Wrapping' It Up...Puttin' a Bow On It

I am going to shamelessly pick up where I left off last Thursday. I say shamelessly because this whole little Ally and Neal Go West series was supposed to wrap up on Friday. But then someone popped the cork on the champagne and the weekend kicked off and suddenly I found myself at Target buying the crystal lamps I've always wanted (which, in turn, lead to a full-blown spring cleaning and lamp shade buying mission. It can never just be "I'm going to buy a lamp" around here. It always leads to a double-digit to-do list). But Tuesday is the new Friday AND it's Neal's birthday! He joins the many of you who are celebrating birthdays this month and the several of you who were born in 1960-something. So, Happy Birthday Boo-Bear (no, we don't actually call each other that, but I figure it's a nice time to start. And it's much better than Precious Prick, yes?).

Friday morning, over breakfast, we (and by "we" I mean "I" because I get my most inspired and ludicrous (and I can no longer spell ludicrous without spell-check. Thanks a kilo, Ludacris) ideas over an all-meat omelette) decided to hike to the summit of Camelback Mountain. If we finished breakfast by 8 and were on the trail by 8:30, we would easily be done by 10 and showered and checked out by 1:00. Our flight back to Kentuckarctica was not until 3:00. And? It's only 1.2 miles to the summit. Easy cheasy. We do that all the time in the Gorge. Neal was raised near the Gorge. He practically rappelled out of his mama's womb. We might even get back in time to have a second omelette.

Except that it's 1.2 miles up. Yes, yes, it's a summit...what did I expect? A ski lift to meet me at the end of the plateau? No, not really. But I did not expect to be bouldering...up...for a half a mile. So, let me set the scene...we're both wearing our tennis shoes, I'm in a white, cotton, eyelet shirt and he's carrying his Starbucks mug of hotel coffee. We had tourist written across our foreheads and our asses. I hate it when I do that.

The views of Phoenix and Scottsdale were astronomical. And the mountain was crowded with athletes of all kinds who obvi rise with the roosters and run the mountain everyday. We passed one group of guys coming down and then going back up. That's a special kind of crazy that usually results in hypertrophic cardiomyopathy (look, Mama Virgo! I am using that degree!). I'll climb this beast once and call it a day, thankyouverymuch. The pictures don't really do it justice, but I'm happy to give it the ole college try:

See that little building in the bottom of the picture? We didn't even get that far on Day 1...just to give you some perspective (because I'm an artist, yo, and I believe in perspective).

The fence, I get...although I'm not sure it's so much to keep people from falling off the cliff as it is to keep people from climbing the hill in their backyard and hiking around at night (also...crazy. There are wolves and desert creatures). But the railing? Really? Oh. Yes, really. Going up is not so bad since you just kind of lean in and put your glutes into it. But coming down, you either lower yourself down using whatever upper body strength you've gained from carrying the milk and 4 bags of canned goods up 3 flights of stairs or you tuck and roll. All. The. Way. Down. What? It doesn't look far? In 3D, it's far. Allow me to demonstrate:

Yep, that's how you do it. With a sweater thrown over your shoulder and a thermos of water stuck down the back of your pants...not in a pocket, but actually stuck between flesh and your VS. In the end, it was all worth it. Like this kind of worth it:

What? Cotton and wool are the undiscovered wicking material of Olympic athletes' uniforms. Note to self: always pack more than one bra. Always.
Not sure if Camelback Mountain is for you? Perhaps this will inspire:

This is Gino. His owner is a Gabrielle Reese-look-alike who apparently hikes Camelback every morning before she heads off to her job as a Nike model/Denise Austin body double. She informed us that Gino has done Camelback Mountain well over 100 times, usually on his own. But he was recovering from some sort of doggy malaria, so she carried him part of the way on Friday. What I hear when I look at Gino is the Taco Bell dog harassing me with, "You had to stop? To what? Look at the view? This is the view. Stopping is for pussies. But then, you are wearing cotton." Yeah, that's what I hear. Gabrielle calls him her little mountain motivator...I call him more of a man than half of my high school boyfriends. Print this out, tack it to your corkboard. If Gino can do it...

And if you need a visual, this is pretty indicative of the trail, plus a couple of railings (yes, there was more than one. I would say the second one is what separates the girls in Old Navy flip flops from the women in Merrell boots).

