Man. You leave the country for a couple of weeks in India (BTW, a nation that happens to be the world’s largest democracy) and suddenly the center no longer holds!

I’m referring to the whole dust-up at Brigham Young University and beyond over the school’s invitation to Vice Prez Dick Cheney to keynote spring commencement. While it took a few days to track back the genesis of the invitation, it finally turns out that the White House started the ball rolling by offering Cheney’s services to BYU. The school, via the LDS Church First Presidency, then issued a formal invitation.

First observation: Things are either alarmingly slow at the veep’s D.C. communications office (What? Harvard and Stanford were already booked?), or Cheney is showing the Bush Administration’s growing desperation with its plummeting popularity and needs the biggest fawning audience available to shore him up.

Uh, I think it’s more likely the latter, don’t you?

Main observation: It appears the march-in-lockstep image of BYU is crumbling just the tiniest bit. The College Democrats chapter is planning at least one protest of Cheney’s appearance. A handful of progressive faculty members has stepped up to publicly challenge the invitation. One professor pointed out the Y’s longstanding history of inviting conservative speakers to the exclusion of liberals — an obvious effort to prevent the clashing of ideas and free speech that most universities welcome and nurture.

Some students and profs are even trying for petition drives on campus (which requires official permission) to block Cheney’s visit.

Wow. It feels something like a pro wrestling match breaking out in heaven.

Now I certainly know a few truths. BYU is a private, religious institution. It accepts no taxpayers’ money and thus can do anything it likes. And as history shows — think periodic purges of free-thinking faculty members — it generally does exactly as it wants. Also, it’s absurd to think that the students, faculty, alumni and community members who oppose Cheney’s speech are even close to critical mass. (Interviews with students on the issue revealed the response typical of BYU’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers world: “We should welcome him,” said one male student. “He’s a great leader.”)

And yet, you’ve gotta admire Diane Bailey, president of the College Demos. She’s smart, articulate, and on point. Cheney, she has explained, with his war-mongering ways and endorsement of torture, is no role model for thousands of young graduates about to make their mark on the world.

One last thought: I’ve spent some time in Utah County in the past few years, and it’s a mistake to paint the place as completely right-wing. In fact, the political spirit of the minority party is loud and lively. The Democrats there work like honeybees to stay involved in the process. They have to yell like hell to be heard. This is just the latest example of their activism.

And ain’t the First Amendment grand?

Late Thursday afternoon, Ted and I will board a plane to Santa Barbara, California. We are joining about a half-dozen others involved with the Tour of Utah road bicycle race. We’re going to watch the final segments of the Tour of California race. We are gathering intelligence. My husband Ted is executive director of the Tour of Utah bike race, scheduled to take place in Utah during the last week of June.

Oh, don’t worry. It isn’t a junket. The Tour of Utah is paying our way, fully.

Mostly, I am going to soak up the sun, taste the wine made famous in the film “Sideways” and support the man I love. We’ll start in Santa Barbara and Solvang and end up somewhere near Long Beach. I’m a good soldier. I’m just going to do what they tell me. I’ll yell and cheer a lot for the bike racers (though sadly, our native son Dave Zabriskie dropped out after getting hurt during a course pile-up crash two days ago), but I’m truly going because I want to chill with my best friend/husband and to support him. I hope I can send some mojo Ted’s way to help all go well for the Tour of Utah. Getting it going and supported here in Utah is a considerable challenge.

This is how it works when you truly love someone. We give to each other and we get in return. See, I didn’t have much of this in previous marriage/relationships. Perhaps I was too proud to give up a piece of myself — didn’t want to look weak and insignificant, you know. Well no more. Ted and I support each other; we give where needed and revel in that, really. I’m old enough, wise enough to know that offering up my best self to another really matters. If four days in California comes with that sacrifice, well who am I to argue?!

I’ll probably file some blog entries from California. I’m taking my laptop. I’ll try to log some photos, too. Please check the blog. I won’t give up if you don’t.

Time: 7:21 a.m. today.

Place: The intersection of 300 West and 200 South, one block east of The Road Home shelter, downtown Salt Lake City.

Scene: Sun just risen, stands of pink stretching across the sky. Fiftysomething man, shaggy gray beard, dirty ski cap pulled down to his eyelids, wrapped in filthy huge parka, ill-fitting shoes. In each hand, a plastic Albertson’s grocery bag, both stuffed beyond their utility. He enters the crosswalk, with the light, takes two steps. Suddenly, one of the bags breaks open. Out falls a plastic Maverik coffee mug, a pair of gloves, and assorted scraps of paper that start tumbling off in the breeze. Most certainly, it’s half of everything this man owns.

I’m behind the wheel of my car, watching. As soon as the light turns green, I think, I’ll go through the intersection, pull over, get out and help him.

Then, this: A woman crossing from the other direction scrambles after a piece of paper blowing along the asphalt. She’s dressed for work — not fancy, but sensibly, in jeans and warm jacket. She walks up to the man, touches his elbow, then bends over and scoops up the broken bag and its contents.

The light changes. I tap the gas pedal. I keep my eyes on the rear-view mirror, watching the pair for as long as I can. Last I see them, the woman is helping the man rearrange the contents of his remaining bag.

A lovely morning here in Big Utah. I wish the same for you, wherever you are.

A blue-sky day in the city. Ted and I decided to celebrate on two wheels. We hopped on his Suzuki SV 650 and went for a scoot. Did I mention it was 50 degrees at 3 p.m.? A regular scorcher, I tell you.

