I am deeply sad tonight. That’s all. I was stirring a pot of beef barley soup late this afternoon, watching the little TV on the kitchen counter from the corner of my eye when the announcement came on NBC network news. Molly Ivins died today at her home in Austin, Texas. Her 7-year battle with inflammatory breast cancer is finally over.

People here in my home state of Utah know Molly from her syndicated political column in The Salt Lake Tribune. She always had a healthy fan base — even in Utah — where I’m quite sure thousands of people would give up a firstborn child in exchange for a Republican political majority for life.

For months now, as Molly fought her cancer again, her liberal voice has been missing from the Trib. The paper published her last column in mid-January. Molly urged people to stand up against George W. Bush’s chicanery in his war and his “surge” of troops for Iraq.

At least she died at home, in Austin, the politically progressive hotbed of Texas, the state capital and the best place to live in that huge state. It is the place where — long before Bush gave her material for “Shrub” and other treats — Molly learned the real meaning of “deep in the heart of Texas.” Truly, Texas state government makes all other political and civic centers look like a pallid dress rehearsal. And it was there, in Austin, that Molly unearthed her most real and insane characters, soaked up the best quotes and used metaphors like this one for Bill Clinton: “he’s weaker than bus-station chili.”

I loved Molly Ivins for all the reasons readers of newspapers, magazines and political satire did — her mind was quick and sharp, her analysis honest and solid. She brooked no crap from Texas’ good ol’ boys and Molly’s voice? Oh, her voice. It was a scalding knife straight down through butter. It wasn’t until I had the privilege of writing my own regular column for the Salt Lake Tribune from 2002 until just last month that I totally understood her talent.

Because Molly — belting out her opinions for two decades — showed me that women must be bold in print if they expect any respect. If you are lucky to have the power and ink to put your voice in print, the guidance you might extract from Molly Ivins was always simple: Shoot the moon. Speak your truth. Risk. Do not wilt. Be the boss.

I loved her for that. And every time I got hate mail from a reader accusing me of being “Utah’s Molly Ivins,” I chuckled and walked a little taller that day. Because what, for a progressive female columnist, could be a finer compliment?

I had the privilege of meeting her once, in 1994. We both were working for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. Molly had her own comfortable office in the paper’s Austin bureau (why not? She was a nationally syndicated columnist, and having worked for the Minneapolis Tribune, the New York Times, the Texas Observer and the Dallas Times-Herald, Molly Ivins was unquestionably the Star-Telegram’s franchise).

I had stopped in the Austin bureau while covering a 1994 U.S. Senate race between Republican incumbent Kay Bailey Hutchinson and Democratic challenger Richard Fisher. I walked by her office door, saw her working at her computer and stuck my head inside. Told her my name. Told her she was my idol. She smiled, tossed her head back with a little chuckle and said, simply, “well, thank you.”

This is what the greatest professionals do. They accept compliments. They acknowledge others’ gratitude without a lick of arrogance. Molly Ivins — hawk-eyed political critic, righteous feminist and really fun woman — knew her power and felt good in her skin.

So as I work through the news of her death and the too-early demise of one of my biggest heroes, I am entertaining one fabulous image:

Molly Ivins, walking into a party on some puffy cloud in heaven hosted by former Texas Governor Ann Richards. The two of them were pals for years. Both died of cancer — Richards, late last year. If there is a heaven, and a god, there’s got to be a big ol’ Texas party going on right now. Complete with big steel tubs of ice-cold Shiner Bock (yes, I know Richards was a recovering alcoholic, but aren’t all imperfections forgiven in the next world?) barbecued goat, a Texas swing band in the corner and spent peanut shells littering the floor.

For quotes, memories, and other thoughts on Molly Ivins, go here, here, here, here, and here.

When Elder M. Russell Ballard, member of the LDS Council of the Twelve Apostles, takes a public stand in urging compassion from the state Legislature, will its members listen? Is his point of view enough to open hardened minds — clouded or closed entirely by political gamesmanship?

