the hugging guide

Please don’t shake my hand. I would rather hug. It’s true. There are so many advantages, for starters -- no messy germs going back and forth. And think about this, hugging has health benefits like lowering your blood pressure and raising your mood. But hugging can prove to be elusive to those who have not spend as much time as myself breaking down each variety, hence, “The Hugging Guide.”

1. Victory Hug

This hug is best appreciated with a total stranger during or after a major sporting event in which both parties express equal amounts of passion for said team. I first experienced the “Victory Hug” in Chicago during the 2006 opening weekend for the Cubs. Wrigley Field was packed with fans wanting a good show, and of course a win. And the players delivered. And then the hugs poured down. Monstrous, burly, happy, enveloping hugs. And I must say it was all quite nice.

2. Referee Hug

This hug is executed by one person standing straight as an arrow, arms to their side, and the other placing both palms on the huggers hips. The hug has a lot of hushed tones, whispering and deliberating.

3. Cheek Hug

Hands down, this is the best hug out there and easy too! Simply hug, then press your faces cheek-to-cheek. Kids naturally give cheek hugs, but as we get older we seem to shy away from our faces touching. Don’t! This hug holds heavenly harmony that a vanilla hug cannot achieve.

4. Pat, Pat, Pat Hug

The “Pat, Pat, Pat Hug” is common between men, especially brothers. This hug can definitely be partnered with a hand shake to avoid looking “too huggie.”

5. 3-Second Hug

Just try to hug someone for three full seconds. It is AMAZING. Actually, it is a tad uncomfortable at first, but then you get used to it, and see that this hug is the magic! If you are single this hug works well at the end of a 1st date to show you are interested in a 2nd. It is important that during this hug that a lot of feeling be put into the embrace. Grab hold! Tight! But not too tight! This is the way you give a “3-Second Hug!”

6. Side Hug

What can I say about the “Side Hug?” It is really just a cousin to the fist bump. There is so much awkwardness associated with this hug. Arms get all mixed up trying to get in position, and worse yet, the only way to totally free yourself from the “Side Hug” is to end it with a real hug. If you must do a “Side Hug”, it is best achieved while both parties are walking side by side, stride in stride.

7. Hug from Behind

This hug works best to let the person slaving over dishes and/or a hot stove know that you love them. The “Hug from Behind” is a step up from a casual hug, and should be respected as such.

8. Missed You So Bad Hug

Being apart and together again is much sweeter when a hug is shared. This hug should include jumping up and down, or, the hugger spin for the full effect. This hug will bring on the waterworks, lots and lots of them, so hugger beware.

9. Catch and Release Hug

The “Catch and Release Hug” is all about speed. In most cases, one party is more interested in having a “3-Second Hug” than the other. Get best results from this hug by swiftly completing the embrace, keeping at least two fists of space between each other, then firmly planting your palms on the shoulders of the other hugger, push away, and deliver a compliment. Works every time.

10. The Just One More Hug

If you have ever fallen in love, this is the hug that you could not give enough of. Filled with sparks, tangible chemistry, and magnetic energy so strong that you have got to have “Just One More.”

Whatever hug you love, and whomever you love when you hug, always remember -- never be the first to let go.

First published in the Box Elder News Journal, Atmosphere, November 2011. Read more 'Atmosphere' from Amy Wilde on her blog http://www.amywildeatmosphere.blogspot.com,email her at wilde.amy@gmail.com, or follower her on twitter @wildeatmosphere

My dad's best gift ever.

