Pausing.

It must have been the cooler air.

Or the drive through Parleys Canyon.

Or the Aspens mixed in with the rugged pines.

Or the postcard-perfect (if overpriced) Main Street.

Although it was probably the huge comfy bed and the jetted tub.

I went to Deer Valley for an overnight retreat and didn't want to come home.

Himself has been up there for several days for a work conference. A free hotel room is the perfect excuse for a 14-hour vacation. So yesterday after work, Woodstock and I went on a mini-road trip (30 miles, the perfect kind with an 11-month-old). I've been up there once or twice since moving back, but I forgot how absolutely visually stunning it is.

I'll admit, "Deer Valley" is usually a term that is apt to rile me up a bit. I'm usually one to gripe how people fly in with their ski gear and flashy snow pants, drive up to Deer Valley, throw money around, live like the world is their playground and then go back and rag on all the "goofy natives" that live in the rest of the state.

However, I've significantly underappreciated what is only minutes from my own backyard. If it didn't snow in the winter (or I was a die-hard skier, which is about as likely to happen as winning the lottery) and the housing was affordable (ha!), I'm not sure I would have left. The air was clean and warm, but not too warm. The lodge was lovely. The jetted tub ... oh the jetted tub!

It reminded me so much of our trip to the Sunday River Ski Resort in western Maine five springs ago. A bit like we were the only people on earth, for a moment. Lovely and quiet (off seasons are the best time to visit ski resorts, in my snow-hating opinion), nestled in the mountains, bringing back floods of wonderful memories.

I didn't have to think about the boxes to be unpacked or the kitchen floor that is in dire need of attention. Or the dishes I didn't get done before I left for work yesterday. Or the still-damp-even-though-the-landlord-took-the-fan-back drywall in my bedroom. Or work. Or anything, really. I just existed, and it was beautiful.

We dined on Cajun/Carribean food, wandered Main Street, watched some Olympics (during which the Men's 200-meter race had me yelling at the TV) and slept soundly in dark, quiet room.

As I carried Woodstock to the car this morning, I thought how much I love nothing better than slightly cool, silent mornings before the world begins to stir.

Forty minutes later, I had dropped Woodstock off at Miss Jan's and pulled into work, feeling more refreshed than I had in weeks.

It was the perfect mid-week pause.