Archie and Arizona
Janelle Meraz Hooper

   My husband had a tough Uncle Archie who lived his retirement years in Idaho, land of big fish, plentiful deer, trapping, and poker tables. A world-class boxer in the army, his career as an army cook had led him all over the world, including Burma to help build the Burma Road. Archie’s feet hit the floor every morning at 4:00 A.M. EVERY MORNING. Archie was on Army Time.

   On cold, winter mornings, he’d throw an old fishing shirt over his hairy shoulders and put on the coffeepot. While the coffee perked, he’d stand in the middle of his cabin’s kitchen, rub his arms and chant, “Arrr-i-zona!” Over and over again. After a quick cup of coffee, he’d start frying thick slices of bacon and a whole skillet of eggs. There were only four of us but Archie didn’t cook small. Breakfast was at 4:30 AM and you had better be there. He insisted upon it.

   In 1962, The first time I visited him and his wife, Frances, during a college break, I tried to pull the old crazy quilt over my head and ignore him. I can still remember him standing in the kitchen doorway, looking at my bundled body on the living room couch and schooling me on his house rules: “Breakfast is at 4:30, little lady. You’re already late!”   

Why am I telling you this? Because on icy March mornings in Washington State, when I flip on the deck lights and see snow or frost, I understand how Archie felt. Enough already! As I throw a Keurig cup in the coffeemaker, I shiver, throw an old pink sweatshirt over my bare arms and chant, “Arizona! Ariiii-zona!” It’s on mornings like this that I miss the old man most of all.

Please share this post, My thanks, Janelle