Packing was easy: just open the packing list computer files for New Orleans from last year and pick which t-shirts and shorts to swap out. Lessons learned: we added the cribbage board and the corkscrew to the lists. File: Save.

This year required a drive up to "InterGalactic," as the Ellington shuttle ceased operations last September. Still, it's not that bad of a drive--about 45 minutes if traffic is flowing, less time than it takes to get from, say, Port Orchard to SeaTac. We left the house at 12:18 and arrived at the Park N Fly lot just after 1. Had a few minor slowdowns on the freeway, but nothing severe. The shuttle bus route to the terminal was a bit circuitous, like a hawk circling its prey before attacking. The driver said it was to avoid congestion, but my observation was that the traffic at the airport didn't warrant the extra measures. Whatever. We had allowed sufficient time for such things. Despite being singled out for extra baggage inspection and extra security check for me (Continental randomly pre-punches holes in the boarding pass sheets they load into the kiosk printers to select who gets the pat-down, and I got one), and despite our gate being at the concourse farthest from check-in, we arrived at the gate a full 10 minutes before boarding, easily enough time to grab something to drink at the nearby Starbucks.

The flight pulled out only a few minutes late, and spent the requisite 30 minutes taxiing and waiting its turn for takeoff. Apparently, the ground delay is factored in to the schedule, for we landed in Phoenix precisely on time. Aside from being a bit bumpy, the flight was uneventful.

Another circuitous route on the car-rental bus after picking up our luggage. All airports seem to be perpetually under construction, and Sky Harbor is no exception with its monstrous Terminal 4 blocking the sun like some ancient stone ziggurat. Anyway, we selected the car (a silver Nissan Altima) and pulled onto the road. Although most things did not look familiar, I guessed that I should be on 24th street, a notion that was confirmed as soon as we reached an intersection. From there I knew where I was and generally where I was going. Headed north for a short distance until we found the 202 freeway, and then headed east. Had a scenic drive to the 101 loop, turned north and followed the directions to the resort. It was easy to find, and we checked in about 5 (local time--Arizona does not observe daylight time, so they are 2 hours behind in the summer, the same as California).

The resort is part of the RCI network, so resembles an apartment complex more than a hotel. Even though the buildings are closely spaced, the grounds are well landscaped with palm and pine trees, gurgling streams, and patches of green lawn in between desert rock and gravel. Our condo was small, tucked at the end of the building, with angled walls to help jigsaw bedroom, living room, kitchenette, and bath into an area that was probably not more than 400 sq ft. Oh, and a patio, too (where I'm currently sitting as I write this in total comfort at 9:00 on Sunday morning).

First order of business after unpacking was food. I had a couple slices of banana bread Saturday morning about 8 CDT. It was then after 6 MST, meaning we hadn't had anything to eat (the stale pretzels on the plane don't count) for 12 hours. Both guidebooks and the handy-dandy info binder from the resort recommended a place called Buster's on the Lake, on the same road (Hayden) as the resort. So we headed south, and almost immediately missed the little jig that Hayden takes when it meets up with Frank Lloyd Wright Boulevard, but in doing so we found the Albertsons. A pleasant evening drive down a wide, lightly-trafficked street between sculptured landscapes convinced me that Scottsdale had been a good choice. Found the restaurant easily and was slightly surprised to find it unbusy. (In Houston, a favorite local eatery would be packed by 6:30 on a Saturday.)

Started with a smoked salmon appetizer to stave off fainting spells, then proceeded with a leisurely dinner. For Lauri, chicken-broccoli-mushroom fettuccine alfredo; for me, steak diane. Yummy. Lauri brought most of her dinner back to the room. She's been on a different eating schedule lately, where she eats less but more often, and after the salmon (served on lavosh crackers with havarti and apples and a cream cheese-dill sauce), the alfredo was a bit much. After dinner we strolled the path along the man-made lake and watched the sun go down, marveling at how comfy the dry desert air was in comparison to the oppressive humidity of Houston. From the lakeside path, we could see the north side of Camelback Mountain. When I lived here, the north side of Camelback was thought of as no-man's land--out in the boonies. Don't know if that was simply my narrow perception of things or whether all this stuff was really not here 25 years ago. It would have been a great Kodak Moment, but we hadn't brought the camera. Implemented General Order #8: always take the camera. (We came back later in the week to capture the shots, but it was earlier in the evening and the sun angles were less photogenic.)

Headed back at twilight, stopping at the Albertsons for the usual victuals: breakfast, snacks, Diet Coke, wine. It was late by my wristwatch, but we just had to try out the pool before bedtime. The 4600-sq. ft. pool features a rock waterfall, several large lobes, and a nearby dancing fountain for the kids to play in. There is even a second, quiet pool, secluded and smaller (but still much bigger than a typical backyard pool). We enjoyed the swim, and turned in for the night. Houston time: midnight.