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.