, passersby, and evicted spouses.  By our hospital, I am sure the hotel sees expectant families, worried spouses, excited and anxious interviewees, and hopeful patients.  There are a thousand tales a hotel room could tell.


Of course, one of my friends told me that the hotel where our conference was held is haunted.  So there's another set of stories that could be told.  Be sure, though, considering the guest house where I stayed was built in the late 1800's, I left an extra light on... just in case.