Over the past few days, my mom, my siblings and I have been sharing special memories of Dad. Walter “Bud” Hammond was a man of integrity and character who loved us all unconditionally. I treasure the faint aroma reminiscent of his pipe tobacco and the sight of his goofy hats, long pants, and sweatshirts as he mowed the lawn.

He had a wonderful sense of humor; he even had his own language. The newspaper was the “paytone” and magazines were “mazagines.” If something didn’t go our way, it was a “bummerding.” If somebody messed with him, he would say jokingly, “I’m going to waltz one off his snotbox.” Even his pet names for us were “Budisms.” My sister, Julie, was “Tekla Darling Julie Ann” or “Julburger.” My brother, Steve was “Captain Rossburger” in homage to his middle name. I was “Amy Susubella” or “Sueburger.” I’m not sure where the whole “burger” fixation came from, but it was wonderfully endearing.

He loved to play with us kids. He would wrap a dishtowel around his eyes and play blind man’s bluff and I can remember Dad dancing the jig in his underwear with his arms and legs flapping singing:

I Mora so går vi få fulla igjen.

Now if my days at Norwegian camp serve me well, that loosely translates to “Tomorrow we are going to go get drunk again.” I don’t think he even knew what it meant, and we kids certainly didn’t, but it was hysterical all the same.

Dad was always a sports fan. He was a wonderful Little League Coach and a faithful Twins fan, and every year my uncle Donny made the pilgrimage from North Dakota to go to the Vikings training camp in Mankato, MN with Daddy. He was also an enthusiastic boxing buff. When I was a little girl we would stay up late at night and watch Joe Frazier, Wilfred Benitez, Ernie Shavers, and Hector “Macho” Camacho pound bumps on their opponents.

We also loved going to movies together. Now these weren’t Disney movies, mind you. In 1971 we saw Clint Eastwood play Dirty Harry. During an especially violent scene, Dad turned to me to make sure I was okay and noticed I was out of my seat. He found me in the lobby of the Cooper Theater looking a little pale. After that, I think our movie dates were over.

Daddy was always a worry wart. The night before I got married, Daddy asked me if we could have a special talk. Oh no! I thought. He’s going talk about the birds and the bees! Instead, he told me that just because I was getting married that didn’t mean I had to have children. He was deathly afraid that 4’ 10” Amy marrying 6’ 2” Craig meant certain death in child birth.

My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person— he believed in me. It didn’t matter that I was always the littlest kid in my grade or that my classmates ceaselessly teased me, Daddy encouraged me to stand tall because good things come in small packages. I’ve always tried to remember that.

Daddy always told me I could be anything I dreamed of being, that it didn’t matter that I was a girl growing up in an era of chauvinism. Because of his forward-thinking attitude, male and female pallbearers are carrying his casket this morning.

Because he taught me to believe in myself, I took a huge leap of faith and walked away from a successful corporate career to pursue my dreams of writing and speaking. Although he wasn’t much of a reader the last few years, I know he was proud of me. Shortly after we moved him into his memory care unit in mid-October, he asked me to bring him signed copies of all of my books so he could show off his daughter’s accomplishments to the staff.

That’s something Daddy and I always had in common, our love for reading. Over the last few months he loved when I read to him, alternating between detective stories and the Bible. He would close his eyes and drift off to another place, but he would never sleep. If I paused for more than a second or two he would peek at me out of the corner of his eye until I started up again.

I am humbled that I was able to provide care and support for my father at the end of his life. I would have done anything for him. Sometimes the conversations I had with him, the nurses, doctors, social workers, and other caregivers were painful, but I wouldn’t trade the precious time Dad and I had together for anything in the world.

I visited him nearly every day, but on those occasions when I couldn’t we talked on the phone. Some days he called me more than a dozen times, and every time I answered he would say “Hi, this is your Dad” (like I wouldn’t recognize his voice). Usually he just couldn’t find his remote control or he wanted me to stop at the store and get him something. Sometimes he just begged me to come sit with him… he was so lonely. Being an hour away  I couldn’t always fulfill his requests, but I certainly did my best. Now that my caller id no longer says “Bud” I feel lost. I would love to hear him say, “Hi love, this is your dad” just one more time.

During his last stay in the hospital a couple of weeks ago, he called me and asked me to stop and get him some of our “special drink” which I understood to mean vanilla Boost. Although I know Dad is already in heaven, I put a bottle of Boost in his casket today to symbolically take along for the ride.

