Nearly five (!!!) decades later, we arrive in style. A mere four hours brings us east through desolate terrain but in absolute comfort. The capacious rental car is nearly new with just 700 miles accumulated. An impressively sized trunk awaits assorted shopping bags. No illness haunts this journey.
Camelback Inn is our destination. We've stayed there in the past and even when the temperature is intolerable, the resort's beauty and serenity surrounds its guests. Our room is spacious, nearly 600 square feet. In keeping with the southwestern theme, the color palette features bright orange, green, and yellow amply offset by the purest white linens. Enhancing the room is a tall ceiling complete with much appreciated fan and dark wooden beams. A foursome of glass blocks provides muted light for the bathtub. Our own patio beckons with its chaise, small table and dining chair. We'll be more than happy in this environment.
The long drive increases our hunger and we're soon in the covered parking lot of Scottsdale Fashion Square. Five Guys is a new addition to the food court and Henry can't resist. I'm content with a salad from Paradise Bakery. How long do I need? Hmmm. Don't be greedy. "A couple of hours, maybe 2 1/2?" Singular shopping. Heat is forgotten as I forage for bargains.
Henry visits his parents at their gravesite. The cemetery maintenance is impressive. Across the street is a casino. Within a very few minutes, he can't lose. A substantial jackpot appears on the video poker screen. It requires the assistance of a staff member. Bills are counted into Henry's hand. Blackjack is equally as remunerative. He's leaving. No reason to stay. He's already won and is happy to take the money elsewhere.
My luck isn't as impressive but after lingering far too long in Dillard's shoe department, I'm the new owner of dark chocolate sandals. I love this store and only wish there were locations closer to home.
We reconnect and I hear the exciting gambling story. Some of the stash has already bought adorable outfits for the neighbor girls. Our goal is to keep their closet current. Seeing them wear their gift clothes is such fun.
Driving toward Chandler, place names are familiar. Henry lived there in 1969 while he was in pilot's training school at Williams Air Force Base. A mighty young man, he fulfilled a lifetime goal of flying a jet. I've seen the small apartment near the base where he spent several months. We ponder whether we might have seen each other during that time. I lived in northeast Phoenix and worked in Scottsdale. Chandler is east of Phoenix. Maybe we passed each other in a department store. Nah. I would have noticed him for sure. We had seven more years to live before finally being in the same room simultaneously.
Investigating a new mall is fun for me. Henry is a wonderful partner who accepts this mania of mine. I think there's a Chick-fil-A to be found. I'm wrong. It's actually about a mile away. A couple of Nordstrom's purchases validates our visit to the Chandler location.
I'm thinking Southern and happily ingesting a grilled chicken sandwich, waffle fries (sorry Caitlin)and a side of delectable carrot-raisin salad. Surely someday an enterprising member of Chick-fil-A's team will decide our valley deserves its own branch.
In the restroom, I encounter a young mother and her two children. The little girl is a looker and a talker. She says to me, "How do you like my pretty pink bow?" Before I can answer, she continues, "I got my hair cut today. Isn't it pretty?" I mumble something quickly. I can tell she isn't finished. I'm kneeling now, looking into huge blue eyes. Her mother, holding her small son, is waiting patiently for the conversation to conclude. I have a feeling that happens often. I ask, "What's your name?" She replies, "Ella." That's a Foster family name I like very much. Her brother is Dylan. I inquire, "How old are you?" She answers quickly, "Four, and how old are you?" Her mother apologizes. No need. I don't believe I've ever been asked that question by such a precocious person. Ella is somebody sensational already.
Mid-morning Saturday we drive north to Kierland Commons. Most stores are still closed so we get a primo parking place with lots of shade. Worth being early for this prize in the desert. Walking a ways, we find a huge bookstore that is open for business. Henry discovers two fat music books to add to his collection. Some of the songs included are ones that he's been playing by ear for years. Now he will have the music and can reconcile the notes. He tells me that often sheet music is inaccurate in places.
Tall iced tea, fresh salad, and lemon chicken orzo soup sustain me. Henry's happy with his favorite turkey/swiss/honey mustard/wheat bread repast. I believe I have renewed energy for a bit more shopping.
