Nearing late afternoon in Tempe, late April touching 91 degrees F, waiting to pickup Eileen coming in from Denver.
Crow, a street performing friend lives in Tucson. After blueberry pancakes this morning drove to his place for coffee before heading north. Married to a Korean wife, she’s visiting family and is away, when she returns will travel to Port Townsend to work as a sushi cook for summer. Crow’s wife is more than qualified. Crow will join her but she’ll fly and he’ll drive after a few weeks— once the misery of missing his wife sets in.
Linda hosted the impetuous one and the van she doesn’t much understand in her circular driveway since Saturday. Before pushing off this morning I cut off a few rare cactus leafs and have them stored in a box ready for transplanting when I get back to California.
Monday I traveled further south from Tucson to Mexican frontier border region to visit friends that make their home in Patagonia. Dinner was a glory of simplicity, celebrated with three Golden retrievers, one still a pup— Patagonia verges on sacred-small town-eccentric-beloved-gift to all right and good about the American Southwest. Thank you Jessica and Geoff for your welcome.
Here in Phoenix for a spell, figure we’ll push off by Friday. There is a daughter and her near grown children here. We have by time been cast in the movie as the grandparents— I’ll get over this mistake. Push that all aside I do love my daughter, like her alt-dad she possesses a crushing humor— I prefer to think of her wit as the original source of gallows humor— she makes me laugh until my gut hurts—
Missing from this visit is spotting cactus wrens, none were seen. Maybe I’m an unlucky fisherman, don’t know.
One more impression— while passing back north Border Patrol agent asked if I had anyone else in my van with me while I was passing through a checkpoint north of Sierra Vista, I answered true— they believed me, probably my California plates, and let me pass without a search—
