There are moments when your soul gets tired long before your body ever admits it.
By fall, Tony and I were there.
Happy. Grateful. Building a life.
But quietly… stretched thin.
Between work, kids sports, routines, and responsibilities, we had stopped pausing. Stopped lingering. Stopped listening to the softer parts of ourselves.
We got married in April. Promised forever. Celebrated loudly.
And then life hurried us ahead.
So one night, wrapped in blankets with my laptop glowing softly, I felt it settle in my chest:
We needed time that belonged only to us.
Not a vacation.
A remembering.
And so, our mini moon was born.
Listening for the Right Place
I didn’t just search for hotels.
I searched for energy.
For places that felt layered. Lived-in. Sacred in small, quiet ways.
Sycamore Mineral Springs Resort & Spa kept appearing—again and again—like a whisper I couldn’t ignore.
Natural mineral waters. Nestled in trees. A place people had traveled to for over a century seeking healing.
Long before it was a resort, Indigenous people believed these springs carried spiritual power. Later, artists, travelers, and weary souls soaked here, hoping to soften life’s edges.
It didn’t feel like a resort.
It felt like a sanctuary.
So I booked it.
December 13th and 14th, 2025.
And stitched history, mystery, and magic into our route.
Day One: Fog and Fate
Our morning began before the sun.
Not with alarms blaring or frantic rushing—but with that quiet, sacred stillness that only exists before the world wakes up.
The house was dim and sleepy.
Coffee brewed softly in the kitchen. Steam curled into the air. Suitcases waited patiently by the door.
We moved gently.
Like we didn’t want to disturb the moment.
Getting Ready to Leave Home
I walked into the bedroom and found Juggy already watching us.
Wide-eyed. Curious. Suspicious.
He knew something was up. 
I sat on the bed and pulled him close, pressing my face into his soft fur.
“Just one night,” I whispered. “We’ll be back before you know it.”
He purred anyway.
Forgiveness granted.
Before we even thought about ourselves, we made sure he was set up for success.
Extra food. Fresh water. Toys scattered strategically around the house.
We opened the blinds wide so he can bird-watch from his favorite spots—his personal version of Netflix.
I paused for a second, just watching him.
Content. Safe. Loved.
Leaving him is always the hardest part.
But knowing he’d be comfortable made it easier.
Packing the Car and Letting Go
We carried bags outside into the chilly morning air, loading the car piece by piece.
Suitcases. Snacks. Camera gear. My “just in case” bag—because of course I had one. 
Everything had its place.
Everything felt intentional.
Before locking the door, I took one last look inside.
Our quiet little life waiting for us to return.
Then I closed it.
Hitting the Road
We climbed into the car, coffee cups warming our hands.
The sky was still pale. The streets still sleepy.
And then…
We drove.
Almost instantly, fog wrapped itself around us.
Thick. Silver. Dreamlike.
It clung to the road and swallowed the hills, turning everything soft and unreal.
It felt like crossing a veil.
Like stepping out of ordinary life and into something unknown.
Tony reached over and squeezed my hand.
I smiled.
Whatever waited for us out there…
We were ready.
Point San Luis: Where Light Still Watches
Avila Beach greeted us with crisp air and rolling waves.
It was beautiful—but cold.
No toes in the sand that morning. 
Instead, we wandered along the shore, taking photos and videos, breathing in salty air, and soaking up the view. Before boarding the shuttle, we quickly stopped at the restroom. Nothing ruins a magical experience faster than being distracted by basic human needs.
Prepared and ready, we climbed aboard the bus.
And off we went.
The ride to Point San Luis Lighthouse felt like traveling backward in time.
The road wound along cliffs and hills, with the ocean stretching endlessly beside us. Every turn revealed another postcard-worthy view.
When we arrived, most of the group instantly headed toward the restroom.
But Tony and I?
We were ready to explore.
We asked if it was okay to walk ahead and look around while everyone else took care of business—and were given the go-ahead.
So we wandered.
A Quiet Moment Before the Tour
Without the group around us, the lighthouse felt even more magical.