My dad's birthday falls just three day's away from Christmas. Some would think that this would have been like winning the lottery as a kid. A stack of presents for your birthday, then a new stack of presents for Christmas. But somehow that was not the case, and his birthday got pushed aside for holiday parties and events. One year, all he wanted for Christmas was a shotgun -- but his dad told him that there was just not going to happen. Times were tough. My dad understood, but so bad did he want that shotgun. Christmas morning, at 1am, he and his brother Dave snuck upstairs to the living room to see what they had each gotten for Christmas. Days before they had tested each step leading from the basement to the upstairs for squeaks, and had memorized each and ever one. So, early Christmas morning they snuck up to the kitchen without a sound. Then low-crawled to the entry of the living room, and opened the pocket door -- taking great care not to slide it too fast. When they were at last next to the gifts, Dave could not believe his eyes. A sleeping bag! Just what he wanted. He opened it up right then and there and got inside. My dad was standing next to him looking the opposite way, toward his own gift. There, tucked between the cushions in the couch with a ribbon tied around it, was not a shotgun, but a rifle. Something magical happened in that living room, at just after 1am in the morning, as my dad got much more than he ever thought possible. For a boy, this was the gift of all gifts. A rifle.My dad sat and stared at that gun, shocked and beyond any sort of emotion that he had ever felt. It took him minutes to fully comprehend the gift, the sacrifice, and the love from his dad. There was of course no plan for going back down the squeaky stairs, the boys had only memorized how to get to the family room, and not back to their bedrooms. So, they spend the night squished in Dave's new sleeping bag. When the morning light filled the living room, my dad tried the best he could to show his father the same emotion he had felt hours ago when he first saw the rifle, trying to act like it was the first time he had seen it. But, that kind of emotion is hard to re-do. My dad still has that rifle, and listening to him tell the story last night on his 65th birthday brought all of us kids (and him) to tears. He only wishes...he had waited so his dad could have seen his face that Christmas day all those years ago...the day he got the best Christmas/birthday gift ever.

blue.

Blue is my favorite color. It is the mixed in every sky, and moves every sea, and is the color of wind -- if you believe. It is the color of eyes of those I love most. And shows up in the jersey's of my football team(s) of choice. Nothing is better that the big blue sky, out the windshield of a summer road trip. Or diving into the blue ocean one last time to ride a wave to the shore. "Blue Does" is my favorite song, sung by a band named "Blue October." Blue is the color of my favorite moon boots, now gone for good, that took me to school and back each and every winter day when I was a kid. It is the color of my favorite ice-cream, that nobody else seems to like. And blue is the color I painted my office when red was too intense. The day I told my family I was going to be a mom -- now over 12 years ago-- we were eating at the "Blue Bird" in Logan, and that was a day I will never forget. I love Ford blue, blue birds, bakery shoppe blueberry muffins, blue slurpees, and blue heelers. Blue is the shirt my husband was wearing the day he said good-bye to his horse -- his best girl of over 26 years. And clear blue is the ring I wear on my left hand-- my birthstone-- that reminds me every day why I love -- the color blue.

the short list.

I want an iPad2, new furniture (big new TV cause one is just not enough), the Hudson Pottery Barn bedroom set, several pair of new MEK jeans, new running shoes, some high brown leather boots, a Coach bag, a skylight for my kitchen, a Tebow jersey, a stack of gift cards to Tona, and oh ya, 600 count thread sheets. I would like all this, and possibly more. Every day my list of wants gets longer. I can't seem to go anywhere without seeing something I MUST HAVE!

But today, all of that seemed to change.

And my new short list emerged. I want good health for my best-friend-of-growing-up who in a blink of an eye has had her life turned upside down with cancer. I want happy memories for my dear friend who's brother was taken from this life all too soon.  And I want peace and comfort for my neighbor who lost her baby last night after only one week in this life...forever now her Christmas Angel...

If dollars could buy good health, or let us rewind the past and re-live our favorite moments, or once again smell the sweet scent of a new baby...I would give all I have to pay for the "short list."

luckiest day in 100 years.

Today, my favorite day in 100 years, I think about all the wishes I have made, living below the beautiful Ben Lomond Peak, and now behind her against Willard Peak I make wishes for my kids. Last month we hiked to the top of Old Ben. And I felt this tangible thrill, my goodness, I have waited so long to stand on top of her Peak, and look at the vast valley below. I pushed ahead of the group, and make it to the top first, and took a minute with just me and that lucky mountain. The one that protected me from the wind, caught my white bees in the winter, and colored the landscape in the fall. Standing on top of the mountain, I realized the triple vantage point of my hometown, my college town, and where I now call home. And then I looked up, to the massive sky above, and saw another vantage point, the one that God has over all of us, and knew, on that day, and today, the luckiest day in 100 years, that I was blessed and watched over.

critical advice

I am getting ready to have a few people whom I trust, and who are writers themselves, read the first ten chapters of my book. Or, if they are not hooked, maybe they will not read past chapter 1, and that is OK too. This is the phase of writing that really scares me, putting it all out there and possibly having people not like it at all. If it were fiction I could just change the characters, but because it is a slice of my life, the strategy will have to be different if the majority of the panel does not like the book. But, it I don't go through this painful step then how will I ever know if I have a chance at getting published? And that after all is the goal.

writing a book...

