While I also put my “resume” on the market, Marilyn was the only one who had any actual interviews. After a couple days of that, the real vacation portion began, which is really an unfair characterization. Marilyn took me all over Phoenix. 
We visited desert museums, Frank Lloyd Wright houses, and even hiked up 
Squaw Peak.We had reservations at the Grand Canyon and at Purgatory, a ski resort in Southwestern Colorado, and we did some fantastic things, which I will get to in another entry, but even here a lot of my memories are of our dining (and drinking). They were special.
The first special place was at L’Orangerie, The Orange Room, at the Arizona Biltmore. While I didn’t realize it at the time, her menu didn’t have any prices. (Later I would learn how great this actually was as she always took special care to be “reasonable.”) While the food was good, the highlight of the evening was the after dinner drink, a brandy laced coffee that the server flamed and poured between cups that were at least three feet apart without spilling a drop. We didn’t know how it would be served. We were just intrigued by the name, Café Xocatilla. We also went to the top of the Hyatt and rotated around showing a cityscape that could actually be seen as the typical high-rise construction hadn’t yet blocked the views.
At the Grand Canyon we had such great service that we both remembered the server’s name, George. It was here that we both ate snails for the first time. Marilyn discreetly pointed out that Escargot was snail just so I didn’t embarrass myself when they came out. And, they did come out in their shells so hot that we needed the little snail tongs and little snail fork and lots of cooling before we could eat them, at least the second one did. The best thing about orders of snails are that they come they have more butter than snail. (The snails were a compromise to avoid oysters, particularly raw oysters. They came later and are part of another story.)
On the way to skiing, after the Grand Canyon, we stopped at a roadside diner. Marilyn hadn’t gotten to the stage of “I’ll just have some of yours,” and we were both pretty hungry so we ordered two of what we thought was a taco, one for each of us. The waiter asked us if we were sure and we should have taken that for the clue it was. What came out wasn’t two tacos but rather two piled high 10-inch pizzas. Needless to say we didn’t eat all of it, in fact, we ate no more than half of each. Since we were on the road, we didn’t even take a doggy bag.
The ski resort where we had reservations didn’t have snow so we were able to make reservations at Crested Butte, half a state away by crow and further by roads that had to skirt mountains. But if this hadn’t happened, we would have missed two other great dining experiences and maybe a proposal. (The ski resort didn’t return my deposit.)
On the way to Crested Butte we passed through several great little towns. One, either Ouray or Silverton only had one place to eat but that eating was, again, memorable. The trout we both ordered was perfectly done and tasted great, however, Marilyn sent hers back for some surgery. Both of them came out with their heads left on. Marilyn didn’t mind my fish staring at me, but refused to eat something she felt was staring at her.
Then finally in Crested Butte, we ate at the Alpen Haus, more than once. Not only was the food good, but also this early in the ski season there weren’t that many other options. Of course, after the first time, we didn’t want to risk finding something worse. It was the second time dining there that I “popped” the question. Maybe I wasn’t as clear as I should have been or maybe it was the two bottles of wine, but not only did she not say yes, not only did she not say no, and not only did she not say maybe or I’ll think about it or ask me if I had truly just asked her to marry me, she didn’t say anything. In point of fact I don’t remember using the exact words, “Will you marry me?” but I do remember telling her that I couldn’t see spending the rest of my life with anyone but her. I didn’t press because at least it wasn’t “no.” (She obviously did answer eventually, but that is also another story.)
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Marilyn lost her life to cancer but was able to truly "live" until the very end due to a lymphedema garment from Don Kellogg, inventor and founder of Telesto-Medtech. It is due to the "living" he provided Marilyn and through his suggestion and connection with Saskia Thiadens of the National Lymphedema Network that the Marilyn Westbrook Garment Fund exists. It needs other people's help to remain a living memorial of Marilyn. Please help other people receive the gift of living by donating to the Marilyn Westbrook Garment Fund. Thank you.
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