Sena Taylor Hauer

This is that sumptuous time of year when I revel in the astounding sounds of the Moab Music Festival. Now in its 34th year, the festival continues to bring world-class delights to our community in settings from historic Star Hall to the banks of the Colorado River and adjoining desert-scapes. This year’s menu has not disappointed.

A lot of my friends are afflicted with the Sunday afternoon blues right now, and I sorta am too. Just what are the Sunday afternoon blues? It can actually occur on any day of the week, and generally strikes parents, grandparents and friends who watch their kids pack their cars and drive away to college. As departure preparations are made, familial guardians paste smiles on their faces and utter supportive words while their hearts are quietly breaking.

The first time I had correspondence with Gerrie Taylor Wimmer Boggs I was five years old and was at my second day of kindergarten. The year was 1968 and Gerrie’s youngest daughter Colleen and I had met the previous day. “We are related,” little pinafore-wearing Colleen told me when we traded names on our first day of public school. “I don’t believe you,” I conveyed back to her with a sense of hubris that comes with a five-year-old human thinking they already know everyone in their families.