So much for my grasp of Spanish. Someday I may tell you about my attempt to actually learn Spanish on my own, but for now, back to our vacation to Arizona in 2003.
It was time to leave my former in-laws, my kids’ paternal grandparents. (We are pictured here, except for my mom who snapped the shot, in front of their house.) Grandma C had made reservations for all of us to take the train from Williams, Arizona, to the Grand Canyon and back, just before we started for home.
The Grand Canyon. What can I say? Well, you don’t see any pictures on this blog, because there are no pictures which do it justice. The miles and miles of rainbow striped rocks, as far as you can see. The mind cannot even take it all in; it’s like looking into a cloudless sky on winter’s night. You can strain your eyes trying to see the entire expanse. Add to that the constantly changing colors and moods – a cloud drifting overhead can cause the landscape to change so dramatically that you don’t recognize it from just a minute ago.
The train ride there and back again to the town of Williams was fine. It may sound like an oxymoron, but it was interesting and predictable all at the same time. I don’t think I have ever taken a tourist train ride which was not held up by masked men. At their age, my kids were getting too old for that kind of nonsense, and like I already said, it was rather predictable. The scenery was great, though, and just wondering around the train kept Nick and Val occupied.
Before we knew it, we were back at our cars, Grandma and Grandpa C getting in theirs to head back to Apache Junction, Nick, Val, Grandma L and myself getting into my tan Malibu for the two thousand mile trek home. A trek which was not without incident.