Each night I write after the kids go to bed. Lately it is all I am thinking about. I wish I could stay up for hours on end without sleep! For now though, I look forward to the weekends where I have a block of time that I can get the words out of my head and on the page. This weekend I printed out chapter 6, one of the ones I have been working on editing. Hayden, my 12 year old son, found the copy and read it. He said, "Mom! This is really good!!" Ahhhh sooo so so so so happy to have his opinion. He is the first one to have read any of it, and it meant a lot that he was moved and wanted to read more. Next step is to finish going through the first ten chapters, making changes and adding more dialog, then having a few people read it to see if it is interesting enough to keep them hooked.

my favorite quote

About a year ago there was a man in the paper who made this statement, "A book can come out of an image, a fragment of over-heard conversation, a musical phrase, some presiding anger...whatever it is, it is so evocative that you want to know why you are so moved. You begin writing." -- E.L. Doctorow

I taped it to my fridge, and I look at it each and every day. I can only hope that I follow the vein of the story and tell it in a way that moves others, and helps everyone see the white bees.

20,000 words done. 40,000 to go.

sunflower explosion

Sometimes seeds lay dormant for a very long time. Then when conditions are right, and the weather cooperates, all of a sudden, there is action.
Drive along the fruit way from Ogden to Brigham, and up on the mountains you will see an explosion of one of my favorite flowers. Bright like the sun. Happy like yellow. Big like my dreams. And easy like Sunday morning.

Sunflowers.

a thousand tears.

I cried a thousand tears the last few weeks for a tragic accident that hit me at the core. A sweet little girl, just my Maggie's age, was taken all too soon from this life. My heart broke into a million pieces as I put myself in the shoes of the mother, and thought, in an instant this life can change.




And there is a loss.




And an empty feeling.




Nobody to wear the tiny shoes, or play with the little toys. No warm fingers to wrap around a baby blanket filled with the scent of a clean bath. No more soft kisses to say goodnight, or sleepy eyes in the morning. The very thought nearly breaks me in two.




But, sitting in church yesterday, I was impressed to remember that a loss on this side of life is a treasure found on the other. Someone dear is holding her near, and loving her. Rocking her until the space of time evaporates and forever is filled in its place.

 And that will be a great day indeed.

mighty like a man.

I love moments that boys want to be tough like a man. And show their muscles. A tough man starts years before by being a rough boy. And, testing the limits of his strength.

white bees

-- Happy Father's Day to my dad who has been there at all of my crossroads, and who's example is as far reaching as the stars in the sky.

From my book White Bees...

"I woke up this morning to three inches of brand new snow.
There is something about the first snowfall that makes me think back, way back, to when I was five years old. I am sure that it is my first memory, and the first time I saw them. They danced down the double sliding glass door thick and light. A pale white sky masked the sunshine behind the storm. In my memory I am young and alive, and also very curious. The snowflakes to me look like white bees. They always have. Swarming, happy, intelligent bees.
I let my eyes follow one ‘bee’ all the way from the top of the window until it rests quietly on the soft forming snow. The process takes concentration and care, let your eyes slip away for just a moment and you will lose sight of the bee you are following. I sit on the hard linoleum kitchen floor and curl my toes over the heat vent -- and stay wrapped up there until the last bee lands. Minutes turn into at least an hour, or about four cycles of the heat vent warming up. In my memory clear as yesterday, my Dad bends down next to me and ask me what I am watching, and I tell him I am watching the bees. He laughs and teases me saying that they are actually just snowflakes. This annoys me slightly, but I love the attention. From then on during each snowstorm I felt an obligation to makes sure each bee made it safely, and each time I watched, my father teased, and each time he teased, I loved it even more.
Even as I got older, I still called snowflakes my white bees. The name just stuck. And my Dad, well, he never forgot about the bees either. All these years later, it is the one memory that takes me right back to the feeling of a Father’s love on a wintery day.
Father’s should be like superman. You know. Someone who can lift a car, or rescue us when we need help. Luckily for me, my Dad looks like Superman, and can lift a car too. That’s right. Well, to be clear, he looked like Clark Kent in his early days, and he has a car lifter in his auto shop, but it is all just the same. As kids we would beg him to throw on his thick rimmed glasses and fling his small, red and blue felt jimmy-rigged cape on. He would do it, but not often. Even as hard as we would beg, he only transformed into Superman on the rare occasion.