Ballard, along with Catholic, Protestant, business and political leaders who comprise the Alliance for Unity, sent a statement opposing HB224 to the Mormon-dominated Legislature shortly before it hit the full House for a vote yesterday. The bill would repeal a 2002 law allowing Utah children of undocumented immigrants to attend state colleges and universities on in-state tuition — provided they have attended a Utah high school for at least three years and have graduated.

A tie vote (37-37) killed the bill, as per legislative rules. But as your read this, legislators are scrambling to line up votes on both sides and reintroduce it in the House today.

I’ve always thought LDS leaders do their finest work when they rally members to act with love, kindness, charity and gratitude. It’s an even stronger message when the leadership can apply that sermon to specifics in the real world — relationships with spouses, neighbors, and anyone else who looks, acts, believes differently than the rest of “us.”

I suppose the most rigid legislators on this issue could argue this isn’t an official statement from the church’s First Presidency. It’s Ballard’s opinion, just one man, just one thought.

But he is a decent man. He is a man church members look to for guidance and authority, especially in matters of confusion or debate.

Donnelson and his supporters stand on a platform that all laws must be obeyed and upheld. The 2002 law was drafted specifically to permit the exception for undocumented students with their high school diploma. It IS the law. And this miniscule group — kids who deserve a resident-tuition funded education — has been following it exactly as written.

HB224 has been sliced and diced on every media cutting board. According to state higher education numbers, the tuition break covers 180 students. It would help educate a sliver of the population that most likely isn’t leaving the state any time soon. I guess the Lege can dig in and decide to pass this ugly bill, choosing instead to support those who might benefit through government programs like Medicaid and CHIPS. Or lawmakers can give a leg-up in this small, benevolent way to a hard-working and deserving group of people.

Don’t you just love those puffy “best U.S. cities” lists that the mainstream media gobble up like buckets of theater popcorn?

They rarely contain that all-important context, such as a live quote from a recent crime victim or a parent whose kid was shunned by others at the neighborhood school for membership in the wrong religion.

Just three months ago, some self-promoting outfit called Morgan Quitno Press decided that the city of Orem was the 12th safest U.S. city in which to live. Naturally, Orem Mayor Jerry Washburn was delighted. He told the Deseret Morning News at the time his city’s ranking had a lot to do with Orem’s values, which are “centered on the family.” The schools are good, and the cops are community-oriented.

(What Orem doesn’t have, what all of Utah County doesn’t have for that matter, is an established shelter for the homeless. But why quibble?)

Of course, statistics don’t lie, and no one in Utah County could be accused of being blind to the real world. It’s just that at least anecdotally, Orem seems like a damn creepy place to live. And with regular, glowing descriptions of how fine the city is … well, try a bite of this reality sandwich:

1. A young married couple the press has dubbed Utah County’s Bonnie and Clyde was arrested last weekend and is now charged in federal court with armed robbery of the same Lindon bank three times. Authorities allege the once-wholesome, now skanky, pair spent the money in Las Vegas, Palm Springs and on drugs. Seems they wanted a honeymoon but couldn’t afford it. Because, well, they had to — allegedly — buy drugs, too.

2. On the same weekend, police booked an Orem man on suspicion of drug possession after finding two balloons of heroin under his mattress. On the way to jail, police say, the suspect admitted to hiding more heroin in a spot where the sun don’t shine.

Now, is Orem any different than other Utah cities — like Salt Lake City, West Valley City, Ogden, or (oh my heck) Provo? Of course not. Is it fair to single out Orem for cancers like meth addiction, domestic violence and property crimes? No.

It’s just that we all ought to know there is no such thing as “12th safest city in the nation.” Grit is one cost of urban life. And “safest cities,” quite honestly, are just a state of mind.

Peter Corroon started out with a bit of a stutter, a pause. He mistakenly said “Salt Lake City” when he meant “Salt Lake County.” He grinned slightly at the glitch, corrected himself. Then, following a wind-up that — in the shiny political kind of way — nicely stroked the stakeholders in the Salt Lake Real soccer stadium deal, Corroon broke the news.

Salt Lake County would not cough up tax dollars for the stadium in Sandy. The end. For 2 1/2 years this game has been dragging on. Now it’s over.

Real owner Dave Checketts says so. Speculation still runs toward Checketts locating on old Geneva Steel property in Utah County. But as of this writing, he is still talking about selling the team, gathering up his Tinker Toys and moving on.

