I’m back in the saddle again
Out where a friend is a friend
Where the longhorn cattle feed
On the lowly Jimson weed
Back in the saddle again – Gene Autry
Bill and I arrived back at our Arizona home this past Saturday. Back in the saddle again, so to speak. I wasn’t here more than 10 minutes before I saw my first person wearing a cowboy hat and riding a horse. Right here in Mesa.
In the words of Gene Autry, whoopi-ty-aye-yay.
We will only be here for a few weeks this time, back simply to check and see that our house survived the brutal summer temperatures of the Arizona desert. This summer, it also had to survive some really severe rain and subsequent flooding.
Mostly, it seems to have come through like a champ, though there are always issues.
Our drip system got sick, our garbage disposal is leaking, the tree with which Bill continually wrestles looks like it’s ready to reach out and grab some poor, innocent trick-or-treaters with its thorny branches, and the smell of no-one-living-in-the-house-and-the-temperature-reached-heavens-only-knows-how-high prevails.
My solution to the latter? Cook. Specifically, a red sauce with lots of garlic. When it comes to a battle of odors, I’ll put my money on Team Garlic any day of the week.
When I enter my Arizona house for the first time, I tread carefully, always concerned about the possibility of critters. Thus far we haven’t ever seen a scorpion, but there’s always a first. So far, no scorpions to be found. The worst thing was a long-dead centipede, which didn’t thrill me, but did I mention long-dead?
Being thoroughly cautious (read a Big Fat Chicken), I even made Bill help me strip the bed to make sure there were no visitors lurking deep under the covers (there weren’t).
Sunday afternoon I ventured out to the grocery store to gather a few things for my red sauce. And, of course, some wine. The Snowbirds (of which, admittedly, I am one) are starting to trickle back, but no one rammed into the back of my leg with a grocery cart, so I call that a success.
I will say, however, that we passed many an RV bearing license plates from Minnesota and South Dakota and Saskatchewan and Iowa, all heading to their winter home probably just down the street from me. The locals grit their teeth at our arrival, but we help them pay our bills!
And Bill and I enjoyed our fettucine with a red meat sauce. Yum.