I rose this morning before dawn in the dark chill of an Arizona winter night on the high northern plateau just SE of Sedona, and packed dog, wife, son and self with luggage into the car and headed back to California. A long and interesting trip including a detour to visit the Painted Rocks State park, where the landscape is littered with desert-varnished basalt rock formation on which petroglyphs going back two thousand years appear to inform the desert traveler. We got back home about 3 in the afternoon, exhausted but happy, especially the dog who was really tire of sitting in the back.

Tonight I took son out for a steak to celebrate his turning thirty. Can you believe that? I'm barely over thirty myself and wonder where the hell he came from.


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