We arrived back in Phoenix yesterday afternoon where the old thermometer allowed that it was a mere 88 degrees Fahrenheit. Felt like mid 100s to me but then, once the mercury crests over 75 it's all the same level of monster unbearable to me (whine, snivel, kvetch).
Our graciously awesome hosts Jenny and John had to return to work today, poor dears. For our part, Jen and I, on this last western day, decided to bop over to the truly fabulous Botanical Gardens.
We went early, around 10 AM in order to duck the worst heat of the day. We're SO damn smart!
Yes, just wickedly bright yet... em...no. I speak for myself alone here. The blisteringly hot sun (its was raging, in fact!) baked every ounce of energy clean outta me. I should have anticipated this before plunking down the hefty admission fee ($22 each). After all, I'm no wee bairn any longer -- I know myself. I'm quite aware of my calefaction wimp qualities or, rather, I surely should be.
Hell's bells, the weather report called for a blithe, beautiful, sunny 85 degrees. No more. Dunno. The sun was broiling, blinding and wholly unforgiving though. When we could find a patch of shade I was, more or less, fine and dandy.
Did ya know? Saguaro don't throw off a ton of sheltering shadow.
I felt terribly guilty. Jen's never been to Arizona before. This was her first time seeing this much of the wild, raw, bizarre beauty of desert flora all in one place and in its native environment (that is, not neatly shelved and potted in some New England exotic plant nursery). I made a valiant go of it. We managed to gawk our way around all but one of the trails before I collapsed on a bench, begging for shade, water and a nap. Oh and could she possibly manage to scare up an air conditioned sedan chair with a team of handsome, strong carriers to tote my carcass back to the car?
Nope, she couldn't pull off my last request but she brilliantly assuaged my mega watt guilt by pronouncing:
"Well, if you've seen one cactus, you've seem em all."
You can see, clearly, why I love her!