But, as a child, it only takes meeting Superman once to know he is real."

the mystery of the mailman.

Mail carriers. UPS men. FedEx chics. They are all cut from the same cloth. Aloof, mysterious, and focused. Out here in the country our mail is delivered before the sun comes up. Practically anyway. All I know is that, it is always in there, waiting for me to go get it.

Once I heard a knock at my door, and before I could get down the stairs to answer it, all I saw was a trail of dust and the UPS truck pulling out of my driveway.

Last month though, I had a breakthrough. The UPS man stopped to pick up my Old Gringo boots, per Old Gringo's request, so that they could be repaired. AND...I was not quite ready with the boots in the box and all of that. There were about six VERY awkward seconds as I tried super duper fast to put the boots in the box, and then, something strange happened. The UPS man spoke. And he said very dryly, "Those are nice boots. I think I will take them home to my wife instead of sending them back to Old Gringo." And then I knew. The mystery was gone. And just like that, he was just like the rest of us.

every sunday. and the six days in-between.

May is the month I lost my Grandpa, a day I will never forget. All of us cousins were there, in the final minutes as he left.

And the room fell quiet.

But not the kind of quiet that makes you uncomfortable --wishing someone would talk and break the silence. No, a different kind of quiet. The kind of quiet that invites angels into a room, for a brief moment.

And May is the month I lost my dear Gram. And she had her own angels gathering her up and taking her home, when she passed all alone.

Still, each Sunday,like clockwork, I miss them both. Sunday was the day when we would all get together at their house, for a dose of BS and our only bowl of sugar cereal for the week. And I am not sure which I looked forward to most.

So tomorrow, I will go put flowers on their graves. And I will be still for a moment. And quiet. And hope that two special angels peak through from above and know that I still miss them...every Sunday...and the six days in-between.

room in my heart.

Eleven years ago when Hayden was a baby, there was this moment, sitting all together in our tiny first home, when my husband said to me, "I don't know how we can possibly love another child as much as we love our little boy."

He had bright blue eyes, huge cheeks that dimpled when he smiled, and a perfect part on his blond hair. I may never forget that day. When it seemed, there could only be room in my heart for one, sweet, little boy.

But motherhood, and love, well -- they are both flexible. They bend, they stretch, and somehow, the room you thought was never there -- ends up being there all along.

If you get lucky to meet a second or a third ...your heart will grown...again and again.

And when you meet that new little person, you will say, "I have loved you all along."

finding peace.

Today, there is peace for many Americans. A game of hide and seek has come to a final, miserable conclusion for one who continually led acts of violence. A fearless team of U.S. Soldiers, along with the intelligence of our fine CIA, are to thank on many levels.

spinning rain.

Rain carries with it tiny energy, all held together in perfectly clean shape until meeting the earth. Then the spinning stops, one drop at a time.
My favorite kind of rain is furious and intentional, and drives holes into the soil, and makes so much noise on the windshield that nothing else can be heard. It comes down so fast that make-shift umbrellas are worthless, and shoes get soaked in an instant. When it rains that hard, people stop what they are doing. They stand up. Move to the window, and watch. And a crazy few, join the spinning, and step outside to get drenched.

the day I became a Jazz fan.

My five siblings and I spent the majority of our growing up years without a TV. It wasn’t until I was a tween that my parents invested in a small-enough-to-carry-with-one-hand black and white TV, to be used mostly by my Dad, and on special occasions.

