Have you ever heard of the advice to arrive two hours before your flight is scheduled to leave? Well, that is exactly what my family and I did not do for our flight to Phoenix, Arizona last summer. We tend to live on the “wild side” when it comes to the little things like spices on our food, the names of our pets, and those pesky take-off times. Let me cut that story short and tell you it is never a good thing when your plane is boarding just as your run up to the gate, sweating and out of breath. Despite the unexpected workout, however, we made it to Phoenix on time and one hundred calories lighter.
We even managed to find our resort without getting lost or completely frazzled. The resort was beautiful, too. It was set in a low area surrounded by red mesas and plateaus. Tiny pheasants skittered around in the brush outside the door, and at night the crickets were so loud they could have woken the dead.
It was the nights I loved most, out in Arizona. The temperature was cool enough to make you forget about that nasty sunburn you received that day, and there were never any clouds to block the stars or moon. My parents and I settled into the habit of grilling our dinner outside every evening. That smell was one of the sweetest and most hypnotizing aromas I have yet experienced. Smoke, drifting up from the grill, teasing my hungry nose, mingled with the freshness of cactus and a small breeze. It was one of those times you wish you could vacuum up the scent and keep it with you. But, I suppose that the fact that it only lasted a week is what made it so magical.
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