The things I cherish most about my father are the lessons he can teach us all about generosity; generosity of spirit and of finances. Nobody was a stranger to my dad. He made friends everywhere he went, from the dry cleaners to the drug store, to the coffee shop. His local Caribou Coffee even named a drink after him “Bud’s Cappuccino.” It was four shots of espresso with a cup full of foam. When he got his $4 drink, he would give the barista a $10 spot and tell him or her to keep the change. When the manager at the shop heard of my father’s passing, he hung his head and his knees buckled. That’s how people felt about Bud.

He gave extraordinary sums of money to charity, but it wasn’t just about writing a check and dropping it in the mail. If he heard a heart-wrenching story on the news about someone in need, he would get in the car and personally hand over a check….usually a substantial one. His generosity changed lives. Daddy was always our safety net, too. We knew if life pulled the rug out from underneath us that we could always call him for help. He bailed me out more times than I can count.

In our time together, we talked a lot about heaven and what it would be like when he crossed over. I reassured him that God had prepared an eternal mansion for him and that one day soon there would be no more tears and no more pain. One day he would walk on streets of gold and see old friends and family who had gone before him. He asked me if I really believed that, and I told him that I am certain of it with all of my heart.

With trembling hands we joined together and Dad accepted Christ into his heart. His snivels and tears turned into smiles that reflected a new peace. It was one of the most powerful moments I have ever experienced.

One day I know we will be reunited in heaven, and since neither one of us will need reading glasses there, maybe we can start a book club.

Sir Isaac Newton once said: “If I have seen further, it is by standing upon the shoulders of giants.” Daddy, thank you for letting me stand upon your shoulders. I miss you terribly.

For much of our recent vacation, my daughter and I stayed with my niece Dena and her wonderful family. Their beautiful home is situated amidst the heavily wooded, narrow twisting lanes of a Bay Area paradise.  What a great place to grow up; no mosquitoes or blizzards there!

Dena’s life as a mother is crazy busy. From dawn until dusk she is running her two kids, Jensen (7) and Boden (4), to one activity or another—swimming, tennis, ballet, play dates, or day camp to name a few—yet she still manages to make nutritious home-cooked meals and teach Pilates. The whole business was a little overwhelming for me; so much so that I suggested that she might want to think about dialing back a little bit.

It wasn’t until I was on the plane home that I realized what a hypocrite I was. When our kids were little, my husband and I scrambled around to deposit them at one activity or another too—soccer, baseball, football, basketball, dancing lessons, karate, day camp, music lessons, church activities, play dates (we didn’t call them that way back them)—all while hubby and I both worked full-time jobs. I need a Calgon moment just thinking about it.

On one of our days with Dena’s family I had the pleasure of “babysitting” the two kids at the neighborhood pool while Mom helped some women do torturous exercises.  Jensen is a little fish, and has swim practice, a lesson, or a meet almost every day of the week. I have no doubt she will be wearing the red, white, and blue of the US Olympic Swim Team one day.

Always the nervous mother (or auntie in this case), I watched her out of the corner of my eye to make sure all was well even though she was surrounded by coaches. She was easy to spot amongst the other swimmers… Jensie’s favorite color is pink.

While she had swimming practice, BoBo got to play in the special shallow triangle of the pool that is set aside for little people.  With an eagle eye I sat in the stands watching his every move, determined that nothing bad would happen on my watch. It was fun to see him dogpaddling around the crystal clear water without a care in the world. He didn’t care that he had globs of white sunscreen smeared all over his face or that his aunt had made a pathetic mess of his goggles and his ears were sticking out. He just wanted to play!

No matter where or when you grew up, you had to deal with mean kids, and this swim club was no exception. I watched as three mean boys managed their turf in the shallow end, yelling at the unsuspecting younger kids if they wandered over an imaginary line and into their territory.

In his frenzy to have fun, little BoBo jumped recklessly into the pool, almost landing on top of one of the mean kids…oops. When they were done yelling at him, I walked quietly over to the side of the pool and talked to BoBo. He didn’t understand the whole boundary thing, so I reminded him to always look carefully to make sure no one was in the way before he jumped into the pool. For the rest of the day, he looked over at me to get the thumbs-up before taking the plunge.

