This week's Trib column

Here's the link. And things didn't turn out the way I'd hoped. SADLY.

My wonderful son, who apparently is in love with himself, posted this link for me!

Why I write--possibly

So yesterday it was all football all day. And because it's Sunday morning and I am thus filled with charity, I won't point out that BYU won and Utah lost. Besides which that's not the point.

The point is this--while my family and I were sitting together at the game in Provo, my brother's son, Matthew, got put into the game which is a big deal because he's worked like a maniac for years down there on the practice field in Utah county, but hasn't played. Anyway! He went in for a play in the fourth quarter and we all went NUTS and cheered and wept and rent our clothing in a positive, joyful way and so forth.

As soon as the play was over, however, he trotted off the field. Well, in my head I'm going crap. Bleh. That's it. Dude won't see any more action. Meanwhile my brother, Matthew's father, is all THIS IS GREAT! THE COACHES ARE GONNA BE RUNNING HIM ON AND OFF THE FIELD!

I turned to my dad at that point and said this is and always has been the crucial difference between my brother and me. I generally figure things will turn out badly and that my heart's gonna get broken in the process. And also that I'll go home and discover that someone has taken the last Dr. Pepper from the fridge. My brother, on the other hand, checks out the landscape and sees unlimited possibilities for happiness. And yet we share the same genes and experienced virtually the same childhood.

Which brings me to why I write--I write because people, especially in the context of families, are CRAZY. But also endlessly interesting.

P.S. My nephew played the rest of the game. See what the Power of Positive Thinking can do? Go, Matthew!

Memories

I spent the better part of the day involved with the funeral of a young woman in our neighborhood who died on Sunday. She was Tongan, and much of the service was conducted in that tongue. As the congregation sang in beautiful rough harmony, the music rolling over us all, pieces of my own girlhood came back to me. Surprisingly. I didn't expect that. But there I sat, remembering trips to Hawaii where the water and air were so blue they burned your eyes, and locals hated BYU football's team with a white hot passion. Still. They always treated my dad like he was one of their own.

All of it--the music, the memories of my own family when we were young, the thoughts of the young woman and her family--have made for a melancholy afternoon.