Peace

It may be silly, but once upon a time I read that on midnight every Christmas eve the animals in every barn kneel. Somehow, I still believe it. Just like I still believe in writing letters to Santa with my younger brother.

Funny things happen when we grow up. Life gets complicated. Things like faith and wonder and magic grow dull and need a little polishing up.

And yet, somehow, on Dec. 24, at midnight, the world is full of magic and wonder and faith.

There was a Savior born in the still of the night more than 2,000 years ago. He changed the course of all human history. That little baby in a manger was our hope for happiness. Through the small and simple birth of a child, this world can find the hope and faith and wonder and magic it so desperately needs. And, yes, I think the animals bowed.

Looking Up

Look up on a clear night at the Marina and you might see stars. Look down and you might see a man and his telescope.
I have been going to the Marina every night lately and getting in a pretty decent run. Tonight I was going to make six miles. So much runs thorough my head during the day that it is so nice to just go and watch the seagulls scatter as I run by and let my mind wander.
Sometimes I see some amazing things - besides the seagulls.
One night there was a group of people swinging kerosene-dipped, flaming swords, poi balls and staffs through the air on the beach. I got a first-rate education in being a pyro. They even let me wield the staff!
Tonight there was a man with a massive telescope.
He was part of a non-profit astronomy education program and was just letting passersby look at stars light years away. So for the first time during my busy day, I looked up.
It was so cool. First he focused in on a cluster of stars that lie in the puffy outer limits of our galaxy. Then he swung the telescope around and zoomed in on clusters of stars in the swinging arms of the Milky Way.
As people gathered to look through the telescope, I couldn’t help but think about how long it had been since I had really stopped just to look at the stars.
He explained the various life cycles that stars can go through and why they appear to be certain colors. That star was about seven billion years old. This star was closer to the millions. Bigger stars have a shorter life cycle - just about a million years or so. They are the James Dean stars. They live fast and die young. Smaller stars live longer, like our sun. He also pointed to a tiny pin-prick of a star on the horizon that had just recently been certified as a new solar system.
As he pulled out a star chart that traced the path of a star system, he said “remember that we are just here for a moment in time. These guys have been here for billions of years.”
Throughout the past couple years, my life has spiraled into a whirlwind. Dull moments are few and far between and things seem to come and go so fast. In that moment I saw my recent past fly through my mind. The first time I walked into my very own apartment, jokes in the newsroom, tears at church, prayers that left my knees numb, Matthew and Ford’s giggles, awards and scrunched up noses from laughter were all just blips. It was there and it was gone.
The little astronomer on the Marina had a point.
I am so thankful for all the amazing things that this life holds for me, and for all the things that it will throw my way in the future. George Santana once said that “there is no cure for life or death but to enjoy the interval.”
Whether or not you find an astronomer on your daily runs, I would suggest looking up at the stars. They will be there for a while, but you wont. Carpe Diem!

The stories that don’t get told

I have had the amazing opportunity to go places and do things that most people never will. In between the standoffs and school board meetings, every so often I get to research and write about the things that make us human.

Last week, I was assigned to write about the Veterans Guest House welcoming its 100,000 guest. The factual headline read “Veterans Guest House welcomes 100,000 guest.” However, the story was so much more than that.

On Veterans Day we are supposed to take a moment to reflect on the sacrifices countless men and women have made in the name of American liberty. I got to reflect on the tears I saw in David Lantry’s eyes. He served in Vietnam.

I wish so badly everyone could have seen his face when he talked about the guest house and how thankful he was.

No matter what your political beliefs, whether you believe Korea was a war or a police action, whether Iraq is a mission of liberation or a quagmire, these soldiers are devoting their lives, fortunes and sacred honor to their country. There is nothing much more patriotic than that.

