My mom has endured a long slog since she suffered a stroke in early October and was life-flighted to Salt Lake City. She has been worked over pretty thoroughly by the University of Utah Hospital, with a first stop in intensive care, then on to rehab. But last week, Adrien told her various medical specialists that she’d had enough of their needling, and that she wanted, in no uncertain terms, to come home.
There have been no visitors to my hummingbird feeder for more than a week, so I’m pretty sure the winged marvels have blown away to warmer climes. Recent winds have been enough to make any bird skedaddle out of here.
The Grand County Council’s dual meetings last week were a clear display of vote manipulation, no matter how one feels about the measure to ban new nightly rental developments.
“You have some golden rain in your hair,” I told my mom Tuesday after she’d come in from Center Street. I plucked a small yellow blossom from her head and flicked it away. It’s that time of year when the trees that line downtown streets put forth millions of small flowers, making a lemony carpet on sidewalks, inside your car if you leave the windows down, and even on your pate if you linger long on the sidewalks.
On more than one recent occasion, I’ve stolen into my mom’s garden to steal some of my favorite flowers. Like all the special blooms on my list, these blossom just once a year, so I try to savor their unique beauty and scent, knowing I can’t enjoy them again for another full cycle of the calendar.
It’s hard to not be a little bitter. To feel a little used. To have “professionals” from the big city come on down to little old Moab and help us deal with our problems, only to have them leave because our style doesn’t fit their lives. To have them leave when they really had no intention of staying. To have them leave after they’ve jacked up salary levels that are beyond prudent budgets and could be spent on more meaningful things than inflated payrolls.
A couple of times last week in casual conversation, the topic came up. “What did you do last weekend?” I asked friends. “Well, we got the leaves raked and the lawn mowed and cleaned up,” various folks replied.
I’m hungry for spring and anxious to see signs of new plant life. That said, I’ve managed to kill in less than two weeks a clover that’s been sitting in my kitchen, whose purpose was to brighten my days.
I’m gonna miss Shopko. Not that I shop there often, maybe once or twice a month. But I know it’s a store that has things I need in a pinch that I can’t easily obtain elsewhere in town. I always end up spending more than a hundred bucks per trip. While their selection is small, it’s been steady over the years. Things like printer ink, dry goods, everyday clothes, toys, bedding, kitchen items and electronics. The store and its predecessor Alco had those items.