How did your Turkey Day go? I can see your eyes struggling to read these words, so at least you’ve come out of the tryptophan coma and gotten off the couch. That’s good. At least you didn’t turn into that weird uncle that kids are complaining about these days—or did you?
Queen Anne and I skipped our usual Denney’s Thanksgiving Day dinner. Instead, we drove up to Prescott and spent the night at the Hassayampa Inn. Since I’m a history freak, we thought it would be cool to dine at the historic hotel and stay for the night. The red brick hotel is far more charming inside than its block exterior suggests. Art Deco, Spanish Revival, and Territorial styles are all mashed together. Except for the scruffy Romanian bartender, I don’t believe anyone on the staff is over 30. They were so bright-eyed, cheerful, and eager to help that it was depressing.
Dinner—well, lunch, really—was uninspired. The special was a half of a Cornish Game Hen oven-roasted turkey style on a plate with a round lump of stuffing, another lump of mashed potatoes, and green beans. My favorite part of Thanksgiving dinner is gravy. Everything else on the plate supports the gravy, so we had to ask for more on the side. For dessert, the chef managed to duplicate a childhood recipe. My first bite of his apple pie brought a flood of memories of eating a Hostess fruit pie at the Circle K. The biggest sin of dinner was the omission of cranberry sauce molded in the shape of a can. An order of Buffalo wings would have been more satisfying.
With that aside, we had a great time in Prescott. We drank wine beside the lobby fireplace, snuck into room 426—where Faith, the ghost lives, walked around the town square, and ended the night by closing a karaoke bar. It’s not what you think; we literally got the bar shut down. We were in the middle of our version of I Got You Babe, when the health inspector bust through the door. He was there because of multiple complaints of howling dogs as far as three miles away. “That singing is not fit for human consumption,” he yelled to the bouncer. Then he took our mikes and told us to return to the hotel and stay in our room. He then padlocked the place until they got more safety training. I was devastated because Anne does a great Sonny Bono when she gets near the right key.
Enough of that; let’s talk about what you came for; this week’s picture. I call the image Lomaki Crater; it’s the last in our series from Wupatki National Monument. I took it on the far side of the pueblo ruin photo from a couple of weeks ago. With a bit of imagination, the tall wall corner resembles a crater like the ones we shot on our visit. There’s even a puff of smoke coming out of the cauldron. The bare walls are a mix of local limestone and Coconino sandstone. When they were built around 1100, they were most likely covered with plaster like the ruins in Walnut Canyon.
You can see a larger version of Lomaki Crater on its Webpage by clicking here. Next week, we start our final project of the year, and even I don’t know what it will be. So, when you come back next week, we’ll both be surprised at what I come up with. I’ll see you then.
Till next time
Jw
BTW:
No dogs were hurt in the making of this article, just my feelings.