Lantry didn’t talk much about his experience in Vietnam. He did say a little about the people who come and go through the guest house as they seek local medical treatment. Some were World War II vets, others were form more recent conflicts. The finny thing was that they all had something in common. They had served their country and put their families on the line to do so. Even now, they were still feeling the effects of their service as they struggled with leaving family for medical treatment and suffering through the lingering physical effects of what they did.

One man that day was a cook in the U.S. Navy. He was on his feet so much that his arches fell, causing severe pain for years.

Another woman at the house was in the Air Force, and darn proud of being a female military member in a house full of male vets.

As I walked away from the house and to my car, I wondered, ‘what am I doing for my country?’

News flash - the world is not going to get better before the Savior comes again. In fact it is going to get worse. I cannot stress enough that this is our time to stand up for what is right.

We cannot be complacent anymore. Watch your elected leaders like a hawk. You cannot afford not to. Be active politically. Be critical about what is going on around you. The stakes are higher now than they have ever been. Your freedoms are on the line.

These men and women risked their lives for your freedom. What is your excuse?

A real hero

Friday morning I walked into the Insight offices, blurry eyed from a week of little sleep and cradling a life-line of diet Pepsi in my right hand. For one more day I was going to lose myself in a manic to-do list at work and forget about everything that was so imperfect about my life. At the end of the day I would experience one more illusion that I was a hero because I had accomplished an impossible to do list and inched one step closer to my professional ideal.

Then I got a text message that stopped my already caffeine strained heart. A dear friend had gone into pre-term labor with her two precious twins, only 22-weeks old, fighting to come into the world entirely too early.

Later that day I got to go to the hospital to see my friend. A barrage of thoughts had been rushing through my head in the hours that preceded that visit. However, they were all trumped by what I saw.

I left that experience with a conviction that this world knows no stronger heroism than that of a mother. All professional ambition is hollow compared to the heroism of a mother. Even in the face of harsh odds, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that my friend would let anything happen to her children while she could do anything about it. In that moment, I saw how much she loved those little girls who she hadn’t even seen yet. The moment was life changing. I hope that even without seeing that moment, those little girls can comprehend just how much their mom and dad love them.

This weekend the members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Later Day Saints gathered for the semi-annual General Conference. For one Sunday, I stopped and listened as the ordained apostles of the church and disciples of Jesus Christ shared their testimonies and the hope they had in their Savior. Sunday morning Elder Robert D. Hales described real heroism. Passive does not mean weak. Love is not a failing. I am seeing more and more that the path the Savior walked is not for the weak. His example of love in adversity is one that, when applied in our modern lives, could very well push us to the edge of our endurance. But that is heroism.

Elder Holland:

“My beloved brothers and sisters, I testify of angels, both the heavenly and mortal kind. In doing so, I am testifying that God never leaves us alone. Never leaves us in the challenges we face, nor will he, so long as time shall last or the earth shall stand or there shall be one man or woman or child on the face thereof to be saved. On occasions, global or personal, we may feel that we are distanced from God … in lost and dreary places …. But even then the father of us all is watching and assisting. And always there are those angels that were watching all around us. Known and unknown, mortal and immortal … In the process of praying for those angels to attend us may we be a little more angelic ourselves. With a strong arm and a little faith … Perhaps then we can be emissaries from God …”

“And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.”

D&C 84:88

Remembering the lessons of Sept. 11

I picked up the small American flag as it lay on the ground at UNR today and dusted off the dirt. At the end of a busy day, it was a poignant time of reflection. Seven years ago I was sitting on the step in our family room trying to make sense of it all. Now where was I? Where are we?

Throughout the day, MSNBC was playing stark footage taken moments after the second of the twin towers collapsed in New York. Firefighters, family and friends were in the middle of dust-strewn streets, just staring. As I write this, it is hard not to just stop and freeze in amazement.

