The end of the year is rolling around and also our final journey of 2023. We are heading to the opposite of extravaganza by taking ourselves east to Duncan, Arizona. Do not pity us or insinuate that we will be deprived in this town of under 700 people because as soon as we get out of Phoenix, we are escaping illegal fireworks and gunfire. It’s not just from New Year’s celebrations: this noise has been going on since just before Christmas. Combined with the proliferation of “Slammed Trucks” (lowered to the ground and super loud) and the usual Harley Davidson Wolfpack morons whose modified vehicles often produce up to 125db of sound, living in Phoenix becomes more and more depressing.
Knowing that we’d be going east on the 60, we packed a healthy appetite as Guayo’s El Rey in Miami was on our path. One does not drive by this town where the best steak smothered in green chili and cheese is found. On our drive to Miami, Caroline was busy reading aloud Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time in the belief that we were about to finish the sixth volume and could start the seventh and final volume titled Time Regained, meaning we are likely under 225,000 words remaining in this 1.2 million word super novel. But no, we are not about to crack volume seven, as volume six has a fourth chapter. Well, at least we are past page 3,000. Rest assured, we’ll miss Proust when this comes to an end.
Barely a week after the solstice, the days are still short, which is nothing to complain about when one finds oneself deep in the big dark desert on a cloudless, moonless night with the Milky Way directly overhead, motioning for us to pull over for some proper gawking. A resounding “whoa!” wasn’t only offered to the celestial display as at 3,500 feet of elevation (over 1,000 meters) in December, we also found the air outside of our car very cold and were reminded that we were driving into freezing weather. Being tough, we held out for nearly two full minutes before jumping back into our warm car.
Once in Duncan, we were greeted by nobody and nothing, as our hosts had already informed us that they’d be in late. The other guests were out visiting family nearby while the cats were upstairs, where it was warmer than in the parlor where we set up to spend the early evening before retiring to the Library Room, our old favorite. It wasn’t long before the curious cats had to investigate us and our not-so-familiar voices. After all the snuggles that could be had from us visitors, the cats let us know they wanted out, and as they left via the backdoor, two others came in from the cold.
After a bite to eat, they joined us in the parlor for further inspection. First up was Dimitri, a.k.a. Pizza Boy, who, as a stray kitten some years ago, warmed up to me while I was sitting curbside eating a pizza, which appealed to the hungry little guy, hence the nickname. Being cute, cold, and alone were the only conditions required for him to be adopted for an extended stay here at the Simpson Hotel.
The other cat, Crocket, approached me but I apparently misread his signals as when I reached down, his sharp little teeth said, “Not so fast.” Instead, he headed over to Caroline. He crawled into her lap and made himself warm and cozy. It turns out that Crocket is a recent addition. He was adopted after his previous caretakers passed away, but not only that, he arrived as a trust fund kitty who receives a monthly inheritance check to care for him.
In a plush chair by the window, Caroline and Crocket kept vigil, Caroline knitting, Crocket purring. I had taken up my usual spot at the same table we’d be eating breakfast at in the morning, and with my computer open, I continued with some preparatory work that had been eating the majority of my time and would keep me occupied for the duration of our stay out here in Duncan, Arizona.