You can analyze this ending a dozen different ways. I was in the audience on October 12, 2005, just a few hundred yards from the proposed Sandy stadium site. Checketts and his confab announced their plans to move the team’s home from the University of Utah to Sandy. I’ll never forget it. I wrote about that day more than once. What really struck me then — sticks with me still — was the body language among all those proud guys in white shirts and ties. So much backslapping. Such confidence in the future.

There was this long line of South Salt Lake Valley Republicans — Sandy Mayor Tom Dolan and Republican Speaker of the House Greg Curtis (who represents Sandy), as well as Gov. Jon Huntsman Jr. Checketts was running the news conference with a whole entourage of handlers and team boosters.

But curses! There was that little matter of what Salt Lake County might do. After Checketts had introduced his backers, he suddenly summoned Corroon to the platform. It seemed like a total afterthought. It felt like the guys had the deal greased, but it might be nice to invite Corroon up for a few minutes at the grown-up table.

I’m not saying this one moment predicted the final outcome. I’ve talked with plenty of county officials involved in the negotiations for $34 million of hotel taxes from Salt Lake County, and I’m convinced Corroon and others wanted the numbers to work. (Corroon has committed to putting $7.5 million toward youth soccer programs and facilities, BTW.)

The numbers did not work. I’m sure grinning, hopeful men at that stadium announcement long ago imagined they would wait Corroon out, delay delivery of the real financials (remember, Real Salt Lake didn’t reveal them to the county until mid-December) and get what they wanted.

Checketts may be a professional sports icon, a solid businessman, a hometown hero and all-around nice guy. But based on information from county experts, financial evaluations by an independent company and the county’s debt review panel, Real couldn’t prove solvency on this deal. And almost as troublesome, Checketts seemed determined first to build a commercial empire (concerts, retail, etc.) and then, a soccer stadium. It should have been the other way around.

I asked the mayor at today’s press conference if he thought the principal actors in this drama had sold his ability short, or flat-out dismissed him. He said he always tried to work in good faith. His top concern, he said, was the debt level and his responsibility to county taxpayers. Another reporter mentioned Dolan’s public complaint that would tarnish Salt Lake County’s image among big investors nationwide. Surely, Dolan predicted, this would energy for others interested in locating here.

Corroon’s reaction: “I guess my answer is, then don’t bring bad projects to Utah.”

Pundits all over town are predicting the county, the whole state, will regret this decision. It seems soccer will pass us by. We’ll be standing around, our mouths hanging open, looking like the people on the platform who were fussing with our luggage, our passports and purses and missed boarding the bullet train.

Hmm, maybe.

But for now, we’ve got a county mayor who had a hand on our wallet. I think it’s going to work out fine.

It’s one of those mornings when news rules. I love those mornings. I’m heading to the Salt Lake County Council chambers in 20 minutes for a news conference with county Mayor Peter Corroon. He’s going to explain his decision for saying “no” to public funding for the Salt Lake Real stadium in Sandy.

Right now, I’m in Cooroon’s corner. We’ll see what plays out as the day moves along.

And I just heard on ABC radio network news that dynamo racehorse Barbaro was put down this morning. The victim of a shattered right leg last year, the Kentucky Derby winner had developed laminitis, a painful infection of his left leg. Vets treated that problem, but an infection crept into the horse’s right leg — the one that was originally broken. It got to be too much. The pain became unbearable.

I heard one of Barbaro’s vets interviewed a few hours ago on National Public Radio. He had a tone of resignation in his voice — as if the decision had been made, but why not hold on a little longer? The vet talked about this horse’s will to fight, and to live.

He said he’s seen it before in other thoroughbreds. They want to run. They seem to know it isn’t their role to stand inside a posh stable, living slower, operating in recovery mode. The vet said Barbaro had every inch of will he needed to live.

The fight is over. Sad. But amazing.

A man I greatly admire — Chip Ward — is retiring tomorrow after 29 years at the Salt Lake City Library. Chip ends his career as assistant director. Besides his lifelong commitment to intellectual freedom, free speech and library access to all, Chip is a devoted environmentalist and author. I met him three years ago through my husband, Ted. They serve on the board of directors for the Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance (SUWA).