As soon as I dared, I started to sneak the TV out of my parent’s room by quickly grabbing it (did I mention it was TINY??) while they were distracted with other things. I would haul it downstairs to my bedroom where I would watch re-runs of ‘I Love Lucy’, the news, and anything else I could find on the five or six channels that were standard.

I remember vividly the first time I clicked the dial over to a Utah Jazz game. There, with the rabbit ears pointed toward the ceiling, I found myself mesmerized by the sound of Hot Rod Hundley calling the plays of the Jazz. He kept using the nickname “The Mailman”, for one player, and over and over again this athlete would make basket after basket.
Curiosity and I finished watching the game. A game won by the talent of Stockton, Malone, and their coach Jerry Sloan. A coach who was competitive, and not afraid to yell in the name of unfairness.

That was the day I became a fan.

From then on, as often as I could, I would grab a snack and sneak the TV to my room to watch the Jazz play their game. If I was lucky my brother Justin would be home, and we would watch the game together.Most nights I cheered alone, but it didn’t bother me in the least. They started to become my team, and I grew familiar with their faces, their names, and their talent.

Now my son is the age I was when I first started watching, and he quite possibly cares more about the Jazz than anyone I know. He breathes in the statistics each morning while pouring over the nba.comsite; simultaneously eating his breakfast cereal. He strategically envisions where the Jazz will be placed if they beat the next opponent. And he proudly displays his green Utah Jazz flag next to his bed, signed just last year by Coach Sloan himself.

On the afternoon of Feb.10th I told my son, who was just getting in the door from school, to turn on the TV and be prepared to be upset. He switched the TV on to Channel 5 and said, “Mom, it’s ‘The Nate Berkus Show’. Oh. Wait. NOOOOO!!!”, and then in an instant he was on the floor pounding his fist into the carpet.

His orange leather world had stopped turning.

He too, is a fan.

We may never know the real story of why Coach Jerry Sloan stepped down, or the drama that followed soon after, but certainly, fans everywhere know the bigger story of the rest of his 23 seasons and 1,127 wins with the Utah Jazz. Of the team he built on fairness, farm taught toughness, hard work, and love of the game. Of the infectious smile that grew across his face like nothing we had ever seen before when John Stockton finally sent the Jazz to the NBA Finals. Of the heartache he shared with us when his wife Bobbye faced, and ultimately lost to cancer.

And for each game, with his tie half tugged off, that he gave us his very best. Win or lose.

100 different lives.

If I had 100 lives, I would live in a high rise loft in New York, paint all day by the sea in La Jolla, surf the hours away at Half Moon Bay, do yoga at the waters edge in Lanzarote, and dance in the streets of Greece. I would put my roots down in Kaycee WY, wear my Old Gringo boots all day long, and learn to play the guitar again. I would get my pilots license and see the Grand Canyon by air. Then spend years trying to find Everett Ruess. I would have a radio show about relationships co-hosted with my friend Brad. Go to every Cubs game. Bake like Betty all day long, and take my gifts to my bestest friends, both old and young. If I had 100 lives I would master five languages. Climb Everest. And become a ballerina.

Sometimes, it just doesn't seem fair. That we only get to experience one slice of life. I would like to live 100 different lives and see faces I have not seen, go to places I have not been. Feel things I have not felt, and love those I have never met. But this one life...is pretty good too.

shocking moments in Jazz history.

I love the Jazz, and I wanted to write a column about the most shocking moments in Jazz history, this was so much fun to write! http://bit.ly/gqQBDp

one hour.

Years ago my friend Rebecca told me that when she finally got the chance to be a mother she would do things different from what her friends do. For starters, she would spend more quality time with her kids. She said, "Each day I will spend one hour doing exactly what they want to do, and nothing else." That conversation happened over ten years ago. I don't know what happened to Rebecca, or if she ended up having kids, but I do think about her advice quite often. When I carve out dedicated time to just be with my kids, and not try and multi-task, or process my day at the same time, or answer back texts, then I see a real light come on with my kids...and we connect. In ten more years, the two older kids will be in college. And I won't have the chance to so easily influence them. So, an hour a day? Sure. I can give that.

never say quit.

