We started December 27th on the east side of Saguaro National Park, which I would say is more popular judging by the number of people there. We did another scenic route to get some nice pictures at pullouts and ate another picnic lunch in the park. I had forgotten how good a PB&J can be. We saw a roadrunner and saguaros with more arms than I’ve ever seen. There were so many other kinds of cacti, some where even the spikes had spikes!

Still, I believe I preferred the West side’s vistas. I think F.S. also preferred the other side as well, because it was here that he succumbed to the knucklehead instincts of a nine-year-old and touched a cactus. A portion of the plant came off on his finger when he jerked his hand back, and he held it out for several seconds, patiently waiting for me to figure out a way to pull it out before he ever even hinted at crying from the pain. It just makes me wonder how much more pain he has swallowed down in an effort to keep up the carefree kid mask he puts on.

We didn’t get to stay as long as I would have liked because we had promised F.S. that he could swim in the hotel’s outdoor heated pool, and that was all we heard about the whole time. Jeff is so good to him; despite the cool air, he spent about 45 minutes being splashed, jumped on, and beaten in competitions with ever changing rules that ensured he lost. Yet F.S. still speaks contemptuously to him and treats him like a servant. I jokingly call Jeff “Jeffrey” in a tone implying he’s the butler from Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, but it bothers me that F.S. has such blatant animosity toward him and disregards Jeff’s every attempt to be kind. I hope this is something he’ll be able to work out in therapy, because I certainly have no idea how to remedy it.

After showers, we headed back to the park to experience another beautiful sunset and a few night shots. Supper was a treat both F.S. and Jeff had been looking forward to, Rocco’s Little Chicago Pizzeria. I had chosen this place in spite of my tortuous inability to tolerate pizza because it had been featured on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives. Its fame hasn’t made the restaurant’s owners expand the building in any meaningful way, and there was precious little room to wait for a table to open up. We were told it would be a 45 minute wait, so we left to have our dessert at the Freddy’s across the street first. F.S. and I finished our concretes with great gusto, while Jeff saved room for his deep dish pizza. We parked again at Rocco’s, and F.S. and I sat in the car while Jeff braved the tight quarters inside. When we were finally seated, it was on the outdoor patio with a couple of gas heaters that were inadequate for the job of keeping us from freezing. Because they specialize in deep dish pizzas, it was a long wait for the food. I had to get mediocre chicken alfredo while the guys enjoyed their pizza, but by this time, my medicine had worn off and I was crashing hard. I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the pizza even if my body could have processed it. That night was one of the worst crashes I’ve had in a long time. I could not warm up however much I covered up, and I felt the fever and body aches of what I call false flu at the same time. I absolutely hate fibro and RA!