We stumbled upon a beautiful area set up for weddings—overlooking the cliffs and ocean, framed by sky and stone.
It was breathtaking.
I paused for a moment, imagining couples standing there, promising forever with waves crashing below.
It felt sacred.
Like love had been echoing through that place for generations.
Discovering Liquid Gold 
That’s when I found it.
The gift shop.
And inside…
Hot apple cider.
Warm. Spiced. Comforting.
In December air, it felt like liquid magic.
I grabbed a cup and carried it with me like a prized possession as we rejoined the group.
And honestly?
It became my emotional support beverage for the rest of the tour. 
Stories, Laughter, and Gentle Teasing
Once everyone regrouped, the official tour began. We started outside the lighthouse, overlooking the cliff and the ocean waves.
Our guide was fantastic—knowledgeable, funny, and clearly passionate about the lighthouse and its history.
He told stories about the keepers who once lived there in isolation. About storms, shipwrecks, and nights spent tending the light so others make it home safely.
But there was one woman in our group who kept interrupting.
Adding her own commentary. Asking questions mid-story. Redirecting the flow.
And our guide?
Handled it like a pro.
He started slipping in playful little comments—light teasing, quick comebacks, subtle humor. The kind that made the rest of us laugh while keeping things moving.
I think it stayed friendly.
But… who knows.
Either way, it made the whole experience feel personal and real—like sitting around listening to stories with friends.
Christmas at the Edge of the World
When we stepped inside the lighthouse, I noticed the holiday touches.
Beautiful handmade quilts draped carefully over furniture.
Soft Christmas decorations tucked into corners.
Little hints of warmth everywhere.
It didn’t feel like a historic site.
It felt like someone’s home.
Like we’d been invited into a winter memory.
With waves crashing outside and cozy quilts inside, the contrast was perfect—storm and softness living side by side.
The Cider Evangelist
By the time we headed back toward the gift shop at the end of the tour, I was fully committed.
I got a refill.
And then…
I started hyping it up to everyone.
“You HAVE to try this.” “No seriously, it’s amazing.” “Get the cider. Trust me.”
I was basically running a free marketing campaign.
And people listened.
A Small Group, A Special Energy
There were only about eight of us on the tour.
Intimate. Cozy. Personal.
Tony and I were definitely the youngest ones there, which somehow made it even better. Like we’d stumbled into a little secret society of lighthouse lovers.
Before leaving, I asked about haunted tours.
Because of course I did. 
They told me they’ve done them in the past—and would love to bring them back in the future.
My heart immediately said: Put me on the list.
Standing there one last time, overlooking the cliffs, cider warming my hands, waves crashing below, stories still echoing…
I felt it again.
That quiet, sacred sense that some places never stop watching.
Never stop remembering.
Never stop guiding.
And I was so grateful we had found our way there.
Wine, Sunlight, and Letting Go
After leaving the lighthouse, something in us had softened.
The ocean had done its work.
We weren’t in a hurry anymore.
But we did know one thing—we wanted wine.
Not just any winery.
The winery.
So as we drove, I pulled up my notes, my saved tabs, my pros-and-cons lists. Because yes… I research vacations the way some people research dissertations.
We had narrowed it down to about five options between the lighthouse and Sycamore Mineral Springs Resort & Spa.
Each had its charm.
One had beautiful views. Another had great reviews. Another had interesting history.
But one kept winning.
Best location. Best atmosphere. Best reviews. Best timing.
Every category.
It was like the universe had quietly highlighted it, so we followed the nudge.
When we pulled into the driveway, I already felt it.
Something was different.
The parking lot was nearly empty.
The building stood peacefully in the sunlight, surrounded by vineyards and open sky.
We walked in…
And realized.
It was just us. No crowds. No noise. No rush.
For nearly forty minutes, we had the place to ourselves.
It felt like we had accidentally rented out an entire winery for our own little love story.
Like a private romantic retreat we hadn’t even planned.
Our server greeted us warmly and spent real time with us—no rushing, no scripts, just genuine conversation. She shared stories about the wines, the land, the seasons.