Chip and his direct supervisor, library director Nancy Tessman (who retires later this year) have worked diligently for years to keep the city library open and free to all.

It hasn’t been easy. When the breathtaking new building opened three years ago, they helped forge a policy and practice that would continue, just as it did in the funky old building, to welcome everyone — including the homeless. When some patrons got squeamish and complained of people they found undesirable, Chip and Nancy held firm that even those who pass as Utah’s “untouchables” had a place at the public library.

They pointed out the library acted as an effective barometer for the level of chronic homelessness in the community. As more homeless people flock to the library, it could well mean we need more assistance in the community at large.

Chip wrote his last essay for the library employee newsletter, “Library Matters,” and e-mailed friends.

Among other things, Chip makes a powerful link between libraries and the biodiversity of a healthy ecology. Both need diversity and friction to survive. I like the following paragraph a lot, mostly because it helps to explain why I left mainstream, corporate newspaper journalism after 27 years in the business. It was, in some part, because so little freedom, creativity, and courage exist in big media anymore.

Nature is amazingly reciprocal and integrated — rich with feedback loops, synergy, and the constant exchange of information and energy. Societies that have lots of feedback and the means to exchange information and energy easily are likewise more adaptable and resilient than those where ideas are constricted and controlled. The continual concentration of publishing, radio, and television into a few media conglomerates means more choices but less substantive variety, less experimentation, and fewer controversial or unpopular ideas are available. But in the public library, such diversity, experimentation (I would cite this little essay as an example), and risk-taking is still possible. More than possible, it is encouraged.

Excellent. Best to you, Chip and Linda.

The mainstream media in the past couple of week tried to stir up a little tsunami of disrespect for our mayor, Rocky Anderson. This is because he sandwiched in a speech at today’s anti-war protest on the Mall with a city business trip to Washington D.C.

The trip was taxpayer-funded, you see, and the thought that the Rock would take six minutes to shout out against the war would typically outrage scores of red-staters here in Utah. (Not so much though in Salt Lake City proper, where Rocky has majority support for most of his city programs and his national agenda, as well.)

The anticipated outrage was a no-show. The usual dump of letters to the editors in the local papers never happened. I admit I can’t possibly land on every blog out there that could have addressed Rocky’s ambition, motivation, patriotism and what his hair looked like (I watched him live on C-SPAN, and the hair looked good, I must say). But really, the storm over the mayor’s anti-war, anti-Bush conduct never erupted.

Some folks may have just given up on the guy. Rocky is Rocky, after all. He’s like the scones at Mom’s Cafe down south in Salina. You always know what you’re gonna get. He does what he does and as long as that big pothole on the I-80 on-ramp at 1300 East gets fixed this spring, why bitch?

But this is the more likely scenario: Rocky is right about this dismal and hopeless war. He’s been right all along. Even here in Utah, which supported Bush by 93 percent in the aftermath of September 11, the president’s approval rating is dipping. One recent poll shows 61 percent approval in Utah of the prez (It’s hovering near 30 percent nationwide).

Also, people in Utah love having our name somewhere, anywhere, in the national news. Few Utahns will admit this out loud. Culturally, that sort of self-promotion is considered unseemly, audacious, too showy. Unless, of course, you are Utah senior Sen. Orrin Hatch, out to sell a new CD of your Christian-lite music. In that case, a little self-aggrandizement on the taxpayer’s dime is OK.

Rocky is right, and so is the huge wave of people that won’t be cowed anymore into silence over this war. Today’s national headlines picked up on George W. Bush’s declaration that he is “the decision maker” in the move to send 21,500 more troops to Iraq. That, seemingly, is a step above “the decider” our president has been for the past several months. I dunno. It’s two more syllables. Does that make him more powerful?

Defense Secretary Robert Gates — remember him as the guy Washington’s leaders called a breath of fresh air after Donald Rumsfeld — raised that tired old specter of inciting the enemy with our protests.

That was in response to reporters’ questions following Bush’s brush-off of the congressional resolution (non-binding!) to condemn his troop “surge.”

