Friends, chairs, mountains, home
November 13, 2009

More Tucson friends - Barb and Bud carved out time for us, too, and as always, we visited, wined and dined at our house and theirs. With Buddy too under the weather to join in a hiking foray, we spent our time relaxing, reading, hot tubbing, and just generally recuperating from the fairly frenetic trip. It seemed just right to take a breather before heading home.

While downtiming, I jaunted over to a furniture store to determine if the perfect living room chairs were there at the perfect price and voila! they were. A great deal not to be passed up, we agreed to pick them up at the warehouse Monday morning as we departed the city. Seemed simple enough; however, the reality was a veritable comedy of errors and changes.

While waiting at the warehouse a substantial period while the pieces were unpacked, treated and reboxed, we perused the attached outlet store where we found the already super prices reduced another $22 apiece. We obtained that additional reduction with pats on our own backs, and I further utilized the wait to find a glider/recliner/ottoman set at $97 that I had to have for the office.

Chris was already sweating out whether the other chairs would fit into our limited space, so was less than enthusiastic. The plan was to remove all the various boxes, fishing tackle, tools and kayaking equipment from the truck camper, stow them in the trailer and put the chairs into the camper.

A good plan, we thought. Turned out that it was a really, really good thing we bought smallish chairs: another eighth inch and we would have been forced to leave them behind. By the time we got those pushed, scraped and finagled into the truck, we had the brainstorm to unbox the office set and stow its parts in the trailer - couldn't leave it in the crate because the packed version was wider than the door.

While waiting for that one to be shuffled over to the loading bay, I thought it might be good to peer inside the first boxes just to be sure we had the correct items. Well, we didn’t; the sales slip indicated the wrong color for one of them, thus the necessity of unloading, waiting more and reloading, and thanking Providence that we checked before we left.

There ya go - nothing to it - and we’re on the road by 1:30. So much for getting home early in the day.

Uneventful drive north, Tucson’s frenetic traffic and noise are no sooner left behind, it seems, than Phoenix’ is upon us. Gratefully missing rush hour in both places, we continue on toward home. The low desert is snap dry, perhaps as sere as I’ve ever seen it. Things look a bit better as we reach nearer to our home elevation, but not a whole lot. We knew the rain that has followed us around the country was not duplicated here at home; now we’re confronted with the evidence.

I don’t think I’ve ever considered how important the mountains are to me, how I place myself in their midst. We pass the Catalinas to the east as we head out of Tucson, later Picacho Peak’s spire shows us the way long before we get to it (I have a painting that Grandma did of it). The familiarity of the various ranges all outlying exactly where they always wait for me - Superstition Mountain, Four Peaks, Camelback. Later, Black Canyon Hill brings us to the top of Sunset Mesa (where Dad last ranched) with the magnificent home range of the Bradshaws shading us to the west, Mingus, Granite Mountain, Granite Dells, San Francisco Peaks and Bill Williams Mountain to the sides with Table Mesa, our Picacho Peak and the Black Hills ahead. We are home.

We enjoyed visiting those we love who live far away, but at the same time missed those we left behind. Son Lewis spent our first evening home with us, and sister Christie came to call on Saturday. She’s a favorite of Rowdy’s, so he settled right in with her.

On the occasion of being home, I am bound to repeat endlessly, “It’s so great to be home.” Chris allows as how he likes being home, too, primarily, he tells me, because it’s easier to plan another trip. I put my fingers in my ears and hum loudly, look at him blankly and yell “What?”.

A journey to be remembered certainly, not necessarily repeated (at least in our incredible shrinking trailer): people met, places experienced, dreams fulfilled, difficulties overcome, nerves tried, relationship honed, memories stored. And without spending any time exclusively birding, we ended up with a trip list of 147, including 18 life birds.

It will seem odd not to be blogging; the process has been troublesome at times, occasionally a burden, but well worth the effort by enabling me to share the journey. What next?