It is 5:30 a.m., and already Brandi Hammon is working out. Like a machine, she puts in 100 pull-ups, 150 push-ups, 200 sit-ups and 250 squats. To show for it, she has rock-solid abs — and two giant blisters. She competes in XTERRAs, triathlons, mountain bike races, challenging trail courses, and to confuse her body between runs, she picks up the intimidating work out of CrossFit twice a week.
Forty five minutes earlier, her husband, Les Vierra, started his morning work out. Running in the cold, well before dawn hit the snow-covered mountains, Vierra is training — ever training.
"There is no cheating being fit. You get out what you put in, and that's that," Hammon said. "I believe anyone can do anything. Unfortunately, it doesn't matter what I believe; it's what they believe."
Hammon balances a full-time career, three children and her competitive husband, who in July 2010 told her, "I'm running a 100-mile race in October."
Her response was full of support. "So this is why I married him," was her thought at the time.
Hammon and Vierra are in an elite category of athletes, who just so happen to be married to each other. Together, they offer support to one another, but neither ever utters the word "quit."
Vierra's strong-willed training plan for the Javelina Jundred competition in Scottsdale, Ariz., kicked in soon after he made his decision to compete in the race. Hammon was there, every step of the way, knowing and understanding that endurance runs like this require mental and physical preparation.
Only 5 percent of runners ever participate in an ultramarathon, according to the 2010 State of the Sport Report issued by the non-profit Running USA organization, which featured the results of 11,000 runners. Hammon knew her husband would be pushing his mind and body to new levels, and opening a window to his soul. Training for a 100-mile race includes putting in marathon-length runs each week, with weekly mileage totals averaging 80-90 miles.
In less than three months, Vierra was ready to take on the 100-mile race.
On October 23, 2010, Hammon and Vierra ate a hearty breakfast with friends and fellow runners from Switzerland, and shared a bit of laughter and a healthy dose of anticipation. Since 2003, the Javelina Jundred has included 1,016 runners. Because the staggering course has a 30-hour cut-off time, only 52 percent of those runners have finished the ultramarathon .
The top runner, Dave James, completed the race with his record time of 14:20:54 in 2009. Vierra set a less-ambitious goal of finishing — with legs still moving. By mid-day, Vierra completed 30 miles, and, with a smile, kept running.
"You don't encourage people drawn to push themselves," Hammon said of her husband. "It is amazing. The ego they possess is so much more than what anyone can convey onto them, at least in a long-enduring event."
Hammon admits she does not act as cheerleader. "Maybe on some short intense things, it works. But on an event like the 100-mile run, you just ask if you can help."
During the race, as the evening hours approached, Vierra hit 46 miles, then 50 and then 53, the sum of two marathons run back-to-back. By mile 70, his body began to give out, and at mile 75, with his fatigued muscles and taxed mind, thought he had had enough.
Vierra thought his goal would have to wait another year. Hammon strapped on her running shoes, and in the dark of the night, finished the last miles of Vierra's run with him.
Seventy-seven miles, nearly equal to three marathons.
"I never said quit or you should quit. You never, ever project that onto someone. Often, failure is this crazy battle with your mind and body," Hammon said after her husband’s race.
Not many would consider a 76-mile run a failure.

With a new year come unmarked goals. On March 1st Hammon was notified that she will contend in the Leadville 100, a gritty, 100-mile mountain-bike course, later this year. But Vierra will be back for unfinished business: To complete what he continues training his body and mind for. And this time, he said he expects to cross the finish line, with 100 miles behind him.

"To all who do it, just to see if they can, you have my respect," Hammon said.
She knows that often it is the journey, and not the win, that builds the character of the man or woman who wake up each day wanting to try again.

Brigham City residents witness strength of temple | Mormon Times

Brigham City residents witness strength of temple Mormon Times I am lucky enough to be able to write, and be read. To date I have had over 19,000 clicks on my online articles. This article is all about the new temple in Brigham City. But, more than that, it is about making right choices. Choices that last -- and that will thank you in the future. When we make good choices, we build a foundation as strong as steel, and as durable as re bar, sewn together three layers thick. Just like this temple.

one day.