We ordered tastings. A snack tray. A little bit of everything.
We sat back in the sunlight, watching airplanes glide quietly overhead, sipping wine, sharing bites, laughing softly.
The world felt far away.
Time stretched.
My shoulders dropped.
My mind finally quieted.
In that moment, surrounded by vineyards and golden light, I realized—
We weren’t just traveling.
We were healing. Together.
Sycamore: A Forest Sanctuary
Leaving Tolosa Winery, we both felt it.
That gentle, happy tiredness that comes after good conversation, warm sunlight, and a little wine.
The kind where your body says,
Okay… now it’s time to rest.
And with December air growing cooler by the minute, the thought of soaking in warm mineral water under the trees sounded absolutely perfect.
So, we pointed the car toward Sycamore Mineral Springs Resort & Spa.
Toward steam and stillness and sanctuary.
When we arrived, the resort felt different.
Quieter. Softer. Protected by towering trees.
At check-in, the staff greeted us warmly. I told them we were there celebrating our “Mini Honeymoon”. They congratulated us. Then, they handed over a cute little rubber ducky with the name of the resort on it as a souvenir.
“For your Jacuzzi,” they said with a smile.
I laughed and accepted it like a sacred artifact. 
Our duck still lives with us now—a tiny, joyful reminder of our mini moon.
They took our luggage and told us they’d escort us to our room.
And thank goodness.
Sycamore is beautifully spread out through the woods. The walk from the parking lot to our room would have felt like a mini hike with suitcases in tow.
Instead, we climbed onto their little golf cart and let them whisk us away through winding forest paths.
Branches stretched overhead. Leaves whispered. Sunlight filtered through trees.
It felt like being carried into a hidden world.
Our room was tucked deep into the woods.
Private. Quiet. Perfect.
Exactly what we had hoped for.
When we opened the door, I stopped for a second.
It was so spacious. So inviting. So warm.
A cozy bar area.
A huge living room with a fireplace and TV.
Soft lighting and natural wood tones that made everything feel grounded.
In the next room—our bedroom—another TV, plush robes waiting in the closet, and that unmistakable hotel stillness that makes your shoulders drop the second you step inside.
The bathroom felt luxurious and thoughtful.
Two sinks.
Two shower heads.
Plenty of space.
Room to breathe.
Room to be.
And yes—it was pet-friendly.
Which instantly made me smile and think of Juggy, already picturing him curled up on the soft bed someday.
We set out our little snacks—prosecco, fruit, blueberry muffins—simple comforts we’d brought along. We knew we’d be dining out most of the time, so we kept things light and easy.
This trip wasn’t about over-packing. It was about uncluttering.
We wasted no time.
Straight to the tub.
Warm mineral water wrapped around us as steam rose into the chilly evening air. Trees stood quietly around us, like gentle guardians.
The contrast between cold December air and hot water felt heavenly.
These waters have been flowing for centuries.
They’ve held exhaustion. Heartbreak. Hope. Joy. Love.
Now they were holding us.
We leaned back. Closed our eyes. Let everything soften.
For the first time in a long time, my mind went quiet.
After soaking, we went back inside and curled up.
I took a short nap—just about thirty minutes—one of those perfect little reboots that gives you a second wind without stealing the night.
Tony relaxed beside me, and when I woke up, I felt refreshed, grounded, and ready for the evening ahead.
We changed. Smiled at each other. And headed out for dinner.
Rested.
Reconnected.
Renewed.
Madonna Inn: A Pink Fairy-tale (With Whispered Echoes)
That night, after a day filled with sunshine, wine, salt air, and warm springs, we stepped into a place that felt like stepping into someone else’s dream.
The Madonna Inn isn’t just a restaurant. It’s a legend. Pink walls. Velvet booths. Chandeliers. Christmas lights.
It was busy and full of life, but thanks to our reservation, we were seated right away. The staff was kind and welcoming.
The food was good. But the real magic? I’d say it was the drinks, the dessert, the ambiance and the stories in the walls.
