The Agony and the Ecstasy

Really, you have got to see this!

Where was I? Oh, yes, yesterday (Tuesday, April 22) I looked forward to hiking in the Coronado National Forest Tucson, about 30 minutes from Benson. Following a very productive writing session and medi-health appointment on the smoke-free people-free patio of the Comfort Inn, I returned to the room, threw on my hiking clothes, and dragged Mike out of the chair. A quick stop at Safeway to pick up items for a picnic lunch (sandwich, chips, and cookies, no prepared veggies available) and we were on our way.

Here is critical information: The Coronado National Forest spans sixteen scattered mountain ranges or "sky islands" rising dramatically from the desert floor. That is an actual quote from the website. Sixteen scattered mountain ranges COVERING ABOUT 1.78 MILLION ACRES. Google led us to an old cattle road and became stubbornly silent. Parked in the dusty corral, unable to get reliable internet service, and now getting hungry, we headed back toward Tucson, which, as you know, is at least 30 minutes from Benson, the other direction.

Sensing our dissatisfaction,Google scurried to locate a worthy picnic site, placating us with the Gene Reid City Park where we enjoyed our lunch, strolled through the rose garden and, stepping past several homeless residents, admired a plethora (love that word) of dinner-plate size turtles as we traversed the duck ponds. At this time of year I review the Christmas cards and letters we received in December. I had thrown them in our lunch bag. It was a beautiful day to go through them and think about our friends, many of whom we rarely see.

Lacking any enthusiasm to drive over 60 minutes to Sierra Vista for trivia (30 to Benson, 30 beyond), we opted to visit Postino's in Tucson for a drink on the patio. Mike pulled up a photo from a previous trip to Prescott where we trounced all others in trivia in the hotel bar. In fairness, we were the only ones playing. I pulled up a trivia phone app. We answered some questions and called it good before heading back to the hotel, now over 30 minutes away.

Inactivity, altered diet, and frustration with plans were catching up with us. By this morning, I was looking forward to finishing up the day and heading home. We packed our bags, deep diving to locate my hiking hat, nowhere to be found, having disappeared in the 150 feet from the car to the room. The hat holds sentimental value. I purchased it several years ago from Sunday Afternoons, when I joined with several other women to form the Bazooka Babes in the Susan B. Koman 3-Day Walk for breast cancer. Although I participated in Phoenix only one year, I supported friends who walked at other times and in other places. I fear the hat is gone from my life forever, joining three white sweaters and a black sweater in the lost-in-travel universe.

But on to the day and the joyous discovery that Kartchner Caverns State Park is only 20 minutes from the hotel! Read carefully: if you are in Arizona for any length of time, get your butts down here! Oh my, one can't describe these caverns. The young men who discovered the caverns in 1974 took immediate steps to protect them so, unlike Colossal Caves, which endured years of capitalistic destruction, these caverns are maintained allowing for preservation, study, and tourism. It is even wheelchair friendly! Reservations are necessary.

The visit wasn't without its frustrations, signage being inaccurate and my misplacing my visor temporarily. If you must purchase souvenirs, I recommend the gift shop at Colossal Caves. *Note to my friend I will call Betty who asked if I hiked at the caverns: Several signs warning of snakes in the area put me off any hiking. Ready to return to a semblance of normal, we headed toward home looking forward to a stop at the Windmill Winery Tasting Room in Florence.

ED and I had discovered this winery a few weeks ago when we went to an outdoor opera near Tucson. We live in what is referred to as the west valley. Florence doesn't even make the east. That there was anything of beauty in Florence was a surprise. Checking the website, I trusted the tasting room would be open and the staff ready to greet us and offer some decent food. We pulled into the parking lot as a tour bus pulled into another lot. I could see a buffet set up in the yard, black-and-white bedecked staff waiting to serve, tables set with white linens and crystal. The staff was ready to greet, but not us. Their eager smiles relaxed slightly when they realized that we had not emerged from the bus, their gaze now focused over our heads. Racing to beat the crowd, we ran into the tasting room.

"Is the grill open?"

"Everyday but today."

This is Florence. We were hungry, but the leaf-shaded yard with its comfy couches beckoned. Mike snuck in a bag of trail mix as I ordered wine. We enjoyed our apéritif, concealed from the elite tourists nibbling their lunch and sipping wine behind trees and shrubbery. Although the wine was excellent and the trail mix Trader Joe quality, I announced the need for proper food.

My faith in Google refuses to die. We were delighted to find the Stone and Vine Urban Italian restaurant in Chandler. I ordered an old fashion. There seems to be a pattern around these old fashions. It was not nearly as good as the one in Tombstone, but that was all bourbon, and of course, not nearly perfect as my daughter-in-law's.

Well-fed, we joined the rush hour home. And here I write. In my shed. Sipping a wine spritzer. And feeling some relief from the news that the buyers of ED's house accepted the terms and are awaiting the appraisal. My deepest regret is that we missed the Forever Home Donkey Rescue and Sanctuary.

*Since writing this, the buyers were rejected for their loan. The house will be

back on the market.

*Since writing that, the buyers are back in with different loan terms.

*I think I need an old fashion.