We slept in this morning, not waking until 6:15. In the still quiet moments of the morning, we slunk out the front door for a walk to the Gila River on the other side of the railroad tracks. While we’ll walk with the romantic notion of catching sight or sound of a distant sandhill crane, we know that by this time in March, that’s a silly idea, but romance is full of silly thoughts.

Aside from a few small, mostly unseen birds and the occasional lumbering semi-truck hauling copper plates from a nearby mining operation, adding their noise to the dawn, we seem to be in the world by ourselves. That is until we reach a spot where an excited dog or two lets us know that they, too, are awake and aware.

It wasn’t our goal to actually see much or even be anywhere, but we needed to get some walking in, even as the cold of eastern Arizona worked furiously to turn us around. Good thing we have at least some small modicum of fortitude and don’t opt for grabbing a siesta at every opportunity, especially when the power of suggestion found in this mural is speaking so loudly.

Back at the Simpson, a friendly voice from the kitchen welcomed us with the good news that coffee was close to being served. With coffee about to flow, breakfast couldn’t be far behind, while previous experience says the exquisiteness of culinary finery on offer wasn’t going to disappoint.

Chef Clayton delivered a homemade concoction of warm coffee cake swathed in a unique cream sauce topped with berries before bringing us a cheesy frittata with spinach and marinated peppers encircled by vegetarian turkey sausage with sweet roasted zucchini and onions. Maybe breakfast here becomes spectacular precisely because it is vegetarian, which forces expectations to be tossed aside as the familiar old staples just won’t work. Of the half-dozen or so meals we’ve been offered at the Simpson, each has been truly inspired and delightful, arriving at the table with a burst of surprise to become a part of the allure of being way out here.

At this point of post-feast, time slows to a crawl. Off in the distance, a nap beckons, but we are pros at remaining awake while offering the appearance of doing nearly nothing. The truth is that we didn’t, in fact, suspend time. Caroline spent some of those moments translating a text about tablet weaving for a friend in Germany, and I wandered about the rustic kitchen, followed by a trip to the rear of the hotel looking to find where my next words would come from so I could get to writing.

Writing, though, doesn’t always arrive just because it is sought after. Looking outward to inspire something inward is really just a wish to avoid sitting down to confront an empty head that is seeking this downtime. Hours passed, along with some rain that came and went. The whipping branches seen through a window are warning us that should we venture out, which is exactly what we must do if we are to eat lunch, we will encounter a blustery wind that could also be carrying a chill. No matter, we are brave when we must be.

Something funny happened on the way to The Ranch House restaurant. A small shop called Country Chic was open, and Caroline apparently was in a shopping mood because we didn’t leave empty-handed. The only reason this was funny is that, while Caroline can always be counted on for wanting to dip into far-and-away shops, it’s a rare day that she buys anything. But this won’t be the only visit to a local store as Clayton recommended a place dripping with a character reminiscent of a different age that we should go to before it no longer exists.

Germaine’s Emporium is that place and with equal parts antiques, junk, and dust, we stepped back in time.

This and the next image brought me right back to my landing in Germany in the mid-80s when the military was still celebrating that Elvis Presley had once been stationed over there. Germany, for that matter, was proud of this distinction.

Somebody out here or multiple people served in the military during the Cold War with an assignment in Europe. These tiles were a popular souvenir for soldiers, along with shot glasses, small plates with similar designs, cuckoo clocks, and World War II memorabilia; I expect to find all of the above here.

Actually, finding stuff here might require a larger investment in time as there are likely tens of thousands of items distributed far and wide among the shelves, rafters, and corners.

There was something John and Caroline’ish about this that demanded the photo and inclusion in this post today.

While she’s graduated to Queen status, you get the point.

And here we are at the World War II memorabilia corner in this shopping mall of antiques; sadly, I can’t find where in my busy life I’d make good use of wearing an old Nazi hat with the ever-iconic SS Totenkopf (Death’s head), and so I’ll have to leave it where it is along with the StG44 rifle that I’m sure is great to carry with me to my local Starbucks or favorite Mexican restaurant but with all my writing and photography chores how would I find the time for that kind of mayhem?

Germaine’s certainly smacks of authenticity as it’s not the kind of spic n’ span kind of antique shop that is meant to appeal to your average clean freak looking for things that might lend authenticity to their fake expensive home. These trinkets and effects are imbued with the ghosts of those who left simple lives behind and their families didn’t know what to do with the junk. I’m sure there are interesting collectibles for others here, but most of the stuff feels like sadness and tragedy to me.

As for the rest of the day, there’s but a blur of conversation, cats, food, smiles, writing, and sewing images floating in an ephemeral cloud of indistinct memories that will be allowed to drift away.