The United States of America changed drastically on Sept. 11, 2001. Two planes crushed their enormous weight into two of the largest centers of commerce in the United States. Something that represented America was spewing smoke into the blue sky. Inside, someone with a family was now dead. Someone who had chased a professional dream had been halted by mindless fanaticism. Multiply that sense by thousands and immerse it in a city full of people now fearing for their lives and you may grasp a percentage of what really happened that day.
A couple years ago I had the opportunity to visit New York City. The energy and culture and lights and feeling in that city were awesome. But no feeling before or after that trip has compared to the way I felt staring into the pit that was ground zero. In the middle of the city, there was silence. The only sound as I looked on was a homeless man playing Amazing Grace on a flute. I could feel the spirits of those who lived and worked and loved there. They were there. Across the street there is a church that has become a memorial to the events of 9/11. There were thank you notes for the firefighters. There were signs asking for information on missing loved ones. There was quiet there too.

Later that week my friend Ashley and I were walking down the street with her sister Jody. As we looked up at the clear blue sky, Jody said that it was still odd for her to hear an airplane fly overhead. There was a long time when the skies were quiet too. To this day, she feels funny when she sees an airplane and she cannot talk about the day without choking up. We all changed that day.
There is no simple way to communicate the gravity of that event. On Sept. 11, 2002, I was sitting with Ford. He was one at the time, and all I could think was that he will never know what this day really means. How will his generation learn the true meaning of heroism, patriotism and unity? Hopefully they will not have to face tragedy of their own.
His world is a different place seven years later. Where are we now? We are not staring in disbelief anymore. We have retaliated. We have declared war on terrorism. But do we remember what we are really fighting? We are not fighting to kill someone or something. Seven years later, our battle is to keep something alive – patriotism and heroism. Seven years later we are still dusting off our flags, waving them in the air proudly and saying “I am an American. I am willing to be a hero if my country needs it.” And we need it.

The really great Reno Balloon Races

Every year for my birthday I get the best gift ever. Before the sun comes up, I curl up in a blanket in the crisp fall air and watch a sea of enormous colorful orbs float into the air.

I have always wanted to fly. I would spend hours looking up at the stars at night wishing that I could fly up there. Just for a few minutes, I wanted to be in the sky.

Thursday I got to do that. What an experience. We just floated more than a thousand feet in the air. This is a picture taken by Guy Clifton from the balloon he was in for media day. I guess he spotted the mess of red hair.

For a few minutes, I was flying!

I could see the path below where I went running. The runners on the path then looked like ants. All around me was blue sky.

As I had to get up at 4 a.m. to enjoy the flight, I am at a lack of words at this late hour.

I may add more later, after the glow show and dawn patrol. I love the feeling of flying, and every year I get to let my spirit soar with the balloons.

A little potpourri of randomocity

I have a sticky note in my desk that lists all the topics I have needed to blog about throughout the past couple of weeks. And the list just keeps getting longer. So in an effort to take care of everything all at once, I am writing the potpourri blog. Be prepared for a sprinkling of everything.

Somewhere in front of the blaring sunshine is a girl and a bear. But this is not just any bear just wandering the streets. State Farm Insurance has this clever marketing tactic where they send the Good Neigh-Bear out to various events to spread good will and cheer. This time he was at the Sparks Farmer's Market. Having worked for a State Farm agent for several years, I thought it was appropriate to snag a quick picture. I'm sure Kayla got a few good laughs out of it too. We had so much fun that night!

These are some cell phone pictures from the KT Tunstall concert. She was awesome! Sorry for the bad pictures, my cell phone is just not good enough. For better pictures, and a little more detail, see www.dailysparkstribune.com in the A&E section.





This sign also caught my attention. It is at the Washoe County Commission chambers. So, who is not a member of the public? Really.

