The Photographers Make a Deal

As our car sped along highway 89A in northern Arizona, I couldn't help but notice the cheerful orange flowers along the edge of the road. My husband had gotten me an 18-250mm lens for my camera, and I had been having a blast trying it out. 

The bright orange Desert Globemallow had caught my eye on our way to the Grand Canyon, and now that we were heading back to Utah, and were in no particular hurry, I asked Bridger to pull over so I could take a picture. My husband and son waited in the car while I walked along the asphalt to find the perfect vantage point. 

Desert Globemallow, Arizona desert, Highway 89A

There was a gorgeous red rock mountain in the distance that made a nice backdrop for the orange blossoms, and I sat down on the deserted desert highway and lay back to take a couple of pictures.

"Honey!" I don't hear very well, but I could tell my husband was talking to me, and his voice was coming closer.

"Honey! Get. Out. Of. The. Road." Uh-oh. I recognized the tone. This was his "You can't be serious" voice. Or was it his "Don't be ridiculous" voice? He would tell you it was his "I love you more than life itself; don't die a foolish death" voice.

I looked up at his quickly approaching silhouette, and snapped one more shot before pushing myself up. By then, he was offering his hand to me, and a very disappointed look. 

I didn't see any harm in lying close to the edge of the road, when there was so little traffic. At the moment that we were all settled back in the safety of my Sonata, a car blew past us, jostling the frame of our car, punctuating our conversation with an exclamation point.

"See what I mean?" The voice came from the front seat, as my husband turned to look at me, his eyes wide, pleading with me to be reasonable. My reassurances that I would have heard approaching traffic fell on deaf ears, given my own shortcomings in the hearing department.

Totally worth it, don't you think?

Later that night, after a wonderful dinner out with Dylan and Jamie, our married kids in Saint George, Jamie and I were up for some yogurt. The guys all professed to be too full since we'd just eaten, but Jamie and I agree that there is always room for frozen yogurt; it's like Jello pudding! 

I began to tease Chuck about trying something new. "You liked blueberry yogurt in your cottage cheese," I reminded him. 

"My quota for trying new things for this year has been met," he said. "I might have an opening for something new in February of next year."

After some cajoling, he seemed to soften, and then the lights went on. "I tell you what," he said, "I'll try frozen yogurt, if you agree to no more photography from the middle of highways."

"But I've gotten some great shots from the road!" I began to protest. I decided to be reasonable, so we made a deal. I would agree to only take pictures on roadways if he is there to stand guard, and he, MY FINICKY EATER, would try frozen yogurt. DEAL.

True to his word, he gave the creamy dessert a whirl. He tried a couple of flavors, and selected vanilla fro-yo with sprinkles, which may seem like a very tame attempt, but I assure you, this was a huge leap of faith on his part.

"Hey, if you like that, you should try this cheese cake flavor!" I said, as we walked out of Menchies with our cups of yogurt. His eyes went into squint mode, and he said, "Don't push it," so I didn't. I'll save that for another day when he wants to make a deal. We're getting pretty good at this give-and-take thing, and I might need something to barter in the future.