Springtime in Arizona

We lived in Arizona for twenty-five years, then my wife and I moved to Nebraska to be close to our grandkids. Our lives were busy, so I rarely thought about my home state. A few years ago, I felt nostalgic for my old stomping grounds, so we bought a condo in Scottsdale to escape the Nebraska winters. 

Every morning before breakfast, I walk the desert hills of our neighborhood. The weather is perfect and spring wildflowers are now blooming everywhere. There is a stillness to the Arizona atmosphere that I have seldom encountered elsewhere. I used to say that there were two places in the world where you could deplane and immediately know your location by the feel of the air. One was Hawaii and the other Arizona. Different feel for each, but each unique. I also miss the desert landscape. Nebraska is flat, but in every direction, the Arizona skyline is serrated with craggy hills and mountains.

If it doesn't bite, and it's not poisonous, then it's not native.

Since I used to winter in San Diego, I could get good Mexican food anytime I wanted, but I forgot that Mexican food in Arizona is spicier and the variety is greater. Not as many taco shops, but more high-end restaurants, some of which serve outstanding Mexico City cuisine.

The homes have a style unlike any other region of the country. Land is cheap, the temperature hot, and slab foundations means that even the largest homes are single-story with windows deeply recessed into the walls to ward off the sun. The architecture gives neighborhoods a spread-out, open feel that's close to the ground. The big sky and vibrant colors invite you to enjoy the outdoors.

I encountered something I didn't like. With boom-town growth, traffic has become increasingly clogged, especially during work traffic hours. It's not as bad as Los Angeles but frustrating just the same. When we moved to Phoenix in 1991, it took me thirty minutes to drive to work in off-hours and thirty-five minutes in work traffic. A five-minute penalty. That's all. That was nearly thirty years ago, and the city's breathless growth has never paused. Now it's congestion galore.

Phoenix is called the Valley of the Sun. It's a fitting description because the sun dictates so much of life, architecture, and clothing styles. The sun isn't just a hot ball in the sky. Arizona has some of the best sunrises and sunsets in the world. And great nights. There is nothing like a cocktail and swim after supper in the warmth of a summer evening.

Damn. If my grandchildren weren't so cute, I'd move back full-time in a heartbeat.

Pine, AZ, a short drive from Scottsdale

How many New York minutes can you cram into nine days?

We have three grandchildren in New York City and we try to visit them as often as we can muster up the energy and coin. Let’s see, we were there nine days. In that time, we saw a Yankee’s game, celebrated our son’s birthday, celebrated our granddaughter’s birthday, watched our two grandsons play collectively ten—count them, ten—lacrosse games, saw our youngest grandson play two baseball games, watched our granddaughter perform in a school production of Pirates of Penzance, attended our grandson’s First Communion, ate innumerable meals in restaurants, and rode in countless cabs, ubers, and car services. All this, while being entertained by a new bernedoodle puppy that made the energizer bunny look languid. We even snuck in some private time to tour Radio City Music Hall on tickets we bought two years ago.

I know I forgot tons. The entire week is a blur. We’re a couple of retirees who on most days lumber from room to room to get enough exercise to laze about some more. When my wife yells that we need to go to CVS tomorrow, I mutter that she ruined my entire day. If it’s CVS and the hardware store, I get out my iPhone and schedule the chockablock activities in my calendar app.

We love New York, and we really do love all the activity, especially when the weather doesn’t mug us. This was not one of those visits. My son never leaves a Yankee game early, but in the top of the eighth, the stadium turned into the biggest icebox on the planet. A near capacity crowd was thinned to a few guys hawking sodas before the Yankees came to bat. We left our hotel in fine weather to walk to Radio City Music Hall. Halfway there, it turned blustery, cold, and wet. Us, without an umbrella or decent coats. We even entered the restaurant after our grandson’s first communion drenched, with teeth chattering. Last Saturday, the weather for the lacrosse games was perfect. Perfect. It was a trick. On Sunday we were smart enough to wear layers, but twenty wouldn’t have been enough. It went down to forty with gusts of hurricane proportions that made me understand what chilled to the bone really meant. I’ve posted recently about the springtime snow in Omaha. New York likes to do the chill bit without the pretty white fluffy stuff.

In the end, it was all good. We hit the Big Apple at the perfect time to see all three grandchildren strut their stuff, and we got in on some nifty celebrations. But we were exhausted by our last day. 

As we drove back into the city from some farm that boasted plenty of lacrosse fields, my daughter called from Omaha. She wanted to know what time we flew in that night. What’s up, I asked. Our Omaha grandson wanted to know if we could make it back in time for his Sunday evening baseball game.

Happy Mother's Day

True story

We asked our grandson what he was giving his mom for Mother's Day, and he said he made something in school. Then he asked if his mom would give my wife a gift. When told yes, he asked if she would give her mom a gift. My wife explained that her mom was called Gi, and she had died last year. He hardly paused before saying, "Then you can give her a prayer."

Six Makes Magic

My wife and I just finished a perfect vacation in Southern California. Our daughter and son’s families have returned to their homes and everything is now calm and still. What a drag.

Right after Christmas, we flew to San Diego with our daughter’s family, and on New Year’s Eve, we all met up with my son’s family in Laguna Beach. Six grandchildren together. The cousins are between four and ten and they greeted each other with wild enthusiasm … an enthusiasm that never abated over the entire four days. Boy, I want that kind of energy again.

The warm and sunny weather made a perfect respite from the storms lashing our homes in New York and Nebraska. My daughter’s husband went on a Steve Dancy marathon, reading three of the four books in the series. He runs a demanding construction supply business and has difficulty finding time to read with three kids jumping all over him when he gets home. I was flattered he enjoyed the books, and glad he could relax with some of my best friends.

Honest westerns ... filled with dishonest characters.

I had a reading marathon of my own. I rediscovered a favorite author. I read two Stephen Hunter novels and started a third. It had been over a decade since I had read one of his books, and I had forgotten he was an exceptional storyteller and gifted writer. It’s rare nowadays for authors to keep doing top notch work once they have scaled the bestseller lists. When millions of dollars are at stake, deadlines become brutal. Stephen Hunter is an exception. His latest book, The Third Bullet is as well written as his first Bob Lee Swagger novel.

One of my great joys in life used to be reading novels. Since I started writing fiction, I have become so critical it interferes with the pleasure of reading. Instead of being emerged in the story, I keep seeing plot holes, meandering points-of-view, outright errors, sloppy research, and lazy writing. This is not the case with Stephen Hunter books. He writes with a no-nonsense style, moves his stories forward with a sure hand, and polishes the narrative to an impeccable shine. As a Pulitzer Prize winning movie critic, he was required to have a firm understanding of characterization, plot, and pacing. Oh yeah, he also had to know how to write good prose lickety-split.

So, while you wait for the next Steve Dancy Tale, try a Bob Lee Swagger tale. (You can start anywhere since Hunter does a good job of making each book self-contained.)