Any blog about the past little while in Sarah Land would be incomplete without a word on the Best in the West Nugget Rib Cook Off. For the past week, my office has smelled like wonderful, mouth-watering ribs. Lunch has just about wiped my wallet clean. So far the best I have tried was Butch's Smack Your Lips BBQ. However, I have yet to try ribs from the reigning champ - Famous Dave's. What Krystal is holding in the photo above is the most grease and carb filled concoction I have come across yet. Texas style potatoes are apparently lumped into a wreath-shaped strainer and deep fried. Oh, you can almost see the grease oozing from the plate! Between Krystal, Jody and I we could not finish it.


In addition to the food, there was some fun entertainment and shopping. These kids were honestly one of the highlights of this year's event for me.
They stood on a little corner near the theater and waved a little cardboard sign that advertised "Flips for Tips" in cute little kid scribble. We just couldn't resist. After my sister put some money in their jar, the girl proceeded to flip though the air in gravity-defying feats of skill.

There was also some fun shopping. There are some things that you can find on the street that you can't find anywhere else. And it is just fun to browse.

The start-of-semester blog. . .

So about four years ago I walked into this second floor classroom in the Frandsen Humanities building, a scared little 17-year-old freshman who was fresh from, well, 11 years of home school. I remember I was wearing a black Tommy Girl shirt, jeans and some fake converse tennis. And the feeling was amazing. I was going to college! I remember I had this lucky pen, given to me by a friend. Silly, I know.

Four years later, a lot has changed. But something funny happened Tuesday. I walked into a second floor classroom in Frandsen Humanities, sat down, pulled out a pen (which just happened to be that old lucky pen) and in walked my English 102 teacher! It had been four years and he still remembered me.

I walked in the doors of the Reynolds School of Journalism Tuesday morning and grinned. I wiped if off pretty quickly because the girl studying in the corner looked at me funny. It turned into just a little smile that lasted almost all day.

Walking into photo journalism, I saw my J school friends and the smile was back. I am so excited to be working with those people again. We kick butt guys! To add to the fun, it was so great to see the professors who I have come to know so well. Each has their own little quirks that make life in the J school so fun. Jake is a legend, Donica has latched onto the bike-commuter trend and Bob still has to bounce jovially around the building brightening everyone’s day with chocolate.

Then there is my finance teacher. Oh man. That guy is going to whack someone’s head off one day with his pointing stick! The pull-down screen feels his wrath twice a week.

Spanish might be another story. Stay tuned for that one.

Now, I realize that this post may be social suicide. Call the shrinks if you wish, but I feel pretty lucky to be in school this semester.

Delving into the depths of underage drinking at the farmers market

My eye darted to my reflection in the front glass of Hello World Travel in Victorian Square. Man, I was a bad impostor.

Trying to look juvenile in my "Top Gun" T-shirt, frayed jeans, flip flops and hoop earrings, I was interested in alcohol – along with the crowd of high school kids who frequent the Sparks Hometowne Farmer's Market.

A stone-cold-sober Mormon since the age of … well … birth, I never did fit in well with the underage drinking scene. Now, as something of an adult, I find myself participating in plenty of stogy gripes about “those darn drunk kids” — especially when it comes to the Sparks farmer's market. The whole affair seems to be a fun fest for barely post-pubescent boozers. So, as the inquisitive reporter that I am, I decided to take a closer look. That night I wanted to pay careful attention to who was drinking, where the police were and who the vendors were willing to sell to.

It’s no secret that Nevada’s drinking laws are among the most relaxed in the nation. Even the Sparks Police say as much. You want to get your drink on? Great! As long as you are 21-years-old, and can prove it, you are home free.

But what about special events? As I wandered along Victorian Square with my 19-year-old college freshman brother, I saw more than a few little hands tip back their Budweisers. Some had the blaring green wristbands and blue hand stamps that "proved" their age. Other wrists and hands supported a plastic cup as their only accessory.

But how was I to know how old they were? A smudge of blue eyeliner and glitter on the cheeks can do wonders for a woman’s age.

As we wandered through the booths, one asked if we planned on drinking yet. My brother knew me too well to misinterpret the mischievous glint in my eye.

