Skip to main content

Grand Canyon—for the Weekend


So, last night I was making dinner (grilled clams, by the way, which are delectable with ginger butter), and husband asked if we had plans for the weekend. We hardly ever have plans for the weekend, so no.

He suggested we get on a plane and go somewhere–leave Friday, return Monday. I thought about New York because we love Broadway, and New York is even more fun after several visits when you don't feel like you have to see absolutely everything all at once. But the weather looks unpleasant there the next few days, so I thought about Hilton Head. I've never been there, and a couple of days at the beach might be just the ticket.

But then Husband suggested the Grand Canyon. So, here we go. We'll fly to Phoenix tonight, spend two days at the Canyon, and fly home on Monday. We can do that because the kids are gone, and as Husband says, "We're young."

With my fear of water, I don't see us going on a rafting trip, and with Husband's fear of heights, I don't see us riding donkeys down the sheer rock face of the canyon wall. I think we'll be content to just look at the thing.

I'll take pictures, especially of the cowboy singer at the hotel.

Comments

Shan said…
That's going to be such a great trip for you two! It IS nice that you are so young with grown kids. Take lots of fabulous pictures and enjoy! :)
dive said…
Dang, I'm jealous, Robyn!

Have a great time!
Shazza said…
How fun is that? WOW! I hope you two have a great time!
I was so excited when I saw your note on Facebook! Can't wait for the pics on there :)

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

Ish People

Tell an Ish person to show up around 9 a.m., and you'll see them somewhere around 9 a.m. Tell them to show up at 9ish, and you'll see them anywhere from 9:05 to 9:20. You have given them license to dilly dally, and who wouldn't take advantage of that? The other night at the big shindig dinner party, one of the drummers said the rehearsal the next morning would begin at 9ish. "I am an ish person," he says. Immediately the clanker goes off in my head--oh, good, I thought. I can deliver my daughter a little late. No Ish person is early, so if you say 9ish, that does not mean give or take 5, 10, 15 minutes. It's exclusively a taking phrase. Take an extra 10 minutes to drink your cup of coffee. We won't mind. We're Ish people. Sunday's rehearsal started at 2:00. Because it was conducted by the same people who conducted the Saturday rehearsal, my understanding was 2-ISH. My daughter is worse than I am about taking liberties with Ish time frames, so she d...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...