June is bustin' out all over!
... the mercury, that is.
Dang it! I just burned the bottoms of my feet helping DH carry in the groceries, all the while hopping around our drive like a lunatic.
Never fear! The weatherman promises temps will be dropping to 109 by mid-week.
I know, I know. "Optimistic" am I. (not)
Thank you so much for your well-wishes! DH and I did enjoy a wonderful holiday weekend in the White Mountains.
Last year, one of my managers and his wife parlayed an inheritance into a 'mom-and-pop' 50's era motel in Pinetop.
When Stephan talks about their 'little place' there's a sparkle in his eyes I've not seen in the 13 years we've known one another.
I knew I had to investigate!
|I don't think I've seen folks playing horseshoe since I was in Girl Scouts!|
Now, if anyone has a pretentious bone in their body, they'd be well to keep on driving. Then again, if anyone needs a refresher course in the real meaning of hospitality, I recommend they check out Antlers!
|No, I didn't say that on account of what was waiting for us inside.|
Since DH is still prone to nocturnal panic attacks (my diagnosis) - and failed to pack his inhaler, I was mighty glad I'd opted for their largest guest room. It could have just been his getting acclimated to the near 7,000' altitude, but sleep wasn't an option. Thank goodness, by Day #2 he was feeling fine!
Eerily reminiscent of my hometown, I'm pretty sure, if I'd visited the White Mountains back in 2002 there's little chance I'd be living in Phoenix. Even Tom commented, "It smells so clean!"
20 years ago, taking a 4 hour spin was no big deal. These days we're not so enthusiastic.
Wouldn't it be nice if someone were to start an armchair shuttle service? Niche market!
The nicest surprise?
Unbeknownst to me, DH had been doing some detective work for weeks prior to our trip.
Brief background, if I may?
A preacher's kid - later turned seaman - my father never knew what it was like to live someplace you owned. Supposedly, one of the first things he did upon being discharged by the Navy was buy a little spot of undeveloped land in Rhode Island.
Even for most of their years in Los Alamos, housing was controlled by Uncle Sam.
Still, daddy was passionate about becoming a land owner ... believing developers' promises from Florida to New Mexico to the Bahamas and back again to Florida.
You know, those "$1 down, $1 a month" deals.
Unfortunately, like episodes from Murphy's Law, if he speculated on the east side of the street -- the west flourished.
Eventually, my mother quit paying the taxes on the few remaining parcels of 'nothing' real estate.
The only remaining parcel - a spit of undeveloped land in Show Low, Arizona - seemed destined to the same fate.
I'm not sure why I've continued to pay the pitifully small tax bill each year. Maybe it's a warped sense of loyalty. I don't know.
At any rate, Tom made several calls to the Property Assessor's office and spent hours online, trying to get directions to Paradise Unit 1, Lot 540.
After breakfast we took a 10 minute drive to Show Low ...then off the pavement and seemingly, the face of the earth!
We spied a few residences, probably belonging to 'preppers' - but only one motorist, who slowed for a closer look, chuckled at our misdirection and set us back on the right course.
You know, I never really believed I'd see Daddy's land.
In fact, for the first part of our BACK-road adventure I was hoping Tom would just turn around and go back to civilization!
I might have grown misty-eyed, were I not so worried about stepping on a rattlesnake!
Tom echoed my thoughts as we drove away,
"If I was 20 years younger ...."
God willing and the creek don't rise, I'll be back!
Luv y'all! :)))