One day I would like to have someone throw a party. Just for me. One day I would like to be pampered from head to toe. And then taken shopping in a limo. Just because. One day I would like to fly to the moon. And back again. On my lunch break. One day I would like to wish on a star from Greece or throw a penny in a lucky pool in Rome. One day I would like to let all my cares go down the drain, and plant flowers all day long. One day I would like my kitchen to stay clean, my bed to stay made, and my hair to stay in place. But today. I will not think about one day. Only today.

baby steps.

My baby is learning to walk. She falls. Over and over again. But, never, does she pound her fists into the carpet and give up. Even though, clearly, everyone around her is overly talented in the area of walking, and she is the only one who can't. Nope. She does not quit. She just gets up and tries again.

when change is good.

I have been watching the JAZZ my whole life. Ever since I used to sneak the only TV we had (B& W and TINY!) out of my parents room and into my basement bedroom -- I have been a fan. So the past few weeks have been interesting. First Coach Sloan leaving, and now our star player D-Will is gone. I resist change. Unless we are talking about new clothes or shoes of course. With relationships though, I like them to stay the same. I am not a big fan of relationships changing the course of how I think they should behave. Coaches should always coach. Star players should always be loyal. Change is tough. However, once I stop resisting and start seeing the good, change makes sense. Coaches should be able to retire, and players should be able to leave when they don't want to stay. In the case of the JAZZ, change is going to take some getting used to. But for now, we have a Coach who wants to coach...and players who want to play. And that kind of change, is always good.

and the home of the brave.

Sunday night Christina Aguilera messed up the National Anthem. In front of, you know, pretty much the whole nation. She sang "What so proudly we watched at the twilight's last gleaming," instead of "O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming." To her credit, I am sure that she often improvises the words to her songs, and makes them her own, adding extra words, new words, and a whole train of tralllalalal's and oohhhs. However, I am having a hard time getting past this 'flub'. For one reason. It is not her song.

It is our song.

I remember in 7th grade our music teacher, Mr. Taylor, made us memorize by heart all of the verses to the "The Star-Spangled Banner". He failed us on the test if even one word was wrong. At the time I thought he was a little harsh. He said it was not a song that ever should be sung wrong, and that each of us had a responsibility to learn it -- and learn it right. I failed my test in 7th grade over three tiny mistakes. A test that taught me a lesson I have never forgotten.

I am sure Christina knows the words. She likely put in quality time getting her version ready. Oprah or Ellen will probably have her on this week, singing the REAL version, just so she can redeem herself. However, even with her platinum hair and ruby lips, Miss Christina failed the test , and that is that.

Meeting Geena Davis

On Saturday I traveled to Park City to review the movie "Miss Representation". This being my first time covering Sundance as a reporter, I was very excited to see anyone famous. It's true. Call me shallow, but there are a few out there that I really wanted to meet. After the movie I waited for Geena Davis to exit, then walked right up to her in her fancy silver moon boots, stuck out my hand, and introduced myself. Two sentences later it felt like she was my new long lost friend. Well, not quite, but close. She was warm and friendly and also, very tall. All things I like. She said that young girls still come up to her and tell her that her role in "A League of Their Own" is what has inspired them to play sports. So, call celebrities what you will, but if they can influence for the good -- then they deserve the applause.

it all comes back to ABBA.

Today I get to clean the house with just me and the baby. Everyone else went ice fishing. So, I put on the music that really only I love (and now the baby), and of course it has to be ABBA. As I am scrubbing toilets and washing dishes I realize that somewhere in all of those lyrics is my life. And I like it. Take a Chance on Me cause I Have a Dream, I am the Dancing Driveway Queen, My Love My Life, right here at home. Just trying to find out who I am. Some days you have to Move On, and some days you have to worry about Money Money Money, and some days my 'mind is an open window'. I once thought that the Winner Takes it All...and I was on the opposite end...but now, I Wonder, On and On and ON all day long, about Me and I...and When All is Said and Done, I know that the winner is right here.

Sundance

I am so excited to be writing for Sundance/Deseret News this year! I will be focusing on my hometown of Ogden, or O Town as I like to call it. Ogden has an amazing venue for the movies, and speaking of movies...14 will be playing at Ogden Sundance this year. I am looking forward to being a part of this great event.