After dinner, we wandered.
Upstairs to one gift shop.
Downstairs to another.
Past the bar.
Into the famously over-the-top bathrooms.
Through a cozy tucked-away space beside the restaurant that felt like a hidden lodge.
Every hallway felt alive.
Some guests whisper that with all its history, certain rooms and corridors carry lingering energy—unexplained feelings, strange dreams, moments that make you pause.
Whether spirits or imagination, the place hums with memory.
And then there are the rooms.
Each one uniquely themed—Swiss chalets, caves, waterfalls, rose-filled suites.
They’re legendary.
We looked at each other and knew:
We’re coming back.
A Long Day, and a Girl Who Needed a Hot Tub
By the time we left, it had been a full day.
Travel. Adventure. Wine. History. Magic.
And this girl?
She needed another soak.
We headed back to Sycamore, smiling. We were ready to sink into warm water under the stars. We wanted to let the world fall quiet again.
Under the Listening Sky
When we returned to our room, night had fully settled into the forest.
Everything felt hushed.
Protected.
Like the woods themselves were holding their breath.
We slipped back into our little sanctuary and turned the water on, letting it warm again. Steam slowly curled into the cool December air as the tub filled.
Before stepping in, I grabbed one of the scent pods we’d picked up at check-in and dropped it into the water.
Instantly, the air shifted.
Soft. Herbal. Comforting.
Like a spa and a spell rolled into one. 
We eased back into the tub, shoulders sinking, muscles releasing, breath slowing.
The day finally caught up with us—in the best way.
Above us, the sky was layered with clouds and fog.
We couldn’t see many stars.
But we could see the moon.
Or rather…
We could see its light.
Pushing. Glowing. Trying.
It filtered through the mist and wrapped itself around the tree branches overhead, making them stand out like delicate silhouettes etched in silver.
The trees looked alive. Ancient. Watchful.
It felt like we were sitting inside a living cathedral of nature.
We didn’t talk much. We didn’t need to. We sat quietly, listening.
To crickets. To wind. To distant leaves shifting. To our own breathing.
Time softened. Thirty minutes passed. Maybe forty.
It didn’t matter.
All that existed was warm water, cool air, and the gentle feeling of being exactly where we were meant to be.
Eventually, our bodies told us it was time.
Reluctantly, we climbed out, wrapped ourselves in warmth, and headed inside.
The bed waited for us—tall, plush, and impossibly inviting.
It was so high off the ground that I had to do a little hop to climb in, laughing softly as Tony watched.
We curled up beneath the blankets, tired in the best possible way.
Satisfied. Grounded. Peaceful.
We slept deeply.
Comfortably.
Side by side.
Held by the forest.
Day Two: Whispers and Wonder
Morning arrived quietly at Sycamore.
No harsh light. No rushing.
Just soft forest sounds and pale sunlight filtering through trees.
We woke slowly, wrapped in warmth and that dreamy feeling you get when you’ve finally slept deeply.
We showered, letting hot water wash away the last traces of travel fatigue. Slipped into cozy clothes. Moved gently, like we didn’t want to disturb the peace we’d found.
For breakfast, we kept it simple. Leftover fruit and blueberry muffins we had packed.
We sat together, still a little sleepy, smiling at each other between bites.
No phones. No agenda.
Just us.
Wandering the Sanctuary
Before leaving, we wanted to really see Sycamore Mineral Springs Resort & Spa.
Not just sleep in it. Experience it.
So we took a morning walk.
The air was cool and crisp. The kind that feels clean in your lungs.
We wandered past quiet pathways and hidden seating areas. Passed the yoga dome—this beautiful, rounded structure tucked into nature, where people gather to stretch, breathe, and reconnect.
It felt like a little temple of calm.
We peeked into the gift shop, full of crystals, candles, wellness treasures, and small reminders of peace you could take home with you.
Nearby, we noticed the Zen garden.
Carefully placed stones. Raked sand. Balance in physical form.
We stood quietly for a moment, taking it in.
Then we wandered into the Secret Garden.