“Any indication of flagging will in the United States gives encouragement to [the enemy],” Gates said.

I love that Rocky Anderson and all those other dissident voices rang out just hours after Bush, Gates et al tried to dilute them. The Administration’s mantra of “if yur not fur us yur agin us” might have worked at the start of this whole mess. It might have bullied some into submission, and chilled us into shoving our First Amendment rights into a drawer.

Not any more. Just watch.

The following is a guest entry by Ted Wilson, mountaineer:

My former student and now friend, Christy Karras of The Salt Lake Tribune , wrote an interesting story today about mountaineers and death. She wrote about the coming weekend’s production by the SB Dance Company of “This Mortal Coil.” The show features the life and times of Al Burgess, a Salt Lake City climber who has earned a world-class reputation for his high mountain climbs and exploits. I know Burgess. He is an engaging man who climbs the climb and minimizes the talk, just as Karras tries to get to the essence of climbing.

Karras says in her article, “When mountain climbers get together they always talk about the same thing. They talk about death.”

And now the SB Dance Company will apply the art of dance to the mission of climbing a mountain. It seems mountain climbing has finally permeated the culture deeply enough to have traditional art mediums like dance join the burden of explaining why human beings rope up, suffer incredible hardships of cold and harshness, put themselves in grave danger of dying, just to summit a worthless piece of real estate. As the great French climber Lionel Terray said, “Conquistadores of the Useless.” (Terray climbed huge mountains around the world, but he died on a a short rock climb in south central France.)

George Leigh Mallory, whose body was found on Mt. Everest seven years ago by Salt Lake climber Conrad Anker, said prior to his fatal expedition to Everest in 1924, “I climb Everest because it is there.” And that pithy, even prosaic, comment has been the best explanation of the human desire to climb ever since. Perhaps art, now, can move the explanation needle further up the gauge.

But my lifetime of climbing and my opportunity to rub shoulders with the greats of climbing — the Burgesses, the Ankers, the Unsoelds, the Whittakers, has taught me death is about the last thing that enters the mind of the alpinist. Mind you, I was never a climber like the greats, but I listened when in their presence.

Climbers love life beyond normal. They love life so much that the process of endangering themselves makes them feel really alive. My old climbing club had a standard saying when leaving a secure ledge to head out onto the rock where the chances of falling could overwhelm. It was, “Out of the womb and onto the shooting gallery.”

The expression captured the essence of your butt hanging out over a couple thousand feet of space where a fall would result in injury or death. Somehow, you gathered courage, finished the lead to the next secure ledge and, as Winston Churchill said, “There is nothing in life quite so satisfying as being shot at without result.”

But “death?” Only in the full essence of denial does the mountaineer think about death and its horrible, grim, and decisive conclusion. No, we skirt around it as climbers. As our friends get killed, and sometimes they do, we carefully analyze why and say to ourselves we would never make that kind of mistake. When climbing we think no more of death than a skydiver, a car racer, or a soldier does. Sure, it is back there in the recesses of the mind, in the core of the brain, but it does not come to the surface because if it did, we would simply quit in the middle of the very thing we choose to do in celebrating life.

If you go to a climber’s party, death is not the issue of the evening. Climbers are more intent on the women in the room or the beer they are drinking. Denial goes a long way.

So dancers and artists, you are welcome to replace the rather dull and boring literature of mountaineering (there are a few exceptions) with a new interpretation of the foolishness of climbing. But don’t look to death as the explanation. Look more to why we want to live.

Blogmaster’s note: Ted Wilson has climbed mountains around the world since 1958. He has pioneered routes throughout Utah’s Wasatch Range, the Tetons, and in Europe. No, he hasn’t climbed Everest, but he endures me, his wife, daily.

In this 1964 photo in Little Cottonwood Canyon, Ted Wilson is third from the left in the back row. Climbing phenom and outdoor apparel guru Royal Robbins is next to Ted, wearing the white beret. His wife and business partner, Liz Robbins, sits in front of him. Photo credit: Dick Wallin.