This is a fun, fast bike. It isn’t built for touring, so speaking as the one who rides on back, a short day ride is about all my butt can take.

We had a couple of items on our agenda. The first was to drop a donation at the home of Suljo and Sabira Talovic, the parents of Suljeman Talovic. For several days now, news stories have listed a growing number of funds for the families of the victims of the Trolley Square shootings. But unless I missed something, I haven’t seen anything formally established for the family of the shooter.

The Talovics want to take their son’s body back to Bosnia next week for burial. We wanted to do our small part to help them do so. We rode to their home in northwest Salt Lake City, where a woman was walking away from the yard after leaving a bag of groceries. Ted asked if she was with the family. She told us no, that her daughters attend school with the Talovics’ younger children. She also said the family has left the house and is staying elsewhere for now.

Ted walked up the porch steps with our envelope and tucked it away among a heap of other donations. A mylar balloon with a giant red heart and the words “I Love You” was tied to a basket of groceries and bobbed in the wind. There were perhaps a half-dozen floral bouquets. There was a boxed set of white Corelle dishes. And a Costco-sized bottle of liquid laundry detergent.

Salt Lake City hasn’t forgotten about this family, also hurt and shattered. We were grateful to see that. This is a sign of Big Utah. The place I know to be generous in times that really test us. The place I love.

We rode off and decided to take in a late afternoon movie. We saw “Pan’s Labrynth.” We may be the last people on Earth to have seen it. If I’m wrong about that, and you haven’t seen it, go. It’s stellar.

For just a moment, I fought a flush of feeling that I was being ghoulish. Was I some kind of bottom feeder, wanting to check in at Trolley Square, site of the massacre just 36 hours earlier that ended with the random killings of five and the death of the gunman?

It may be my background covering news for nearly three decades. You don’t let yourself get squeamish and self-conscious in these situations, and it worked that way today, too. I pulled the car over at Trolley Square early this morning, just as the sun was cresting the Wasatch Mountains.

And after the gloom that settled over this city in the tragedy’s aftermath, the sun and brilliant blue skies above us are much-welcomed gifts.

The scene was of a business, a city landmark, waiting to get back to normal. Mall security guards were removing the yellow police tape surrounding the 10 square blocks of the structure. Shop and restaurant owners were being interviewed by radio reporters about when they plan to reopen. A few gawkers like myself were shuffling along the sidewalks, pointing, stretching their necks for a better view.

Late yesterday, some of the broken glass and splintered wood had been replaced. But sheaths of paper and plywood planks still cover display windows of Cabin Fever and Pottery Barn Kids.

We know about random acts of violence and of what I frankly call the “shit happens” school of tragedy. News stories and editorials keep asking why here, why us, why them? Thinking and talking it all through like that — asking the rhetorical questions — is a salve for the immediate pain and mystery of it all, but it’s not terribly productive or meaningful in the long run.

There’s just no explanation, really.

One woman who clearly understands that is Marian Ingham, a 66-year-old woman who was interviewed by TV and print reporters last night. She had watched a movie at the mall’s Regency Theaters and escaped the gunfire by running out the building’s southwest exit. Yesterday she returned to the scene, where people are leaving flowers and notes at a makeshift shrine to the victims. Marian was handing out little cards containing inspirational thoughts to passersby.

No one reported the backstory of her efforts. Marian lost her husband several years ago. He was killed after crashing his car into a utility pole on Foothill Drive in Salt Lake City. Authorities determined he had suffered a heart attack seconds before, causing him to lose control of the car.

While Marian’s experience hardly mirrors the shooting rampage at Trolley Square, she surely knows something about the random nature of this universe. One day you have a loved one sitting across the table from you, sipping coffee. The next day, you don’t.

I plan on meeting my hubby for lunch at Desert Edge Brewery sometime this week. We want to keep the sun shining on this place as long as possible.

And finally, Happy Valentine’s Day. Wrap your arms around someone you love and be grateful for another day together.

Depending on whom you believe, the Wasatch Mountains got anywhere from five inches to 17 inches new snow in the past 24 hours.

Believe me, I checked. Newspaper, TV weather, web sites for both Alta (is there anywhere else) and our favorite pimp for the ski industry, Ski Utah.

In this case, I’m no stickler for accuracy or even THE TRUTH. I trust my own eyes. And I walked out to the driveway early this a.m., cast a glance to the east and saw a perfect blanket of white.

I am so outta here.

I’m going skiing for the first time in a month.

I’ll take my camera.

Don’t you wish you were me?

Don’t go changin’!

xoxo,
Mayor of Mullentown

The Utah air, that is. It’s clean. I can’t see it, smell it, or — best of all — taste it anymore.

Twenty-one days of smog, red-alert, and no-burn days: BE GONE!

The snow has been falling for four hours. The storm ranks about a 2 on the 1 to 10 scale for winter drama, but that’s OK. It’s falling steadily and we’ll take what we can get.

Just got back from a run. Roads, sidewalks are like glass. That forced me to plod along slowly. I don’t know how long I was gone; didn’t care. When I was much younger, I used to keep track of time on the road. Now I just listen to my tunes and breathe. Time slips by fast enough anyway; why count it when you’re flying down the pavement on your own power?

Tunes on today’s running list:

Elvis Costello/Burt Bacharach: “In the Darkest Place,” “Toledo,” “This House is Empty Now,” “God Give Me Strength”

The soundtrack of “Garden State”

Nirvana: “Heart-Shaped Box”

The Decemberists: “Sixteen Military Wives,” “Red Right Ankle”

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.

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.

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.