The Kettles go to the Four Seasons....

This weekend, BFF and I went to the Four Seasons to recoup from a long bike ride on the Capitol Crescent Trail. The bike path ends a few short blocks from the Four Seasons, which makes it a very convenient collapsing point. Until this weekend, the Four Seasons in Philadelphia had been my favorite hotel in the US of A, but I didn't know the Four Seasons franchise had extended to DC--specifically, Georgetown. Actually, the bus stops right in front of the place, but I'd never paid attention to it in all the many times I hung around there waiting for the Georgetown Shuttle or the Circulator (with bike rack in front). "Be Here Now" may be my favorite mantra, but it's clear I have a ways to go before I get the hang of it.

Anyway, we get there and walk to the Concierge Desk to sign in. So wrong. The Concierge kindly points us to the Reservations Desk, which is identically unmarked but close enough to hit with a paper clip if the Concierge wanted to toss one. Heh. You try not to act like a bumpkin in the Four Seasons, but that's my normal m.o.: bumpkin. We share a quiet laugh about "The Kettles Go to the Four Seasons." Some of you will remember Ma & Pa Kettle from the early days of TV. Ma was played by Marjorie Main, one of my mother's favorite actresses.

Of course, BFF should not be identified as a "Kettle." It's me who's the country mouse here, but I don't think that's a bad thing. Country mice are pretty, sleek, and smart, and they only come inside when the weather drives away their food supply. They can mix metaphors, too!

After dinner, we walk back to the room, where the TV is on, displaying the evening's program schedule. BFF asks, "Where's the remote?" I look around and find something on the shelf under the (big, flat-faced) TV. It seems pretty HUGE for a remote, but it has a big POWER button on it. (It's a keyboard for the laptop also under the TV.) (Kettles and laptops and mice, oh my!!)
BFF finds the remote under her newspaper and shuts off the TV.

I am too tired from the ride to undress, so I kick off my shoes and crawl under the covers. I realize the light is shining in my eyes. I can't move and ask BFF if she would pretty please turn it off. "I don't see a switch," she says, and I don't, either. "Just smash the bulb with the remote," I say and fall sound asleep.

When we wake up to broad daylight, we go down to the spa for a swim. Philadelphia's Four Seasons spa has a bigger pool and is all on one level. But here, the multiple staircases--two flights down to the spa, another flight down to the pool, and in another direction, a flight up to the women's locker room--form their own fitness challenge. But the brunch was amazing. There was one whole table filled with tiny little plates offering a whole slew of amuse-bouche made out of watermelon! My favorite was the wee glasses of watermelon gazpacho, but the salad of tiny cubes of goat cheese, black olive, and watermelon was good, too. Although I can't say I like goat cheese at all, apart from the wonderful aged stuff on Capri. It reminds me too much of goats. There are some downsides to being a country bumpkin.