PASSIONATE RATIONS

Oy vey. It’s been well over a month since my last post. Unacceptable. I used to be so…regular…and all. I resolve to do better, perhaps returning to my Monday/Thursday scheme. We shall see.

Thanks for the worried inquiries. Apparently my last post made some people think I’d fallen into some health crisis involving the loss of teeth, which accounted for my absence from the blog-o-sphere. No. Me and my toothy(less) grin are just fine. Too busy is all.

Phoenix. I blame Phoenix. In part.

I spent a bit of mid-September there in bliss. The dry desert heat flung me right back to that portion of my childhood that was spent in east Texas and I sorely lamented not bringing my cowboy boots (or bathing suit) with me on the trip. (No, I haven’t been without a pair of cowboy boots since I was eleven. They rock.).

When someone complained about a scorpion in their shower stall I sighed. Aaah. The golden memories of youth.

Be careful, parents, if you move your children around a lot. Bits and pieces of each place will lodge in your loved ones’ hearts and minds like a scorpion sting, bringing up powerful emotions later in life.

Something about that wide open southwestern sky simply calls to me, but my spouse (never having lived under that sky) does not understand. We talk of someday’s retirement and my spouse looks northwestward, while I yearn southward. Hmmmm. Perhaps RVs really ARE the answer to happy golden years.

Well, in the meantime, thank goodness for airplanes. And desert resorts. The Arizona Biltmore Resort & Spa is one of the top three places I’ve ever stayed (the others being a resort in Maui and one just up the street from Phoenix in Scottsdale–which I need to recall the names of one of these days). Frank Lloyd Wright was a consulting architect. I loves ya, Frankie-baby!

How do people become travel journalists again? Probably helps to remember the names of the resorts you stay at….

Annnnyway, the Biltmore food was outstanding, so I won’t even go into details. Just go to the resort. Eat. You’ll like it. And don’t forget your bathing suit. They have eight pools, one of which was Marilyn Monroe’s favorite.

Also found a local hideout, called, appropriately, Dick’s Hideaway. “Found” is the wrong word, really. Was directed there by a Phoenix-resident who happens to be on the board which was the whole reason I was in Phoenix in the first place. Always talk to the natives. They know things. Like where to get the best prickly pear margarita. Don’t look for a sign, though. You won’t find it. Just look for the first door to the right of the bougainvillea.

Now, if I can just keep my Phoenix memories burning through to what is promising to be a stressful end to the year. A margarita might help….