“Sure,” I said with a smile.

My stone-cold-sober, Mormon brother was going to kill me.

Call me curious, I really just wanted to know what would happen next.

The bartender whipped out a sheet of green wrist bands and asked for the brother’s date of birth. What came out of his mouth was an embarrassed stammering of his birthday that sounded more like a question than fact. The poor kid couldn’t lie to save his life. Yeah, he was definitely not 21.

The man with the bands rolled his eyes with a friendly smile. “What about you?” he asked me.

I silently pulled out my ID and with a flick of the wrist, I was banded and stamped along with my brother.

“Now you are responsible for him,” the man said.

A confused look from my brother posed the question, “Is it really that easy?”

One quick call to Sparks Police Department later gave me a better handle on the topic.

“We do monitor underage drinking at special events through aggressive enforcement,” Commander Steve Asher of the patrol division, said.

He didn’t necessarily want the details published in the newspaper, probably for good reason.

A slew of city municipal codes and Nevada Revised Statues are the living proof that problems with underage drinking are out there.

Laying down the law, section 9.51.020 of the city’s municipal code tells us that being a minor in possession is just a little wrong.

“It is unlawful for any person, other than a parent, guardian or physician, to knowingly sell, deliver, give away or otherwise furnish any alcoholic beverage to any person under the age of 21 years, or to leave or deposit any such alcoholic beverage in any place with the intent that the same shall be procured by any person under the age of 21 years.”

Also, “It is unlawful for any parent, guardian or other person having legal care, custody and control of any person under the age of 21 years to allow any such minor person to have in his possession in any public place any alcoholic beverage.”

My concern with the farmer’s market is much more than an idle gripe. Painful things happen when teens drink. A swirling concoction of hormones and ethanol can endanger not only the drinking teen, but those on the streets and roads around them. And the last time I checked, control was not a hallmark of the high school drinking crowd. Then again, it’s been a while.

Nevada law slaps some heavy penalties on underage drinkers. Some possibilities for a minor in possession include, suspension of your driver's license for 90 days to 2 years or delay in obtaining a driver's license for 90 days to 2 years, assignment to a work crew for 16 to 32 hours, mandatory substance abuse assessment or even six months in jail.

You would think those kids at the farmers market would be a little less glib.

We walked the streets for a little while longer as still-sober Mormons, every so often exchanging confused looks and the unspoken expression, “Did that really just happen?” As we drove home, the only liquid that had passed our lips was Gatorade, despite the fact that we had both been granted free tickets to get tanked.

My night of observation had just confirmed what others have been observing all summer.

After talking to Commander Asher, I really lay very little blame on Sparks PD. They were certainly out in force at the farmer's market and they do have programs in place to curb underage drinking at special events. In an ironic twist, a pair of cops were even standing across the street as we were branded with the drinking stamps.

But really, how were they supposed to know? My stylistic ode to the early '80s was a little bit of a giveaway for me. Then again, anyone can make themselves seem older. My experience left me with this plea to servers: please ask for ID, no matter what, and don’t let the farmers market become a haven for underage drinking.

Things I hope I never have to think about.

More often than I enjoy, my job requires me to delve into the depths of Nevada Revised Statute for original sources on law. This plunge into the murky depths usually leaves me feeling like my brains are about to ooze out my ears. However, today I found something interesting. So this is the nitty-gritty Nevada law on marriage.

NRS 123.090 Necessaries provided wife when husband neglects to provide; recovery of value.

If the husband neglects to make adequate provision for the support of his wife, any other person may in good faith supply her with articles necessary for her support, and recover the reasonable value thereof from the husband. The separate property of the husband is liable for the cost of such necessities if the community property of the spouses is not sufficient to satisfy such debt.

NRS 123.110 When wife must support husband.

The wife must support the husband out of her separate property when he has no separate property and they have no community property and he, from infirmity, is not able or competent to support himself.