There's not so much a trail as there is a path of least resistance. As in life, everyone chooses their own path. I chose the flattest path possible. I'm sure that speaks volumes about my appetite for ambition in this life.

We did not make it back in time for a second omelette. We made it back just in time to shower, eat leftover non-$250 brisket and get to the airport. I couldn't really walk very well for 2 days, but it was well worth the burn and ache. We climbed a mountain. *Cue Diana Ross*

In other news...
Today is Neal's birthday!!! He's at work today because for some reason, birthdays, for him, are synonymous with any day ending in "y"...unlike his wife who celebrates birthday month. This picture was from about 3 years ago, when I decorated his office while he was whisked away to lunch. I have failed miserably in doing anything extreme this year. His wish list was so chock-full of functional items that it just sapped the creative spirit right out of me. But he gets a dinner tonight. And he can drink his white wine from the red wine fish bowls we have, if he so desires. But tomorrow is another day so all festivities will be wrapped up by 9:30. It's a bitch to be born in 1960-something...

Wild Wednesday

OK...it wasn't that wild...

It was the last day Catalina and I would have together, so we had some errands to run. I know, right? Errands to run on vacation? Well, when you're in the land of inexpensive, beautiful gemstones and you own a jewelry business, then a little shopping tops the to-do list. But first...lunch with the Phoenix socialites.

Wednesday morning, after my half-hearted attempt at strength training, (why hotels insist on putting state-of-the-art ellipticals and just one rack of dumbbells is beyond me. Hello...osteoporosis anyone?) and a shower, I ventured out in search of Bead World. When it popped up on my GPS, I think I peed a little. Bead World?? Doesn't it sounds like Sea World and isn't that the most magical place on earth? Er...or something like that. Fortunately for me, Bead World had not one, but THREE locations nearby! I set my coordinates for the Phoenix store and vroom-vroomed right over.

To say that I was a kid in a candy store is a vast understatement. I was a 4-year old in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory minus creepy Willy Wonka and the Oompa Loompas plus Grandpa Joe (because let's face it, he was the only redeeming character).

Ladies and gentleman, I give you....BEAD WORLD!!! The clouds part, golden light shines down from above, the angels sing a note reserved for second comings. It. Was. Beautiful.

And then Neal texted me. I know it's only 11:00 but they let us out for lunch. Can you come get me? And as I stood there, dripping in Zebra Jasper and Sardonyx and Carnelian, I not-so-silently cursed my husband and his inconvenient timing. I made arrangements for them to hold everything because I will be back and vroom-vroomed back over to the hotel. And waited. And sat and waited some more. Where are you? In a meeting...give me a sec. Or 200 secs. Fifteen minutes later, he strolled through the door. You know what a Mustang is really good at? Handling under aggressive driving. Fortunately, he got lucky and picked a lovely place for lunch. Sophie's, A French Bistro. In the parking lot of Sophie's was a Jaguar, a Maserati, a Porsche, a BMW, and a Prius. The Prius owner was fairly easy to spot...plus, she came over to thank Neal for his service (yep, still in ACU's). I'm not exactly sure what made this the lunch spot for the diamond and pearl encrusted elite...the lunch did not require a loan and the water was not served in crystal goblets. The food was light and flavorful French cuisine (I had crepes because what else do you get at a french bistro?) and the total was $30 for the both of us. OK...maybe a little pricey for lunch but 1) we had a per diem and 2) that was not even close to what we spent at Med Fresh, A Mediterranean Grill. And that parking lot was full of bicycles.

Also? A good amount of the menu was in French, as was the guest ticket.

Dear Madame Delk,
Your hard work paid off! I remember cheese, chocolate, ham, and two in French! I remember more than "your chest is like a sack of potatoes." Well done.
Love,
Isabelle

Back to Bead World. And three other stops, but none as jaw-dropping, imagination-inspiring, and friendly as Bead World. Plus, one of the ladies helping me attended Gonzaga. So, here are a few of the beauties I brought home with me. I'm doing something I've never done...letting people see what I've purchased and then make a request for something custom. If nothing gets snatched in a week, I'm taking it all into the studio and designing things I want to wear.

