Muffy Monday: Can You Help Me, I’m Lost

My first trip to New York City, we stayed at the Waldorf-Astoria. If  ever I get lost, I was told, find my way to the Waldorf. Go to the concierge, he will take care of you. When I was older and began to travel on my own should I ever get lost, I was told again, find my way to the Waldorf. Go to the concierge, he will take care of you.

It is a lesson that has always stayed with me.

My fall from the gilded tower was more of a stumble down a mountainside over a course of years. The somersaults of a head over heels tumble probably played a large part in me tackling this adventure. The scenery was always changing on the way down, you get used to the unsteady. Let’s be honest. If I was going to be poor facing an unknown future, might as well be poor facing an unknown future out experiencing the world. It wasn’t hard to walk away from life in a box without electricity or indoor plumbing.

Do I miss it? It’s hard to say. We’re talking about the charmed life, not the box. Damn box. This version of my life is pretty exciting. I am seeing the world in a completely different way than that life would have ever allowed me. The thrill of the hunt to find a deal on airfare, connect the dots on the map, plan a day of intrigue…I love it. I love the challenge of piecing it all together to make it work.

Do I miss a regular life with a home? I am not sure yet, it has been weighing on me. That is something I am going to have to start thinking about. Arizona has always been the final stop. Today I am in Chicago, tomorrow I fly to Los Angeles all of this a part of the way to Arizona. That final stop is just around the corner.

Where do I go from there? That’s the question. It isn’t rhetorical. Suggestions welcome, opinions will be heard. There is no concierge to help me out this time. There is, however, a very nice bellman at The Palmer Hotel.

When the bitter wind was whipping off the lake, I made my way down Michigan Avenue. Following the advice from a lifetime ago, I’ve been tucked away in a corner booth in the lobby with my notebook debating a brownie. The Palmer Hotel is the origin of the brownie.

Story goes that during the 1893 World’s Fair in Chicago, Bertha Palmer asked her pastry chef to create a treat smaller than a slice of cake that could fit into box lunch. There the brownie was born. The term “brownie” didn’t make it’s first documented appearance for a few more years though. The Sears Roebuck catalog, published here in Chicago, it gave credence to the name in 1898. The Palmer Hotel still serves that creation topped with walnuts and apricot glaze from the same recipe now.

As I am asked to move along from my cozy booth for the reservation behind me, I get that the Waldorf was a different lifetime ago. Maybe sometimes I am a little too lost for the help of the concierge. It doesn’t mean I have forgotten. You never know, these things have a way of coming back around.

WAIT! That’s not how it really ends!

Being ushered out of my cozy booth for a reservation, I closed my laptop to run to the restroom before publishing the post. While I was in the restroom, I found a woman’s corporate American Express. She works for this hotel. I asked the front desk for her. No, no time for me. Go check with the concierge. With the help of the concierge, I think the card is making it’s way back to it’s owner. I’m only not positive on the status because I didn’t tell them what I had found of this woman’s or how I knew she worked at the hotel. Figured it was bad business to let work know you randomly left your corporate card in a bathroom. Here’s hoping it all works out.

Good deed and identity not stolen. Seems like someone was sending me a sign.