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3/2/23, Winslow to Phoenix

My therapist would remind me that uncertainty was difficult and that peace comes once a decision is made. I'd agree, but given the choice between uncertainty and feeling hemmed in, I'd choose the former every time. The 18" of snow that were dumped on Flagstaff and a lot of Arizona meant that for the second day, I40 was still closed from Winslow going west, as were many other roads around that area. I got it in my head that I needed to get out of my annoyingly inadequate for $250 a night hotel and decided I'd drive as far east as I needed. Having almost run out of gas on the Indian Reservation bypass road the other day, the first stop was Love's. There had to be close to 100 trucks parked in the lot, lined up near the exits and backed up forever, waiting for 40 West to open. I felt so bad for them. So, I headed east on 40, leaving grey, cold and windy Winslow behind me. It was an odd sensation to literally be the only car on the road. I pulled over whenever I wanted to take photographs and took the liberty of peeling an orange while I was driving.. When heading south, it was fine for a while, and then as the altitude increased, so did the snow, starting with a dusting in the city, not town, of Snowflake. I was awfully tempted to spend the night there because there was a high school production of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, which I imagined equalling Red, White and Blaine from Waiting for Guffman in its sincerity and tone. But I needed to keep moving.

Quickly, there was a lot of snow. The roads were very well plowed, but there were right turn markings on the road that led to 3 foot snowbanks, no sign of side roads at all. The trees were from a movie set, heavily laden and the surroundings were dramatically mountainous (who knew, in Arizona?), very very beautiful. There were two other trucks who travelled along with me for a while, but they both veered off and I was alone for about 20 miles with no houses or civilization of any kind, which was unnerving. Forty-five minutes later and many feet lower in elevation, I saw the first seguro staring down gravely, and half an hour after that, palm trees waving from above Starbucks. It's spring in Phoenix, which is cheerful and smells wonderful. It's nice to be here.

On a walk, I passed a restaurant called the Fry Bread House, which has been the recipient of multiple James Beard awards, so went back for dinner. Really the last thing I was craving was fried bread, but it seemed one of those opportunities one takes when it's served up, pardon the pun. It was delicious and there were many native people there, leaving me feeling like an interloper. On the way there, I was standing on the corner of Indian School Road waiting for the walk sign (wicked hard to jay walk in Phoenix, I did try) when a native man (although he called himself Indian, hard to understand what terminology to use when) asked me if I knew where the Indian Veterans Hospital was. He said he was from Albuquerque and needed to have his thumb looked at (with good reason). I looked up the address on my phone, gave him directions and off he scuffled with his half eaten bag of Cheetos.

Feeling more goal oriented today, it was harder to be open to whatever came my way, as I have been for the last 12 days. It made me think of how, in my HR roles over the years, I have watched the difficulty people have when someone resigns. There's a closing down that happens, a pulling away, and it's time for me to pull away from wandering and high-tail it to Palm Desert! So, that's where I'll be going tomorrow, to see my good buddy Sandra.

Route 40, going east from Winslow. Could have had a picnic in the middle of the road

Starting to see some snow, I believe this was just before the City of Snowflake


Spring in Phoenix

Love this vibe

Dinner at the Fry Bread House


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