This is a Sardonyx donut. I was recently introduced to Sardonyx by a friend requesting a rosary using more traditional birthstones. Sardonyx is often used for both August and September and I LOVE it. So much texture...

The saleslady didn't exactly know what this was and to be fair, neither of these pendants came from Bead World but from Scottsdale Bead Supply...a very reputable store for gemstones, but this was hot off the truck and she hadn't seen it yet.

Mookite! Just saying it makes me giggle. I should have bought an extra strand. I'm going to have a hard time parting with these girls. MUAH! I just love you, little mustard and crimson marbled rose!

Yes, yes..we've all seen Tiger's Eye (and the first person who breaks out into Eye of the Tiger has to run steps)...but Tiger's Eye in its true gemstone form is breath-taking. Accept no substitutions from Michael's. This is where it's at, y'all.

It's a gemstone...and it's PINK! Rhodonite...not to be confused with Rhododendron...which is not pink and should not be worn around the neck.

Zebra Jasper, as if it could be anything but. It's Yin. No, it's Yang. No, it's both. Perfect balance, just as it should be.

And saving the best for last, Crystal Quartz. It's like diamonds but bigger! These are easily confused with glass beads, but once you see them in person, that mistake is in your past.

By Wednesday evening, I was a couple hundred dollars down in the business checking account and entirely too sober. So, we grabbed our laptops and headed for the manager's reception. I decided that if it was going to be just the 2 of us drinking and looking at each other over a high-top, we needed a project. We needed to plan our trip to Hawaii this summer. So, the Chardonnay flowed and the itinerary came together. Hunger pains kicked in around 7 and I started Googling places to eat. Farm at South Mountain came up on my BlackBerry app and it had 5 stars. We had started the day with 5 stars, we should certainly end it that way. I emailed the link to Neal (yes, his laptop screen was literally touching mine. That's just how we roll. I text him to bring me coffee on Saturday mornings and he sends me links to Amazon shipments from the corner of our sectional couch). He looked it over, agreed, and I made reservations for 8:00 (after all, the manager's reception didn't even end until 7:30).

We vroom-vroomed out to Farm at South Mountain, which serves breakfast, lunch and dinner in 3 separate dining facilities and prides itself on the organic garden they keep on site. It was well past dark when we arrived so getting a good look at the outside was nearly impossible. But the inside was tastefully decorated in the traditional farmhouse style (or as far as I can remember. I'm pretty sure Embassy Suites lost money on me last week). We were one of the last couples to be seated for the dinner service so there was not much of a crowd. As the waitress was taking our drink orders, she mentioned that the chef was offering a special menu: he chooses your 3 courses and the wine to be paired with each one. My eyes lit up. When she left the table the conversation went something like this:

Me: How awesome is that? A food and wine pairing chosen by the chef himself!
Neal: Yeah, that's nice. So, what are you going to get?
Me: Well, if I had my choice, I'd go with that. I mean, what a GREAT meal!
Neal: It is great. It's also $250.
Me: Well, it's not like we're out here everyday. (Note to self: 6 glasses of wine does not equal unclouded judgment. This is how people wake up in the morning to find they've ordered Styling Barbie Heads from Amazon the night before).
Neal: I understand that. But if we're going to have a $250 meal, I need to budget for a $250 meal. The pork chops look good.
Me: *exasperation oozing from my wine-constricted pores* Fine. I'll have the brisket and a beer.

As it turns out, I only remember this conversation because I'm still in shock about how ready I was to charge a $250 meal to our Amex. And that's a $250 meal that I would not have remembered. The only reason I remember the brisket is because I was half-full on wine before we even got there and I had leftovers on Friday. Otherwise? I could have eaten stir-fried goat balls for all I knew. Oh well, and there's this...

I shudder to think of the 658 different types of Hell I used to give Neal for photographing food.
Also?
Lesson learned: I can lay my head down on a pillowtop mattress and blog from my leather couch because my husband puts the kibosh on impromptu dinners that cost more than Colonel Ketchup is worth...especially after a binge on corkless wine at the manager's reception.

Thursday: Neal is dismissed (in a good way) an hour after the conference starts and we get up close and personal with the animals.

Tuesday's Two-Hour Tour

Welcome back to the second installment of "Neal and Ally Go West (and shed their winter peacoats for Old Navy flip flops)." Before I start, let me just say that y'all are so freakin' cute (yep, Mama Virgo...THAT is how you spell "freakin"). Because...

