Monday, April 18, 2011

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.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

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.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

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 pretty good too.

Monday, April 4, 2011

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!

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.