NRS 123.121 Segregation of damage awards when spouses sue jointly.

When a husband and wife sue jointly, any damages awarded shall be segregated as follows:

1. If the action is for personal injuries, damages assessed for:

(a) Personal injuries and pain and suffering, to the injured spouse as his separate property.

(b) Loss of comfort and society, to the spouse who suffers such loss.

(c) Loss of services and hospital and medical expenses, to the spouses as community property.

. . . that is the question

Lately, I have had the topic of ‘questions’ on my mind. Really, that is nothing unusual for someone in my line of work. In order to get answers you need to ask the right questions.

However, this past week the tables were turned, and I was in the uncomfortable position of answering rather than asking the questions. The experience taught me a lot.

On Tuesday, a journalism student from the University of Nevada, Reno interviewed me for a class assignment. He had been asked by Professor Felten to go to various local newspapers and ask professionals about their interviewing skills. First of all, I was a little nervous because, although I take great pride in my professional work . . . heck kid, I’m still trying to finish my own degree!

Second, he started asking me about my opinion on city council decisions, for ‘juicy’ stories about city councilmen and whether or not any of them had tried to ‘schmooze’ me. I thought about those questions for a little while, knowing exactly what answers he wanted from me. He didn’t get them.

The experience weighed on my mind throughout the rest of that day and was still fresh in my mind as I went home that night.

When people ask questions, they usually know what they want. Sometimes it is a search for genuine understanding. Other times it is a request for validation – “does this dress make me look fat?” or a need for the comfort that comes from commitment – “are we dating?”

More often than not, the questions are a little more complex than a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and we don’t necessarily get what we want in the words. For these questions, the answers are never just in the response. They are in the experience.

Sometimes the questions don’t have a real answer. At least not yet.

“Why do you have to move?” the neighbor girl asked. The truth was that I had been asking myself the same question for months.

I think that my experience with the UNR student gave me a little more insight into what our Heavenly Father must think sometimes when we ask him questions.

“Why?” we ask on bended knee. And we usually know what answers we want. We want finality. We want to know exactly what is going on and when the blessings will come. But guess what? . . . We may not get them. The answer is, more often than not, in the experience. God knows what He has in store for us. We just have to find out for ourselves.

My best advice for this UNR student is to go out and just keep interviewing. I can give pointers and direction from my own experience, but I cannot teach him how to be a good interviewer. That is learned in the experience. He will have to get used to not getting the answers that he wants. And he might stumble through a lot of really bad interviews before he learns. But eventually, with a little more experience, he will get at the truth.

And eventually, I will figure it out too.

Ten things that really make me happy.

1. Dates with my little brother
2. When Ford runs up and greets me with a hug
3. Listening to Tanya play the piano
4. Dancing in the rain
5. Giggles. The real ones
6. Having 'obi wan' moments with Ashley
7. Seeing someone new at church laugh with new friends
8. The smell of pine trees at Galena Creek
9. Snuggling
10. Feeling my Savior's infinite love

The daily grind

Most of what I have on here concerns work. It, along with school, does have a tendency to eat my life whole. But, oh I love it. This is my desk at the Insight Magazine offices. I have been lucky enough to earn a position there as managing editor - hence I get my own desk : ) Over time I have been able to defend enough territory at the Tribune to earn my own desk there too.

There is a funny similarity between my two desks - rather than a computer taking up a prominent place between the phone and stapler, I have a cord that is taped to the desk. Every morning at the Trib and every night at Insight I go through a little ritual. I take my laptop out of my bag and plug it into the internet connection. I have to admit that the desk looks rather odd when I pack up the computer for the night.

But goodness, we have fun. Recently I was nicknamed "the enforcer" out at the Trib. This is because I somehow inspire this irrational sense of fear in the mischievous manager in the Ad department. Moi? Go figure. Having great, relaxed co-workers is such a blessing. I am so lucky to work with norme, Chubs, Tribby and Special-K. And, no, that is not a drug reference.