All I can see of the Wasatch Mountains today is a faint outline. Same for the Oquirrhs to the west. The smog has swallowed them. It’s gone on far too long — a winter smogfest and temperature inversion going on three weeks now. The air is so chalky, sooty thick I gave up my outdoor run today and looped around an indoor track for five miles. I felt like a hamster rolling one of those exercise balls around a room.

So, I give you two of my favorite escapes from January depression. Both involve living things, which is good, because my soul is starting to wither in this weather.

First, meet Pete, my resident downy woodpecker:

Pete visits the suet cake hanging from the cherry tree outside my kitchen window several times a day. I hear his rhythmic chirp, then watch him hop backwards down the tree trunk until he reaches the limb with the feed basket. I noticed Pete when this wretched cold snap settled in just after the New Year. The scarlet brush stroke on back of his crown is the only real color in my front courtyard this season. Pete knows he’s found the mother lode of woodpecker feed, and judging from his territorial behavior, he’s not up to spreading the word about his little oasis.

Second, this is my black jewel orchid on a moody January afternoon:

This flower gives me great joy. Why? My stepdaughter gave it to me for Mother’s Day two years ago. And also because I thought quite seriously of dumping it in the trash last year when it seemed stuck in limbo and wouldn’t bloom.

Turns out the thing was just dormant. I nearly fell over when I noticed its tiny bloom sprouting a few weeks ago. I’ve admired its lacy white blossoms all month. This orchid has taught me a bit about patience. I mean, as much as we might try, we can’t force the direction of a river. And we can’t rush a winter orchid into bloom, either.

You could call it the perfect storm of background research for blogging. Today, from 2:15 to 4:35 p.m., I sat at the Utah Drivers License satellite office in Salt Lake’s Rose Park neighborhood. Sam, my almost 16-year-old, was applying for his drivers learning permit.

While Sam hunkered down in the testing corner to answer 50 questions such as “does smoking marijuana impair your driving ability?” I reached deep inside my mother psyche for patience and waited. Someone, thoughtfully, had left today’s edition of the Deseret Morning News on the hard resin seat beside me. So I made use of my idle time.

Reporters Bob Bernick Jr. and Jennifer Toomer-Cook had a front-page story detailing the introduction of House Bill 322, by Springville Republican Rep. Aaron Tilton. Based on the tragic deaths of his 17-year-old niece and two of her friends last year in a car crash in Utah County, Tilton wants to mandate an addition to state drivers education curricula. As of this entry, Tilton’s bill sits in the House Rules Committee waiting for a committee assignment.

His idea is this: Before passing a drivers ed course and securing a drivers license all teens would be required to research and write a 10-page report on the death of a friend or some other teenager while driving. Tilton explains how powerless he felt after his niece’s death, and how her parents and other family members suffered. How the entire community suffered, really, because how can such a senseless event not take its toll on everyone? Tilton felt compelled to somehow reach other kids who might someday pile into a car and speed along some random highway or careen down some winding canyon.

As I read that story, I watched one teenager after another line up for the written test, then zoomed in on their facial expressions (it was either sublime joy or utter dread) when they learned whether they had passed or failed. Honestly, I did wonder how Tilton’s bill might make a difference in the way they think about driving. Would one more dry school report in the life of a 16-year-old do anything at all?

Then, in the same newspaper, a story described House Bill 217, which would outlaw cell phone use by teens while driving. Taylorsville Republican Rep. Kory Holdaway’s bill makes oh-so much more sense. Trust me. You want to hit a kid where he or she really, truly, deeply lives? Go for the cell phone, the MySpace page or that Nintendo Wii.

Anyway, it’s impossible to fault Tilton’s genuine and heartfelt motives. But it’s hard to buy the notion that just any old effort at teaching safe and defensive driving will help. It’s more sensible to reinforce laws we already have, especially those requiring teenagers to spend a certain number of hours doing day and night driving, or driving only with adults, and limiting the number of friends in the car. As for cell phones, puh-leez, feel free to go after them with the usual legislative zeal.

With teenager No. 2 poised to take to the road in two months, I’m more than a little anxious. But I know a 10-page report would do little or nothing for him. Besides, what kid with a typical scheming, short-cutting teenage mind wouldn’t find the easiest way around the work? Say, typing a 10-page report in 24-point font?