A) I was actually kidding about the burdens of Army wives. I mean, yes, we are basically in the Army, too. But I am, in case you missed it, a bit of a Drama Queen Supreme and truly I don't expect trumpets and confetti over being an Army wife. I am an Army wife, daughter, and granddaughter. I 100% knew what I was getting myself into. But thank you for your kind words. I'd be a liar, liar pants on fire if I said it didn't make me all warm and fuzzy (like my new scarf from Foxy. Thank you very much, darling!) and

B) For being bloggers, y'all are shockingly shy. I admit, the uniform is intimidating. But just remember that under that uniform the guys are wearing black spandex biker shorts underwear from UnderArmour (the kind that hugs EVERYTHING) and the women are wearing Army-issued black bras and panties. So, really...they are just like you and me. And just like you and me, they like to hear from others that they are doing a good job. Sometimes you have to lose a limb to receive praise in the military. That should not be the case. I'm not saying you should go out of your way to thank a whole platoon flying out of the Atlanta airport. But if you see one walking towards his/her gate...please don't be afraid to extend a hand and a thank you. Especially if it's a young soldier. Can you imagine going to war at 19 years old? You know what I was doing at 19? Keg stands. I was NOT preventing my battle buddy from getting his head blown off. That's not cockiness you see in their faces. It's fear. So...show a little love.

OK....TUESDAY!!
Phoenix is 2 hours behind us which was flat-out fantastic. I wake every morning without an alarm clock at 8:30 (yes, I don't have any children in the house. I work for myself. It's a luxury that will not last forever). That means that I woke every morning in Phoenix at 6:30. How fantastic that I actually added 2 hours to my day! (With the exception of Monday night, I still managed to stay up until about 11 every evening...truly adding hours to my day. It was phenomenal). We had breakfast with the 50 or so other soldiers in the dining room (AKA chow hall and please excuse me if I lapse into military time. That's life with Neal). Embassy Suites has a cooked-to-order breakfast, complete with omelettes, pancakes, and french toast. There's bacon and sausage on the side. This is a standard soldier breakfast. It's hog-heaven for me. Goodbye, Hampton Inn eggs:
hello, Breakfast of Champions (and yes, that picture was taken by me and yes, I actually ate an egg. Bleh).

After breakfast, Neal was to report to Registration at 0800 and I was to pick up my rental car at 0930. (There was some discussion about this arrangement...mostly a whine-fest on my end about how I don't choose to be as independent as he thinks I am and how I shouldn't be expected to find my way back to the airport and back to the hotel on my own...on my own, WITH a GPS, though). I think it actually worked out better for me that he wasn't there. I arrived at Budget in the airport, chatted up the desk clerk, mentioned my husband was at an Army conference and I was going to do some gemstone shopping for my business. She asked for a business card, I immediately produced one. I bought a box of 500...all you have to do is look like you may want one. She asked if I wanted to upgrade. "Oh no, thank you. Really it's just for me to get around during the day." She asked if a 2-door was OK. "Oh yes, sure. We have a Prius. We're used to matchboxes." Then she handed me the keys and told me where to go. And I went. And I picked up this:
If your first reaction is "Holy HELL. Sweet Jesus, thank you!!" Then that would be roughly the same as mine. Oh heavens, this car was fun. AND I looked good driving it. Blonde-ish hair blowing in the wind...blue eyes matching the paint job perfectly. Neal says they would have never given this car to him. I didn't believe him until I returned it Thursday morning and saw a guy, roughly Neal's age, returning a Hyundai. Yes, I will choose Independent Mustang over Co-Dependent Hyundai any day. Also, Colonel Ketchup, who is roughly 8 years her senior, is very happy to have a pin-up. Even though he has a new ding in his right front quarterpanel, he is still very handsome (with a brand new canvas top) and I'm sure he and Catalina would take to each other quickly.