And it really did feel like one.
A tucked-away little oasis. Flowers. Pathways. Benches. Soft light filtering through leaves.
It felt like something out of a fairy-tale.
Like if you stayed long enough, something magical will happen.
Saying Goodbye to Stillness
Eventually, time gently reminded us it was moving ahead.
Our next chapter was waiting.
We took one last look around.
One last deep breath.
One last quiet thank-you to the forest that had held us.
Then we got in the car.
And pointed ourselves toward the next story.
The Fremont Theater.
The Fremont: A Pause Between Stories
After saying goodbye to Sycamore, we found ourselves back on the road, wrapped in that bittersweet feeling that comes when something beautiful has just ended… but something new is waiting.
Tony and I had both been excited about the Fremont Theater.
We had hoped we might get to go inside.
Walk its halls. Feel its history.
But when we arrived, we realized it was closed.
No shows. No lights. No open doors.
Just quiet.
For a moment, I felt that familiar little pang of disappointment.
But still…
We weren’t leaving without saying hello.
We parked the car and stepped out into the cool air.
The theater stood tall and proud—its Art Deco façade glowing softly in daylight, like it was holding onto secrets.
We walked slowly around the front, taking photos and videos, capturing every detail.
The sign. The doors. The windows.
Then we leaned in close.
Peering through the glass.
Hoping—just a little—to catch a glimpse of something mysterious inside.
A shadow. A flicker. A hint of movement.
Anything.
But nothing stirred.
Just stillness. Silence.
Yet somehow, that silence felt loud.
Full.
Like the building was resting between stories.
Even without anything “spooky” happening, I felt it.
This place had lived.
Since 1942, the Fremont has hosted movies, concerts, community gatherings, laughter, tears, and memories layered upon memories.
History doesn’t disappear just because a building is quiet.
It settles.
It waits.
That’s when I noticed a poster advertising one of their big bingo nights.
I lit up.
“Okay, we are DEFINITELY coming back for this,” I told Tony. 
Something about the idea of sitting in that historic theater, playing bingo, laughing with locals, and soaking up the energy felt so perfect.
Future date night: confirmed.
Then my stomach spoke up.
Loudly.
Not subtly at all.
Apparently, it was done with ghost hunting and ready for food.
Which felt fair.
We still had Hearst Castle ahead of us, and we wanted to enjoy it without being distracted by hunger.
So we climbed back into the car and continued north.
A Quick Stop for Fuel and Comfort
Not far from Hearst Castle, we found ourselves at San Simeon Beach Bar & Grill.
Exactly what we needed.
Casual. Comfortable. No pressure.
Definitely a bar-and-grill vibe.
We ordered quickly and dug in.
And wow. The food was delicious.
Warm. Filling. Comforting.
It felt like refueling both our bodies and our spirits before the next big adventure.
We shared bites, laughed, and let the moment ground us.
Ready.
Recharged.
Prepared.
Because up ahead…
A castle was waiting.
Hearst Castle: Where Dreams Rise From Stone
Leaving the restaurant, we were full, warm, and content.
Exactly how you want to feel before stepping into something extraordinary.
We drove only a few minutes up the road when suddenly—
There it was. The Hearst Castle.
High above us.
Massive. Pale. Impossible.
Perched on the hill like something imagined.
Tony and I both spotted it at the same time.
“Is that it?!”
“I think that’s it!!”
We looked at each other, eyes wide, hearts racing.
It felt like discovering a secret. Like spotting a castle in the clouds.
Soon, we were pulling into the parking lot, following signs toward a grand entrance that already felt ceremonial.
Inside, a friendly staff member greeted us and pointed us toward the ticket line. We picked up our reserved tickets, got our photos taken, and joined the growing line for the shuttle bus.
Every step felt heavier with anticipation.
Like walking toward a dream.
The Ride Into Enchantment
When we finally boarded the bus, I settled into my seat and pressed my face toward the window.
The bus began climbing slowly up the winding hillside.
And right away, I started searching.
Scanning the hill. Looking through trees. Catching tiny glimpses of rooftops and pale stone.
