climbed in.
Just my luck, the kid was a chip off the ol’ Townsend blockhead. Good grief.
“Better fasten your seatbelt, Tressa,” he instructed once I’d taken a seat.
I buckled up. I had a feeling it was gonna be a bumpy ride.
It’s a one hundred forty-five mile drive on Interstate 17 from Phoenix to Flagstaff. Roughly two hours. But between my uncle Ben operating his vehicle like he was driving Miss Daisy or the hearse in a funeral procession and Rick Townsend’s nephew audition-ing for a role as an inflamed hemorrhoid, the trip felt longer than the Easter sunrise service when you know a free hot cakes and sausage breakfast featur-ing Abigail Winegardner’s sticky buns (yeast variety) follow.
Aunt Kay had two spare bedrooms with full-sized beds, and my cousin Sophie had room to host one. My folks had dibs on one of Kay’s spare rooms, and Craig and Kimmie on the other. Initially Gram was going to bunk with Sophie for two nights (so not Sophie’s choice) before moving with the wedding party to The Titan Hotel, a legendary log hotel built in the early 1900s and within walking distance of the south rim of the Grand Canyon. Later it was decided that since we were “guests,” Sophie would share the sofa bed in the rec room with Taylor or me.
Taylor and I duked it out for a spot with either So-phie or Gram for the duration. After a rock, paper, scissors marathon, I won. Sophie and the sofa bed was my choice. Like you didn’t see that coming. I’d been housemates with Hellion Hannah for over six months now, and no way was I going to spend four nights with someone who is “underpants optional” in sleeping at-tire, or listening to my grandma’s graphic prognostica-tions on how her wedding night would play out. One for the ol’ fast-forward button here, folks. Bleah.
The short ceremony would take place in the impres-sive hotel lobby with the massive stone fireplace as backdrop, the odd moose or buck head on the wall as a witness. Ranger Rick would feel right at home.
The Townsends had reserved rooms at a nearby re-sort hotel near the south rim for the first few days of their stay so they could spend some time exploring the canyon and local tourist spots before moving to The Titan. The Web site tour of the hotel spotlighted a humongous heated pool and gorgeous terrace, views to die for, several classy restaurants, plus amenities like a Jacuzzi hot tub—not to mention room service—and had me drooling like Butch and Sundance when a stray bitch wandered by. (Uh, yoo hoo! I’m talking about my two hairy Labradors here. Straighten up, y’-hear?)
Always one to look for the upside, I consoled myself by the fact that a certain relentless ring bearer with a forte for getting under my skin—talk about your in-herited traits—would be miles away from Flagstaff and yours truly.
We all met up at Aunt Kay and Uncle Ben’s house to unload the vehicles, use the restrooms, and grab a bite to eat before the Townsends took off to check in at their luxury accommodations. My aunt and uncle live in a northeastern section of Flagstaff with a country club golf course visible from their front windows and a spectacular view of Mount Eldon from their bedroom. The couple had relocated to Arizona more than twenty years earlier when Uncle Ben decided his muse was calling him west to the land of sharp, evocative contrasts and ever-changing beauty. Here in a state with red rocks, towering green pines, and flowering cacti, Uncle Ben found a connection to the land andpeople that filled the well of his creativity. See? Only here a day and I’m already waxing poetic.
Meanwhile, the professorial position at the college filled his wallet and paid the bills until he’d estab-lished enough success with his paintings and sculp-tures to quit and devote his time to his art. Aunt Kay, a marketing coordinator for the Flagstaff Public Library and an avid reader, thrived at her job, which included bringing popular authors in for book talks
Just my luck, the kid was a chip off the ol’ Townsend blockhead. Good grief.
“Better fasten your seatbelt, Tressa,” he instructed once I’d taken a seat.
I buckled up. I had a feeling it was gonna be a bumpy ride.
It’s a one hundred forty-five mile drive on Interstate 17 from Phoenix to Flagstaff. Roughly two hours. But between my uncle Ben operating his vehicle like he was driving Miss Daisy or the hearse in a funeral procession and Rick Townsend’s nephew audition-ing for a role as an inflamed hemorrhoid, the trip felt longer than the Easter sunrise service when you know a free hot cakes and sausage breakfast featur-ing Abigail Winegardner’s sticky buns (yeast variety) follow.
Aunt Kay had two spare bedrooms with full-sized beds, and my cousin Sophie had room to host one. My folks had dibs on one of Kay’s spare rooms, and Craig and Kimmie on the other. Initially Gram was going to bunk with Sophie for two nights (so not Sophie’s choice) before moving with the wedding party to The Titan Hotel, a legendary log hotel built in the early 1900s and within walking distance of the south rim of the Grand Canyon. Later it was decided that since we were “guests,” Sophie would share the sofa bed in the rec room with Taylor or me.
Taylor and I duked it out for a spot with either So-phie or Gram for the duration. After a rock, paper, scissors marathon, I won. Sophie and the sofa bed was my choice. Like you didn’t see that coming. I’d been housemates with Hellion Hannah for over six months now, and no way was I going to spend four nights with someone who is “underpants optional” in sleeping at-tire, or listening to my grandma’s graphic prognostica-tions on how her wedding night would play out. One for the ol’ fast-forward button here, folks. Bleah.
The short ceremony would take place in the impres-sive hotel lobby with the massive stone fireplace as backdrop, the odd moose or buck head on the wall as a witness. Ranger Rick would feel right at home.
The Townsends had reserved rooms at a nearby re-sort hotel near the south rim for the first few days of their stay so they could spend some time exploring the canyon and local tourist spots before moving to The Titan. The Web site tour of the hotel spotlighted a humongous heated pool and gorgeous terrace, views to die for, several classy restaurants, plus amenities like a Jacuzzi hot tub—not to mention room service—and had me drooling like Butch and Sundance when a stray bitch wandered by. (Uh, yoo hoo! I’m talking about my two hairy Labradors here. Straighten up, y’-hear?)
Always one to look for the upside, I consoled myself by the fact that a certain relentless ring bearer with a forte for getting under my skin—talk about your in-herited traits—would be miles away from Flagstaff and yours truly.
We all met up at Aunt Kay and Uncle Ben’s house to unload the vehicles, use the restrooms, and grab a bite to eat before the Townsends took off to check in at their luxury accommodations. My aunt and uncle live in a northeastern section of Flagstaff with a country club golf course visible from their front windows and a spectacular view of Mount Eldon from their bedroom. The couple had relocated to Arizona more than twenty years earlier when Uncle Ben decided his muse was calling him west to the land of sharp, evocative contrasts and ever-changing beauty. Here in a state with red rocks, towering green pines, and flowering cacti, Uncle Ben found a connection to the land andpeople that filled the well of his creativity. See? Only here a day and I’m already waxing poetic.
Meanwhile, the professorial position at the college filled his wallet and paid the bills until he’d estab-lished enough success with his paintings and sculp-tures to quit and devote his time to his art. Aunt Kay, a marketing coordinator for the Flagstaff Public Library and an avid reader, thrived at her job, which included bringing popular authors in for book talks
Similar Books