I've been reading The Women for about 8 months. I started under a misunderstanding of who the author was, what the story was about and lost total interest about 40% in (my only indicator of completion, thank you, Kindle). Anyway, I did remember that Taliesin West played a major role in the book. Lo and behold, Taliesin West is located in Scottsdale, which you can wander into from Phoenix while merely looking for a gas station. So, I planned a tour for 1:30. Neal was interested in going, but he had to work so I made myself available to take him to lunch and then headed over.
Sidenote: yesterday I said we lunched at a fancysnobby place. That was actually Wednesday. Will cover it tomorrow. Tuesday was BBQ. I mean, tangy, juicy, melt-in-your-mouth BBQ that I didn't think was available outside of Memphis.

Unfortunately, the 1:30 tour was sold out, but the 2:00 was available. I wandered the grounds near the entrance, took some pics and emailed some people back (sometimes a BlackBerry is a beautiful thing). These are a few of the more interesting pics of Taliesin West, accompanied by some tour guide facts...because what's the point of paying $28 for a tour if you can't spread the knowledge?

Frank Lloyd Wright loved ancient art and you see little pieces all over the estate, in very unexpected places. And he loved oriental architecture, which is pretty obvious if you've ever been in one of his buildings.

This is, what I would consider, the back of Taliesin West, although there's not really a front or back door...it's more like a meandering campus. The windows behind the stairs in the left are to the drawing studio. Wright built Taliesin West to function as an elite school, open to students who wanted to train under Wright. In reality, they were less of an apprentice and more of a serf...helping to chop vegetables, working the land, and helping to maintain the structure. But they could say that they interned under Wright, so that's something, I suppose. It is STILL a working school with accreditation. Students pay $30,000 per year for room, board, and tuition. They still travel to Taliesin in Wisconsin in the summer and back to Taliesin West in Scottsdale in the winter, just as they did with Wright. And the first female student admitted to the school still lives on campus. She's 96. The water here is less of a pool and more of an emergency water supply. When Wright built, Scottsdale did not exist. Taliesin had already burned down twice in Wisconsin. He was anxious about not having water. Plus, he was in the desert. But it makes for a beautiful picture.

This is the furthest point of Taliesin West. It now looks out over Scottsdale, which grew up well after Wright was established. When he looked out over his land, he saw the ocean. If you squint your eyes, the mountains become the horizon, the bushes and trees become the sea, and the cacti become the coral. So, he brought his developed land to a point here, to form the "bow of his ship."
And then...they put in the power lines. Wright was pissed and initiated plans to move. His wife (like the 3rd or 4th one...the last one anyway and thus the reason to write The Women and Loving Frank) refused to move. So, he turned his attention away from the "ocean" and back towards Taliesin West and the mountains in the distance, giving this view:
No pictures were allowed in the grand living room or either of the bedrooms (apparently the secret to a successful marriage is separate bedrooms). I'm not sure why but when they forbid us to take pictures of the Sistine Chapel it was because Kodak owns the rights to those pictures. That was just stupid enough for me to snap a quick one anyway. But taking a prohibited picture is much easier in a sea of 200 people than it is on a tour of 15.

Wright's wife, Olgivanna, loved sculpture and she held contests for the students. These are just a few of the beautiful sculptures that came from those contests:

This one was titled "Repunzel"

I took this one specifically for Surferwife because this is how I see her.

And last, but not least...
I have to share this with you because it's shear genius. This is a picture of the Taliesin West movie theater. The tables unfolded so that students could have dinner and then watch a movie. Wright hated that when you wanted to cozy up to your best girl, with your arm around her and your left leg crossed over your right, you had to then crane your head to the left to see the movie screen. Neck cramps were not his thing. So, he designed the seating to angle, allowing you to be turned and still view the screen without turning your head. Single? You were sitting sideways for 2 hours.

When Neal finished his day, we headed over to the Desert Botanical Garden. Truly, I took about 75 pictures of cacti, which I will spare you, and only show you these 2:

This is...I don't know...snake cactus?? Whatever it is, it totally freaks me out. It grows like kudzu and is prickly, to boot. BLEH!! I don't miss you, snake cactus!!

We finished up at the botanical garden as the sun was setting and it was getting close to dinner time. We vroom-vroomed over to Souper Salad, which I ADORE (if only for the fact that Neal can get his daily intake of romaine lettuce, beets, and cucumbers while I can load up on every salad held together with 2 cups of mayonnaise). If you are an entrepreneur and looking for your next big challenge, will you puleaze bring this to Kentucky?? Or even just east of the Rocky Mountains? I promise we'll keep you in business. The Kroger salad bar is not the same.