“Is that it?” “No—wait—maybe that is…” “Okay, I think I see something…”
The castle teased us.
Half-hidden. Partially revealed. Like it wasn’t ready to show itself all at once.
Every curve in the road felt like a promise.
Every turn raised my heartbeat.
When I couldn’t quite see it clearly, I turned my attention outward.
And that’s when the ocean filled my view.
Stretching endlessly behind us. Shimmering under winter light. Alive and breathing.
It felt like the castle was saying:
Not yet. Look here first.
And I did.
The ocean spoke to me. Sang to me. Wrapped itself around my spirit.
I felt it in my chest.
In my bones.
I was under its spell.
And somehow, that made finally reaching the top feel even more sacred.
Walking Where Legends Walked
At the top, we were greeted by our tour guides.
Warm. Knowledgeable. Passionate.
They began weaving stories.
About William Randolph Hearst. About Marion Davies. About the artists, politicians, and Hollywood legends who once gathered here.
Charlie Chaplin. Clark Gable. Winston Churchill. Walt Disney.
Names we’d read in books.
Names that now felt suddenly close.
They had stood here.
Walked these steps.
Swum in these pools.
Laughed under this sky.
Lady Gaga had even filmed a music video here, using the iconic pools as her backdrop.
Past and present layered together.
Living inside stone.
A Living Museum of Wonder
As we moved through the grand rooms, I felt overwhelmed—in the best way.
The architecture. The landscape. The art. The imported tapestries. The carved ceilings. The gold accents glinting softly in sunlight.
Luxury beyond imagination.
Yet somehow…
Still intimate.
Still human.
Still emotional.
I drifted to the back of the group, quietly.
Not wanting to slow anyone down with my constant photos and videos.
Trying to capture something that could never truly be captured.
How do you photograph awe?
How do you record a feeling?
Our guide shared stories of Hearst’s complicated personal life.
His wife. His mistress. The delicate balance of public image and private reality.
Love. Power. Loneliness. Legacy.
All tangled together.
I listened, fascinated.
Every story made the place feel more alive.
More fragile.
More real.
Not Ready to Say Goodbye
I never wanted the tour to end.
Every room made me want more.
Every hallway felt unfinished.
When it finally did end, Tony and I looked at each other.
“So… which tour do we do next time?”
Because there would be a next time.
There had to be.
This wasn’t a one-and-done place.
It was a calling.
Of course, like all great endings, the path led to the gift shop.
I left with a Christmas ornament, a snow globe, and a book.
Little anchors.
Little portals back to that hilltop.
The Long Road Home
We walked slowly back to our car, glancing over our shoulders one last time.
Saying goodbye to our castle.
Reluctantly.
The drive home was long.
Traffic slowed us. Lights blurred. Night settled in.
We listened to podcasts. Talked about our favorite moments. Randomly revisited things we’d loved.
“Remember the view?” “The pool.” “The animals.” “The ceilings.”
Over and over.
Reliving it.
Holding it close.
Because some places don’t just get visited. They get carried.
What We Brought Back
It was only two days.
But it gave us back ourselves.
We walked through history.
Listened to whispers.
Soaked in sacred water.
Touched dreams.
We remembered how to pause.
How to feel.
How to love slowly.
This wasn’t just a mini moon.
It was a pilgrimage.
Guided by intuition.
Protected by history.
Wrapped in starlight.
And yes…
A few gentle ghosts. 
Until Our Next Adventure…
Some stories don’t end.
They simply pause.
This little December mini moon will always live in my heart—in fog and forests, in castles and cider, in moonlight and memories.
And if you’d like to experience it with us even more closely…
And if you’re not already part of the LexTalk family, I’d love for you to subscribe to my blog so you don’t miss any future travels, reflections, and stories waiting to be told.
Because there are so many more chapters ahead.
More roads to follow.
More places to listen to.
More memories to make.
And I’d love for you to walk them with us.
Until next time…
Stay curious.
Stay magical.
And keep following the whispers. 
LexTalk 
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