Wednesday: Shawn has been living in Mesa for two years now. He has picked up a lot of Spanish. As the manager of non-English speaking Mexicans at his store, he has to talk to them in Spanish. He tells me their immigration status is questionable, but the rule of thumb in Arizona is don't ask, don't tell! To get hired, they have to have their "paperwork," which is probably phony. But if they presented it, real or bogus, the management is off the hook.
For Thanksgiving weekend 2006, six months after Shawn left Savannah, we flew to Phoenix. On Thursday, we rented a car, and the four of us drove north to the Grand Canyon. It was freezing!
Looking at Shawn's picture in front of the Canyon, you'd never suspect how cold it was, but nothing short of 25 below would chill him anymore, a result of his years doing outdoor construction during winter in Maine. We spent the day at the Canyon, then checked into a motel in Flagstaff that evening. The next day, on the way back to Phoenix, we stopped at Sedona, an adorable pseudo-hippie artistic community.
We found a nature trail leading up a red-rocked mountain and took an invigorating hike for the entire afternoon. By evening, we were back in Phoenix. We spent the third day running around Phoenix, and on Sunday, we returned to Savannah. Flying east is an all-day proposition with the time change. Flying west, on other hand, is delightful. Nothing like arriving at about the same time you departed.
Talking about Arizona in my last blog reminded me of this trip, so I'm writing this very short entry about it.
No comments:
Post a Comment