One reason why I love my job. . .

City government is an interesting case study. Lately, it fascinates me. In a series of recent weekly vignettes, I saw the exchange of pointed inquiry steeped with business psychology.

Today in Sparks City Council, Mike Carrigan took his characteristic stance on the edge of his chair, hunched over, and periodically stabbing his pen in the air toward the object of his inquiry.

It was a riveting case of reverse cross examination. A representative from Waste Management sat before a panel of council members under a barrage of questioning. The city of sleepy old Sparks gave him a challenge. And they had every reason to.

Waste Management is involved in a controversy over an exclusive franchise agreement with the city. The issue seems to be a no-win situation for all parties. If Waste Management is granted a franchise agreement for the entire waste stream it would effectively lock out smaller trash hauling companies from the industry. Steve Duque, the owner of CastAway Trash hauling, would lose a decent chunk of his commercial business and might have to resort to Top Ramen to feed his family.

On the other hand, if Waste Management doesn’t get the whole chunk of the business pie they will have to raise residential rates by almost 38 percent. In that case, they would take commercial business out of the model entirely, assuming that none of those customers would use Waste Management.

From my vantage point at the back wall of the room, you could see the beads of sweat coming from his forehead. He was a business man through and through – his strong voice never cracked and his responses were bold and professional. But man, was he under the gun.

This is the exciting part of my job. The drama and excitement tempered by professionalism is fascinating. What is more, this is the foundation of our democratic process. Too often we do see the strong arm of the government flex its muscle and hand down dictates and unfunded mandates. But then we see the process play out in debate and it restores my faith in our government.

Be critical, jab your pen into the air, chew butt on both sides of the issue and don’t be afraid to ask the hard questions. It is the basis of your rights and a privilege that needs to be fiercely protected and exercised!

My comments do require a little justification. With that said, I am excited to get back to the norm - where city council acts as a great sleep aid.

For a moment, the world was perfect

I love the Fourth of July! The smiles, the sun, the beach, the smell of barbecue - everything is amazing. Once every year I get to spend a few beautiful hours, outside, with some of the people I love the most in the whole world. To me, that is heaven.

As the sun goes down, we all sit there and catch up on life. We have been going to the same place every Fourth since the ‘kids’ were all little. Now most of us are married and one of the group is expecting her first set of twins!

But a funny thing happens when the fireworks start to shoot out from the top of the Nugget. No matter how young or old, our eyes all get just as big and we all sit there enjoying the show and loving the fact that we are together.

I watched my little brother and his best friend, who I love as if he were family, peer at the fireworks over the tops of 3-D glasses. Their eyes were so big! The youngest boy’s mouth formed a breathy “wow” as the colors rocketed into the air. Then I looked around at all the people perched on their lawn chairs, enjoying the show. Our little crew had grown over the years as we adopted a couple of “in-laws” and extended our definition of “family.” But no matter how much we grow, the feeling is still the same. Words can’t express how much I love those family and friends.

Amid all of this, I was thankful for my freedoms. My computer bears a sticker that reads “I 'heart' the First Amendment." It started as a friendly joke about my profession. But over time, I have become increasingly passionate about liberty. Because of God’s watchful hand, I live in a nation where I can exercise free speech and practice my religious beliefs freely. Those two liberties mean more to me than I can say. And as long as this nation is a place where I can protect and nurture my faith, my family and my freedoms I will salute the flag and sing right along with Lee Greenwood. I am proud to be an American, and God bless the USA

Fashionably late and fabulously lucky

What a manic day. There came a point in the heat of the afternoon when us girls at the Trib were running all over Victorian Square. As we scattered to the four winds, I watched Krystal take off at a sprint toward the Nugget and I shouldered my bag to follow up on a story that I had written earlier. It was then, in the midst of all that pressure, that I had a brief but poignant moment with my feet.