On our way to an Arizona Diamondbacks baseball game, we drive through Tempe. Stopping in front of the Beck house, we're impressed with the care it's been given. This is where we left on a hot June day in 1977, moving to a new life in California. It's the house that Henry bought when he had no job, little savings, and a family. Most people would never attempt to get a mortgage, even a VA loan, under such circumstances. Henry is not most people. He got the loan and when his family changed and funds were needed to keep the house, he simply took in boarders. Proximity to Arizona State University enhanced the rental's appeal.
Brilliantly, the ball park has a retractable roof which is tightly closed. A very comfortable 79 degrees inside, I have no need for my sweater. We're immediately behind the D'Back's dugout, second row. Great perspective. One row back, a family of five sits. All blue-eyed, there are three blondes and two redheads. The older kids, maybe 6 and 4, have their own mitts. Hers is pink. The youngest child commandeers his sister's mitt after she catches a fly ball. Later in the game, a youngster in the next section who's already nabbed four balls, gives one to the little guy. He immediately throws it on to the field. His thinking process must have been that balls belonged there. Everyone laughs and he's not sure what he's done. The parents are supportive and don't chastise him for this game faux pas. He giggles, thinks he's fine. It's a moment that deserved to be on YouTube but is just a memory.
On the Jumbotron, there's a video from a few days ago of Commissioner Bud Selig naming a player drafted by the Diamondbacks. Immediately, on-site cameras point to a smiling blonde teen-ager seated two sections to our right. He stands, smiles even more, acknowledges the introduction. Just graduated from high school in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, his new status is professional baseball player. Seated next to the ebullient young man is his beaming mom. First a farm team and then, if he's truly gifted and amazingly lucky, he may someday play in this ball park. When I walk past him later, he seems dazed but permanently smiling.
Ball park food can be surprisingly pleasant or nearly wretched. We're not impressed with the selections and decide to try the traditional hot dog. Henry orders a large bottle of water and asks for a cup of ice. In the nicest language, the man behind the counter says he can't honor the request. No cup without buying a soda. Another worker, a lady, says she'll look in the back for a cup. "How much is a cup?" Henry inquires. "$4, with or without the soda." It is the cup that costs, the soda is negligible. This is crazy. We pay the $4 for a Pepsi cup.
I'm reminded of one of my favorite scenes from the classic film, "Five Easy Pieces." You know the one. It's a rainy northwest day at a diner. The hero wants toast. Plain toast. The waitress says they're not serving toast. He continues his quest. Finally, he orders again. The script goes something like this. "You have chicken salad sandwiches. I want one. Hold the lettuce. Hold the mayo. Hold the tomato. Hold the chicken salad. Toast the bread." He interjected a few other descriptors that I'll not repeat. If I remember right, the customer, portrayed with adroitness by a youthful Jack Nicholson, had to leave the restaurant toastless.
We have our cup. No Jack behavior exhibited.
The baseball game provides great entertainment, secluded from the sun. Driving back to the hotel, we're searching for food. It's Saturday night and people are taking advantage of the slightly cooler temperature. Serendipitously, Henry decides to check the menu and availability of take out from the Village Tavern. We've arrived after the dinner rush. Take out is no problem. The menu is tempting. A burger and grilled chicken bar-be-que sandwich will be packed for the short ride to Camelback Inn. Two cups of ice accompany the hot food. No charge.
The food is so good that we're adding this restaurant to our 'musts' for the next visit. The hotel room has perfect ambience for a late night meal. Afterwards, we get into our swimsuits and walk to the vast Jackrabbit Pool. In one corner there's a vacant spa. The water must be over 100 degrees so we stay only a short time. The addition of a group of twenty-somethings, completely well-behaved, makes for a crowded scene.
Sunday morning dawns hot but with a bit of a breeze. We're packed and ready to go home. Walking around the grounds, there are photos to capture of the extraordinary landscape. We're sensing the sun and soon heading west to our own desert.
Here's hoping you took far more money out of the state of Arizona than you put in. One needn't finance evil.
ReplyDeleteYou can bet we did.
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