Tomorrow is gemstone shopping, lunch with the fancypants of Phoenix, and manager's reception day 2. I know these posts are long and it takes awhile to read them. It takes me twice as long to write them. But I hope you are enjoying them. If not, no hard feelings. I'll meet you back here on Saturday when I will return to a more abbreviated version of myself. I know how that thing called life gets in the way and am not at all offended if your blog reading time is restricted to anything 500 words or less.

No Wife Left Behind

For those of you playing at home, this is the very first picture I saw of Neal...way back in 2004, and the whole reason I decided to email him...just to see if he liked "long walks on the beach (yes, as long as it's IED-free), grilled shrimp (absolutely, with spicy cocktail sauce please) and getting caught in the rain (as long as it's with you). I'm so glad it worked out.

We survived our trip to Phoenix (which ended up being the Phoenix/Scottsdale/Tempe trifecta...also, I'm not sure why Blogger thinks "trifecta" is spelled wrong. I live in Horse Country. Trifecta was the first word I learned to say. OK..second..first was McDonald's). There was way too much goodness in this adventure to be squeezed into one post (500 words or less or not) so I'm going to spread it out across the week, matching each day this week to last week. Clever, no? Or maybe I just lost you on that last sentence. Anyway, this is all about last Monday's escape to the land of sand, cacti, and mountains (and the manager's reception...thank you very much, Embassy Suites. Your hotel was ghettorific but your free wine was somewhat redemptive). Also? This blog now serves as my new Travel Journal since apparently I'm weak at actually writing anything down, like with ink and papyrus. I will have to learn to back up this baby ASAP. So, here goes...

Picture it...the legitimate asscrack of dawn, roughly 4:00 AM on Monday morning. I've just slept about 3 hours on the couch because suddenly our pillowtop mattress has become just too damn uncomfortable. Plus, I was hot and what better way to cool off than in the frozen tundra of our living room at 1 AM (it's called a programmable thermostat and it will keep you from leaving the cave until the heat kicks back on around 6). We shower, caffeinate, leave the house, come back to the house because I forgot my electric toothbrush and finally arrive at the airport around 5:15...which in theory is PLENTY of time before our 6:05 AM flight departs. Except the airport is busy. Really, LEX??? You're never this busy. Usually your security personnel are chatting me up because it's the first human interaction they've had since the night before. So, we checked our bag (thank you, U.S. Army for picking up that tab) and headed to security....where they swabbed my hands, deduced that I was positive for some sort of bomb-making material, pulled me aside (did I mention that I was with a man in FULL Army uniform, from his Frenchie black beret to his camel-kickin boots) and searched me from head to toe (and sometimes in virginal territory). They searched my bag, had me strip down to what was still publicly acceptable outside of Great Britain, and checked the bottoms of my bare feet. Um..yeah..it's always the captain's wife. Interestingly, they finished with me at the exact same time Neal was pulling his laptop off the conveyor belt. We walkran to the gate, made one more bathroom call, and loaded the plane with 3 minutes to spare. No harm, no foul...we made the plane and I got a little action from a woman in latex gloves.

Let me stop here and say that my father is a Vietnam vet. I've heard stories. Mostly about how they were treated upon return from war. And while I know that, in general, Americans are far less rude to the men and women who put themselves in front of bombs so they don't have too, I also believe that most Americans do not think about soldiers unless they are married to one, child of one, or parent of one. Neal and I don't go parading about in uniform to get attention or gratitude...the Army actually requests that he travel in uniform (soldiers in uniform are the ultimate recruiting tool) and I'm with him, so there we are, on a plane, together, looking like Uncle Sam and Ally Army. But it is nice when civilians express appreciation when they see him out and about in his ACU's. I don't expect it, but am somewhat disappointed when people not only omit their thanks, but also plow him down in an attempt to load the plane first. So, let me just say that I was pretty impressed by the way he was treated on this trip. In 5 days he received:

1) Several (and by that, I mean probably a dozen or so) people stopping to shake his hand and thank him for his service (no thank you's to the wife, but we are the forgotten warriors. I bet if I was wearing my "I'm with the soldier" t-shirt, I would have received all kinds of accolades).
2) An offer from the captain of our returning flight from Phoenix to drink for free on him (this was also how I learned that stripes on the sleeve jacket does not indicate seniority in the flight attendants). Neal obviously declined, no worse recruiting tool than a drunk and puking soldier in uniform. Offhandedly, the captain offered it to me. Neal gave me a disapproving look so I drank ginger ale. I don't know what one (or five) tiny vodka and cranberry would have hurt...
3) An offer from the flight attendant to move to first class during the longest leg of our journey. But she only had one seat...not two. 5000 points to Neal: he declined, refusing to leave behind his warrior in an apron. Note: she did not then offer it to me. I might have taken it. But I would have totally sent back champagne and shrimp. I'm not a total bitch.

It sort of redeemed my faith in the American public. Yes, we are still at war and yes, there are still people who openly appreciate Neal's (read: not my) sacrifice for the cause.

We landed in Phoenix around lunchtime on Monday and picked up the rental car from one of the other soldiers in the battalion. Then...we had this conversation:

Me: Y'know...Flagstaff is only about 2 hours away. And it's only noon. We could totally get up there and back before the manager's reception starts. Have you ever been to the Grand Canyon?
Neal: I'm sure I have...that's not to say I remember it. Well, we have all day. That sounds good. What time do they close?
Me: I don't know. Let me check (furious typing on BlackBerry Storm, accompanied by slew of curse words because the "new" phone they gave me to replace the one that flickered has a screen that sticks). OK, I've got the National Parks Service website pulled up. Oh. Uh-oh.
Neal: What?
Me: Umm...winter weather advisory for Flag. Accumulating snow, 30 degree temps. I sure as hell did not fly 8 hours to go back to 30 degrees. I only brought flip flops.
Neal: There's always next summer. Well, next next summer.

Thus the dream of going to the Grand Canyon backed by 8 minutes of planning died a quick death.

Me: We could go to Tempe. Arizona State is there.
Neal: Does Tempe have food?
Me: Probably. (Man cannot subsist on oatmeal and trail mix alone. Although I'm sure a vodka and cranberry could have held him over).

We found Tempe. And a parking space that cost 25 cents per 10 minutes!

Dear Tempe,
In case you were unaware, Phoenix is Ground Zero for home foreclosures and unemployment. Charging $1.50 to park for an hour is like asking someone on food stamps to pay to pee in public. Also? Perhaps you would like to take the money you are robbing us of, hand over fist, and invest it in some parking meters that accept credit cards. I hate being limited by the amount of change in my wallet.
Love,
A tourist with some rare extra quarters

We found a Mediterranean restaurant with the most fabulous kabobs and hummus. It was a pricey lunch, but authentic and delish. This was also where I learned not to trust Neal when he says "oh you should try this pepper. It's really not that spicy." My tongue and the whole left side of my cheek went numb. I didn't regain sensation until we were in the hippy store with the bongs displayed in the back. Bongs have come a long way since 2000...or so I've heard.

After lunch, we headed over to Camelback Mountain and hiked around the base a bit. I was in dress pants and flip flops and the sun was going down. Hiking to the summit had crossed our minds. We decided against it in favor of heading back in time for the manager's reception. Good thing. We hiked the summit on Friday morning. I wouldn't have lasted 10 minutes in flip flops. And I'm still walking a little funny from the effort. It's Monday.


The manager's reception is chips/salsa + free wine + free beer + free well liquor for 2 hours. It's a lot like being at a Catholic wedding (or funeral for that matter) without the hour-long mass. 6 glasses of wine in, I became whiny and aggressive and decided to call it quits. Nobody likes that girl...including Neal who finally said "are you finished?" We ate a pizza...we watched some CNN...we crashed. At like 9 PM (which is 11 our time, so don't judge me). Neal started his conference at 8 AM Tuesday morning and I had a rental car to pick up. We needed our beauty sleep.

To all of those who expressed such heartfelt thoughts and prayers last Monday: thank you, thank you, thank you! I felt each and every one of them. It was a milestone date and I'm glad to have it behind me. Life is still one day at a time but that would only be upsetting if I had expected anything different.

Tomorrow: Tuesday's fun (Budget Rental gives me an "economy car" with 8 cylinders and Neal and I lunch at a restaurant with Jaguars and Maserati's in the parking lot).