My editor had warned his all female staff a while back that if we didn’t bring a pair of comfy tennies to work that we might end up regretting it. And there I was, running to an appointment with two-inch spikes strapped to my feet. Oh, I looked amazing, and at the end of the day my feet (surprisingly) don’t hurt. But, heck it is hard to run in those things!

Now we're talking politics

The bitter taste of nausea is starting to accompany the landslide of election coverage that I am seeing on the big news networks. All the talk of Cindy McCain’s cookies, Michelle Obama’s stint on the View and Bill Clinton’s dirty mouth have all added up to annoying nasally background noise that makes Lindsey Lohan look interesting.

My recent distaste for the election hoopla might spawn from the fact that I have been immersed in it for so long. It is my job to find tidbits of truth in the muck, wash them off and present them in pure form to the rest of the world – or just the handful of people who read the Sparks Tribune.

Unfortunately, it is a time-tested fact that politics always ends up making its way into the mainstream media drenched in the muck. As I am spoon fed the latest gossip on Hillary and Barack, it begs the question, why do I care?

Coming home from work today I saw the moving van pull up at a neighbor’s home. She is a single mother with three kids, trying to support them as a part-time realtor. I learned that, for the first time, they will be moving into a house. You should have seen the look on the little girls face as she talked about it incessantly.

Something came through the wire the other day about Starbucks closing 600 stores nationwide. My first thought was for Carrie, the manager at the Starbucks down the street who had gotten to know us news hounds by name and always seemed excited to see us.

The other day I decided to take a walk around my neighborhood instead of driving 30 minutes south of town to my favorite hiking spot. The gas would have just been too much.

To me, that is politics. The policies and plans that these candidates actually implement could change the world that my little neighbor girl lives in. How will this effect her, my neighborhood or me? Whether Cindy McCain’s cookies are her own recipe or a Toll House reproduction really has no bearing on my life. Give me political news I want to know.

How sweet. . .

A crusty old Ron Paul supporter that I met at Nevada’s Republican Convention paid me a visit at work today. He was disappointed that I wouldn’t be covering the privately organized “Republican Convention” tomorrow. But nonetheless, he gave me this along with a wink as he walked out the door. Oh, the people you meet!

The wonders of childhood

So here we go. . . first blog on the new site. What better way to start than to give you a little peek into my world. Today I was crowned FireRed by the gaggle of neighbor kids that live in my apartment complex. They also nicknamed my door handle Casper. It is completely secure but kinda flops around a little bit. They love Casper. They pull on his floppyness all the time. Literally.

The littlest girl is my favorite. Although she is absolutely tiny she seems to dominate all the older kids. Dang, I could take some lessons from her about being in control.

They remind me of the gang of kids that I used to run around with when I was younger. We were all homeschooled and usually had the afternoon to run around and be kids. The world was so idyllic. We used to play in Lauren’s backyard and have picnics in the empty fields down the street. Now I watch these kids play and in some small way I get to relive that wonder. Now if only I didn’t have to work all day to pay the bills. . . ah to be a kid again.

A little introduction

I am an inquisitive, adventurous and blunt journalist working my way through life in Sparks. I am pursuing my bachelor’s degree in journalism at the University of Nevada, Reno. I have an amazing job at the Sparks Tribune as a reporter where I am paid to be critical and inquisitive about my community. I am also the managing editor of the only student-run magazine on campus. My greatest ambition is to make a positive difference in my community and the lives of those I come in contact with. My faith is a big part of my life and I owe everything that I am to my Savior, Jesus Christ. When I am not working or in school, I enjoy yoga, BMW roadsters, a good action movie, dancing in the rain and making my friends smile : ) It seems that as we grow up and move on, we lose touch with the people we love. This is my way to keep everyone updated with the whirlwind that is Sarah's world.