A Walk in the Clouds



Buddy and Krimy's backyard

Now at Buddy's/Krimy's place and the sun is rising over the nearby hills, shining through the pointy Cypress trees like a scene out of "A Walk in the Clouds" with Keanu Reeves.  Spent the night in Cristina's old bedroom (their daughter) and slept through until sunrise.

Recalling now how beautiful Sedona was and that it would be one place I would love to live -- inspiring views all around provided by mother nature and the homes nestled in and among the trees were beautifully built of stucco with tile roofs (if only I could afford one).  Had lunch at the Wildflower Bread Factory with a spectacular view from the patio of the rock formations -- red rock, clay with white/tan layers cutting through halfway up.  Lots of lush green trees/shrubs to accent perfectly with both man and nature's work.

The day before, I had started breaking camp early but rather slowly during the repacking process.  Did manage to get on the road before 8:45 am shortly after bumping into a couple from Philadelphia -- permanent residents now at Apache Palms.  Took my computer's recommended route south on McClintock to Superstition Highway (Rt. 60W) and connected to Rt 10S toward Tucson to 347S (at exit 164) then over to 238W through dairy country toward route 8W.  Route 8W through Yuma was a pretty smooth ride and crossed into CA around noon.  A short distance past Yuma, the sandy desert dunes rose across the horizon and the All American Canal popped into view from the right.  The dunes were only some 6 to 10 miles across and the terrain began to slope down to sea level before rising again to the Imperial Valley levels -- Palms dotted the lush green fields and occasional clouds of smoke rose beyond the fields (farmers burning dead brush and dried vegetation I thought).

Arrived at 5717 Robusto Road sometime around 4:00 pm and sat and chatted with my cousin Buddy (Henry) about all sorts of subjects until Krimy brought dinner for us all.  Then, finally met Carl (dark hair in a pony-tail and bearded, tall younger man of 39).  Not much talk except Buddy and me.  Dinner was home made by Krimy -- delicious enchiladas (tortilla stuffed with meat and cheese) and tasty salad -- with a glass or two of wine from gallon bottle of Buddy's favorite.  More wine and more talk continued into the evening.

Fond memories of cousin Buddy go back to the times when our "crazy cousin" would drive non-stop from San Diego to my parents house in Denver and then "crash" until he could muster enough strength to talk and visit (showing his appreciation for some attention my parents had shown him and his brothers when they were in an ophanage in Denver years before).  He was one of the older cousins and my brother (Rick) and I were forbidden to disturb him and clambor for his attention.  Guess we may have had more than one bedroom for him to crash in if our baby sister was around in '58 -- before that "no".