Last Thursday, I boarded a plane and headed to Arizona for a fun-filled (translated nothing-but-time-by-the-pool-filled), kid-free weekend with a group of girl friends I’ve known for years, one of them almost my entire life.

Our airport adventure is “off limits”. So, I won’t talk about the bathroom scene where one of our travelers was reprimanded by an attendant as she washed her hands.

“You didn’t flush.”
“What?”, my friend replied, assuming the toilet flushed automatically.
okay, I’ll flush.” she said returning to the stall under avoiding stares of the many bystanders.

I also can’t recount our Albuquerque airport gate experience, where, being Southwest Airline newbies (at least in the last few years), brought some serious raised eyebrows and whispers. Who knew you had to line up not only by letter but by number?

“I’m 30. She’s 31..” curtly stated the red-clad traveler loud enough for us to hear it. Clearly she was upset at the way we nonchalantly ramrodded our way to the front of the boarding gate line.
“I just think she wants our spot.” I whisper to my friend. “Let’s ask the guy on the intercom. He’ll tell her.”
She’s 32!” the irritated traveler told a neighboring line lady.
waiting….waiting….waiting…. while the guy took his time getting the gate ready and No. 30 with her friends got angrier and angrier. He then calls us up. I hand him my boarding pass (B59).
“The number doesn’t matter, does it?” I ask heading toward the gangway.
He grabs my pass and pushes it back to me. “You go to the BACK of the line!!!”
“They don’t do this in Dallas.” I retort.
“Oh yes they do!!” hissed a gentleman to the others in line as if I couldn’t hear.

I bumped my way through the line as I made my way to the end.
“He kicked me to the back of the bus.” I told my new end of the line friends.
“Those people need to get a life.” retorted the rather inebriated man who was clearly in no hurry.
Little did No. 30 know that our friend was already on board saving our seats … quite possibly another SW Airlines no,no.

But I can tell you about our wonderful meals. Quiet, leisurely meals, eaten at funky times of the day, whenever and wherever we wanted.

Aaaahhh. Arcadia Farms. Where you could die and go to Tuxedo Cake heaven.

Since they weren’t serving typical dinner hours, we showed up around four to close the place down (we left at 5:30). Using all local grown foods, Martha Stewart has nothing on these guys!

From the cute clock plates adorning the walls,

to the inviting garden,

to the wonderful ambiance

we all wanted to stay and pretend like we were in college again.

Last year, on our same trip, we ate here four times. That could be embarrassing to some (especially a few teenagers holding down the fort at home with their dads), but we didn’t care. I couldn’t wait to dig into their warm salmon salad still on my mind from last spring.
We laughed….

We ate (maybe inhaled might be a better word)…. How sad we miss
ed capturing the Tuxedo, Rasberry and Red Velvet cakes on film before they were consumed. The last of the Coconut got honorable mention.

We had a wonderful time! Thanks hubbies for encouraging us to go.
Arcadia Farms … until next time.

Thanks for walking the road with me.

Oh yeah, my traveling buds told me I need to include more pictures. What do you think??

Be sure to check in on Wednesday for Kathleen Fischer’s guest blog

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