didn’t like, I didn’t argue with her. I knew that as soon as she saw the place, Sedona would seduce her.
When we turned north on State Road 179, I had a flashback to my trip with Dan Ostergaard. Though a lot has changed in five decades, the impact of the red rocks when they first heave into view remains undiluted.
As soon as Gretchen saw Court House Butte, she stopped carping. Though my wife can be very persistent in cataloguing my shortcomings and explaining her position on any topic, she ceased all complaints and criticisms.
As we drove deeper into the red rock country, she had no reluctance to describe each new geologic delight with unbridled enthusiasm. It was the most rapid, complete, and comprehensive attitude transformation that I’d seen in our long marriage.
While we drove north toward Uptown Sedona, Gretchen pulled out her cell phone, called her mom, and informed her that she was selling our house and we were moving to Sedona. No kidding. Talk about seduction.
We checked into L’Auberge, a fancy hotel east of Uptown Sedona that’s situated along a breathtaking stretch of Oak Creek. L’Auberge offers separate cabins with every possible amenity, but we chose to stay in the lodge.
The ambiance of our room exceeded our highest expectations. I can summarize our entire morning by saying that I’d never heard Gretchen use the word “wow” so often or with so much enthusiasm. In a weak moment, she admitted that she was glad that I’d insisted on this trip.
After we unpacked, I took my bride to lunch at Tlaquepaque, a swank shopping mall built to look like a simple Sonoran village near Oak Creek, south of Uptown Sedona. Did I mention that they served a killer Margarita in the Mexican restaurant there?
I drink because I do my best investigative work if I’m relaxed. I use alcoholic beverages for professional or medicinal purposes. Seriously. To acclimate to the altitude in Sedona from our sea level life in Tampa, Gretchen and I spent that afternoon at Tlaquepaque.
The faux Mexican mall did not exist in my day. Sedona has changed. It’s no longer the art-influenced, laid-back, southwestern cowboy village of my youth. In the 60s, artists lived in Sedona and Oak Creek Canyon. The place is too gorgeous not to attract talented people.
Back then we called these artists hippies . While I risked my life in Vietnam, the hippies wore flowers in their hair and cavorted naked in Oak Creek. They smoked Bob Marley-sized joints of marijuana to mellow them out for their marathon sexual activities.
Do I sound envious? Perhaps I am, a little.
I’ve struggled to survive in 100-degree heat with 100 percent humidity while motivated North Vietnamese sappers did their best to blow me to smithereens. I could have stayed home, dodged the draft, and experimented with drugs. Thus fortified, could I have instead chased some sexy, nubile, blonde hippie nymphomaniac around Cathedral Rock? Hmmm, it’s a tough choice.
The New Age movement hit Sedona several years after I left Arizona State to attend law school. This trip was my first experience with the phenomenon. Even after watching videos on the internet and talking to experts at the Center for New Age and Crystal Vortex emporiums in Sedona, I’m still not sure what it is.
I like the music. There’s a tune called “Adiemus” that a website plays as it scrolls through pictures of Bell Rock and other Sedona sites. “Adiemus” is a soothing New-Age chant of unintelligible gibberish. I play it before I sit down to take my blood pressure. It’s good for a five-point drop after a rough day. Maybe that’s the miracle of New Age philosophy.
After additional Margaritas, I called the hotel shuttle for the short ride back to L’Auberge. In Tampa, I work with a lady who’s a major player in Mothers Against Drunk Driving. It took me far too long, but—because of her example—I recognize what an irresponsible shit I had been during a couple of decades in my life. Though I’ve
When we turned north on State Road 179, I had a flashback to my trip with Dan Ostergaard. Though a lot has changed in five decades, the impact of the red rocks when they first heave into view remains undiluted.
As soon as Gretchen saw Court House Butte, she stopped carping. Though my wife can be very persistent in cataloguing my shortcomings and explaining her position on any topic, she ceased all complaints and criticisms.
As we drove deeper into the red rock country, she had no reluctance to describe each new geologic delight with unbridled enthusiasm. It was the most rapid, complete, and comprehensive attitude transformation that I’d seen in our long marriage.
While we drove north toward Uptown Sedona, Gretchen pulled out her cell phone, called her mom, and informed her that she was selling our house and we were moving to Sedona. No kidding. Talk about seduction.
We checked into L’Auberge, a fancy hotel east of Uptown Sedona that’s situated along a breathtaking stretch of Oak Creek. L’Auberge offers separate cabins with every possible amenity, but we chose to stay in the lodge.
The ambiance of our room exceeded our highest expectations. I can summarize our entire morning by saying that I’d never heard Gretchen use the word “wow” so often or with so much enthusiasm. In a weak moment, she admitted that she was glad that I’d insisted on this trip.
After we unpacked, I took my bride to lunch at Tlaquepaque, a swank shopping mall built to look like a simple Sonoran village near Oak Creek, south of Uptown Sedona. Did I mention that they served a killer Margarita in the Mexican restaurant there?
I drink because I do my best investigative work if I’m relaxed. I use alcoholic beverages for professional or medicinal purposes. Seriously. To acclimate to the altitude in Sedona from our sea level life in Tampa, Gretchen and I spent that afternoon at Tlaquepaque.
The faux Mexican mall did not exist in my day. Sedona has changed. It’s no longer the art-influenced, laid-back, southwestern cowboy village of my youth. In the 60s, artists lived in Sedona and Oak Creek Canyon. The place is too gorgeous not to attract talented people.
Back then we called these artists hippies . While I risked my life in Vietnam, the hippies wore flowers in their hair and cavorted naked in Oak Creek. They smoked Bob Marley-sized joints of marijuana to mellow them out for their marathon sexual activities.
Do I sound envious? Perhaps I am, a little.
I’ve struggled to survive in 100-degree heat with 100 percent humidity while motivated North Vietnamese sappers did their best to blow me to smithereens. I could have stayed home, dodged the draft, and experimented with drugs. Thus fortified, could I have instead chased some sexy, nubile, blonde hippie nymphomaniac around Cathedral Rock? Hmmm, it’s a tough choice.
The New Age movement hit Sedona several years after I left Arizona State to attend law school. This trip was my first experience with the phenomenon. Even after watching videos on the internet and talking to experts at the Center for New Age and Crystal Vortex emporiums in Sedona, I’m still not sure what it is.
I like the music. There’s a tune called “Adiemus” that a website plays as it scrolls through pictures of Bell Rock and other Sedona sites. “Adiemus” is a soothing New-Age chant of unintelligible gibberish. I play it before I sit down to take my blood pressure. It’s good for a five-point drop after a rough day. Maybe that’s the miracle of New Age philosophy.
After additional Margaritas, I called the hotel shuttle for the short ride back to L’Auberge. In Tampa, I work with a lady who’s a major player in Mothers Against Drunk Driving. It took me far too long, but—because of her example—I recognize what an irresponsible shit I had been during a couple of decades in my life. Though I’ve
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