Tucson

Dear Maria,

Bird Nerd Alert: The other day I fired off a text to a neighbor that read “Hawks together. Dead pine. To the west.” I believe you would be one of the very small flock of friends to chuckle at that impulse. You may own up at your discretion, of course.

Otherwise, spring here comes in fits and starts—no explosion like a fireworks finale. More a rolling out, one week cherries blooming behind the Burger King, before that redbuds opening between the elms next to the Bi-Lo, this week the daffodils in my front bed that is such an eyesore every gardener in my family, this generation and all others before, is shamed.

But, spring and warmer.

Although only some yardwork is getting done, I pace myself fully aware we will scarcely recall how the world without leaf looks by the end of the month. The nursery, too, is very work-in-progress, the early stage. But come May.

I am deeply sorry to hear of your setback. At least the prognosis is good—or that is your word for it—and the kids are old enough to mostly keep their equilibrium as needed. Not that they won’t feel the distance and some anxiety.

Not how you thought the next stretch would go, but being blown off course unexpectedly is part and parcel of the ride. Vexing. Nerve-wracking.

Sorry, no need to belabor all that.

As for Tucson, all that came to my mind was Linda Ronstadt and the university of and desert—like of that I would know—and close to the border. Very close in my mind’s map. Tucson to Tucumcari. Hey, this isn’t Telluride. Okay, done with this nonsense. Hmm, you can be our personal correspondent from the Far West.  

However, your request that I serve as your state and regional reporter-at-large would be better served by a friend that, oh, takes the local paper and hangs with folks who chatter-up such matters.

Politics? Well, I would be unlikely to have Vlad, Xi, Kim, and Rodrigo over for a poker night, but I’m not a leader of the free world of a sort. 

I do feel your exhortation to write more often, and will, and willingly concede to emails so that I may include pictures—might shorten the text as a picture is, you know. Anticipate garden/nursery photos. Oh, and Max. Who turned 6 Sunday. Hound.

Hug the kids for me. Let me know you are settled in safely, and before long I suppose we will think you Countess of Cacti. Or not.

Your friend, in all things,

srk