Of course the little guy forgot about the whole episode in a nanosecond, but I stewed about it for a while. Oh to be a kid again!

Philosopher Bertrand Russell once said, “A life without adventure is likely to be unsatisfying, but a life in which adventure is allowed to take whatever form it will is sure to be short.”

A sucker for longevity, I have always taken his advice to heart. Of course, the problem with always playing it safe is that life can become a little predictable. On this vacation I vowed to step outside my comfort zone and make some extra-special memories.  So rather than doing a conventional Sonoma County wine tasting and bouncing from winery to winery tasting different vintages, Kaia and I experienced a vineyard in a very different way.  On horseback!

Day three of our California vacation started in Santa Rosa at the Bad Ass Coffee Company. I mean, really, how could we choose Starbucks over a place called Bad Ass? This Hawaiian franchise produces amazing coffee that is sold at sixty five retail stores. The atmosphere inside the store was totally chillin’, dude…I was like stoked to be there!

After some amazing pastries and espresso we were fueled up to get back into our rockin’ car and head to our next stop. Sterling Winery is perched 300 feet above the town of Calistoga. The winery offers stunning panoramic vistas of the Napa Valley and beautiful architecture that was modeled after that of the Greek island of Myklos. There are grapes as far as the eye can see.

The problem with this whole scenario is that visitors have to take an aerial tram (gondola) up the hill to take the tour and do the wine tasting – the whole point, after all, of going to a winery. I happen to be a little crippled when it comes to heights and I am even more averse to tight spaces. When the attendant helped me plop my fanny down on a seat inside the gondola and then shut the doors, there was a lurch and some serious squeaking and grinding. In my mind’s eye I pictured my beautiful daughter and myself plunging to our deaths before we even got to taste the wine. (That is not the way I want to check out, thank you very much. I was thinking more along the lines of falling asleep in my cozy bed and then stepping into eternity.)

Looking around at the scenery below us didn’t help my phobias, so I just examined my chipped toenail polish. I actually forgot we were on the wicked little tram until the bugger lurched again to let us out. I was pretty proud of myself….I wouldn’t have had the guts to do that five years ago.

We  proceeded from station to station to learn about the art of winemaking and sipping varietals along the way.  The most important thing I learned (besides that fact that I’m not as chicken as I thought I was) was that you don’t have to actually swallow the wine to participate in a wine tasting. You can just sip and swirl and spit! I had no idea!  For those of you who aren’t in the know, there are three stages of taste: the Attack phase, the Evolution phase and the Finish. I don’t know, it all seemed way too complex to me, but I do know that if I would have swallowed all that wine I wouldn’t have been able to clear the driveway. But the few sips I did take gave me a little extra confidence for our next pit stop.

Next on the agenda was the Triple Creek Horse Outfit at the Kunde Winery in Kenwood.  We were a very eclectic group; four riders hailed from New York – a young Asian couple and a sixty something year old man and a street-smart 16-year old kid who spent more time texting the holding reins. Then of course there were Kaia and me. Kaia has spent a fair amount of time in the saddle, but I’m like Billy Crystal in the movie City Slickers.

It was interesting to watch our guide place us on horses that matched our personalities, and even more interesting witnessing me get up on my horse, Newt. Being vertically challenged, getting my left foot into the stirrup was no walk in the park, let me tell you. Not only could I barely reach it, standing on my tippy toes, but then I had to swing my big fat leg over the horse. Not a graceful moment for a girl with a bad back. But I did it, grabbed the reins, and steeled myself for a fun ride.

There is nothing quite like the feeling of sitting atop a glorious creature walking amidst wooded glens, ponds, and rows of grapevines on a hot summer day. I was the teacher’s pet (or more likely the one he was the most worried about) so I was in the number 2 position. Other than the few times I had to remind my horse NOT to stick his nose up the back end of the horse in front of him, the rest of the time my guide and I talked about growing wine and the beautiful countryside. We even ventured into deeper topics like life and death and overcoming trials; not bad for a one-hour trail ride.

Getting off the horse was nearly as much fun as getting on it, but once my feet were on the ground I was stoked. I’d had two adventures in one day!  After one more quick wine tasting we were back on the road toward Orinda and the comfly bed in my niece’s guest room.

I’m going to walk funny tomorrow.

