Yesterday I began the tale of my weekend trip to visit my family back in Arizona. Where I left off, I had just arrived in town and been picked up. From there, it was a drive from downtown out to the old homestead by Scottsdale. It's said to be in Scottsdale, but I believe it's technically inside Phoenix. The neighborhood straddles the line. I don't mean to quibble or appear to desire to be in one city or the other- I just like to be exact. Anyway, it's basically Scottsdale and is definitely a suburban-type neighborhood.
The first thing that tends to happen when I go back is a tour of recent renovations that further eradicate the house of my memories. I'm not against that. The house was a work in project from the first day, and I do have the memories. It's just a bit unsettling. My room disappeared a long time ago, becoming Mom's study and studio. Were I to come home in an inebriated state, I might well wonder why my key opened the door of a stranger's house. Latest on the hit list is the back yard, which has been entirely worked over to include a variety of new amenities and features.
After the tour and catching up (along with a reading of the local newspaper), a nap was called for to supplement the two or so hours of sleep I managed on the bus. There's little to report about that time. I wish I could describe dreams, but I can't say whether there were any, let alone what they might have been. After that, it was time for a hike. Dad is an avid hiker, with a habit of doing so that borders on mania. He picked it up while I was in Boy Scouts, and so long as I lived there, we went hiking together consistently. I hike fairly little out in LA, depending on my practical walking for exercise. I go back to trail hiking whenever I'm back in Arizona. It was a very nice hike, and brought into relief the difference between it and the hiking out in LA. It's more strenuous in Arizona, and more glamorous in LA. The scenery is lovely in both places, but in LA tends to wear very appealing workout clothes, if you understand my meaning.
Directly after the hike, it was time to reconnect with a friend. It so happened that there was a party to which he and I had both been invited. It was to be populated by many people I know only by avatars and user names on the message boards of my friend's website. I took a quick shower, and headed out once again. From the street, there was little indication of a party, but I found it to be alive and well inside two hours after its inception. Food and drink was available in ample supply, as was conversation. I availed myself eagerly of both. The party went late into the night, and a smattering of us headed home in a carpool upon its conclusion.
Sunday, Independence Day, was uneventful. Dinner consisted of chicken nuggets and tater tots. After eating, we went out to the backyard and watched for free the fireworks displays put on by nearby resorts. They were passable. I blame the economy for their apparent lackluster nature. The 5th of July, Independance Day's answer to Boxing Day, was more eventful. A backyard cookout was held to inaugurate a new grill, and was quite well attended. An attempt to cook the bacon-wrapped hotdogs I've come to love in LA ended in ignominious failure, but the rest of the food was very good.
Tuesday I was in town only half the day, leaving around noon. Tune in tomorrow for the thrilling conclusion: The journey back to LA!
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