California – Day 2 (July 20)

July 22, 2011 by Kaia Calhoun

So it must be confusing to be reading these blogs for yesterday a day later, and I am feeling a lack of direction for this particular piece, but  here it goes.  And just so we understand each other, it’s hard to post on the day without staying up super late to write on the day that just happen.  So, here we are.

Today (meaning yesterday) mom and I woke up nice and early to start our adventures in Northern California.  I decided to run.  Up a hill.  Because they are unavoidable. By the time I reached my halfway point I realized I could walk as fast as I was running.  And when I reached the top the phrase “breathtaking view” held some brand new meaning as I sucked for air while gazing out across this drier Rwandan-looking expanse of hills and gorges.

Then we headed to Santa Rosa to complete our missions for the day:  two business meetings for Mom and visits to Guernville and Healdsburg.  For the business meetings I had some work time and lunch and then we were set to trek out on our day’s real adventures.

Guernville is hippie central.  Right off the bat I stumbled across two incoherent beings, one mumbled something strange that I am now having trouble recollecting and the other was a young boy sitting on a fence mumbling for “spare change.”  Now, by the time I could decipher what the second was saying I was well past him and quickly realized he would probably turn around and use it for weed.

The majority of the stores in this town had something to do with marihuana.  We did not stay long because there was not much of a main street, but it was fun to visit the small stretch of bright stores and enjoy a couple yummy truffles.  Also, we actually got stuck talking to a store owner about best routes to get everywhere, and I mean everywhere, we were going while in California.  Can say I don’t remember a word, but he sure was enthusiastically helpful.

Healdsburg, for those of us Illinoisans, is a glorified downtown Geneva.  Everything is expensive and the food is not great.  We walked down the main street, the whole length of the down town area, without even rubbernecking at any given shop.  At the end of the road, however, we discovered the chamber of commerce and got our hands on a map.  Now, I was completely famished, but then we stepped into this fair trade store called One World Fair Trade.  Through this store I got to travel back to Africa and travel to all sorts of other countries.  New breath was blown into my lungs.  Our next chosen destination from our new handy-dandy map was the Upper Level Art Gallery.  It literally existed on the upper level of a trendy bookstore and there was everything from oil paining, to photography, to ethnic sculpting, to jewelry making.  It was a brilliant niche of eclectic, local art.

After a few other lesser exciting stores and some super salty dinner, we were on our way back to our Japanese-esk hotel for some wine and a chick flick.

P.S.  I do not recommend plum wine or Just Go With It.

My daughter Kaia and I are taking a vacation in California to celebrate her graduation from college. For the next week or so we will be taking turns blogging about our adventures.  She is a professional photographer, so the shots you are going to see will be incredible!  The first post was written by her… enjoy!

July 21, 2011 by Kaia Calhoun

Yesterday I woke up to the wet blanket of humidity.  It made a habit of looming on top of Minnesota for a few days already, but nothing like yesterday.  By the end of the day I heard that the temperature peaked at 95 degrees, but with the humidity it was 120.

And I ran.  With the drip drip of sweat and dreams of a dry California I finished my shorter morning run.  Inside again I was greeted by a cool shower and bacon, toast, and eggs for breakfast with my family and grandparents.

The morning went by without a hitch until we got on the plane.  Our flight was supposed to take off at 11:18 and at 11:20 we were still parked at the terminal and listening to a flight attendant, in the language of broken intercom, tell us that we were instructed to remain grounded until a heavy storm blew by us.  Well, it blew right over us, just big enough to seemingly only dwell over the airport for an hour and a half.

I could literally watch the storm blow in and could even watch the sunny world just beyond our blanket of danger.  The sky looked like a table top of rolling, grey, burnt marshmallows.

Hail.  It came at us sideways, crab apple sized, with rain and lightening.  It all sounded like savage percussion in surround sound as the hail intermittently wailed on us, with the rain sheeting steadily against our metal shelter, and the lightening causing a base-like boom and a light show.

Then it left as quickly as it came and we made our way into the air with the parade of other delayed planes.

The sky was gorgeous all across the country with visibility to the ground the whole way.  I got to watch as characters formed in the brilliant cotton ball clouds and varying, colorful landscapes passed below.

A smiling otter

A dog… namely Pluto I think

A bunny laying in the clouds!

The Rockies

When we first landed in California I was not blown away, but I was startled by strangely bright colored pools of water.  Anyone know what they are for?

Then, as soon as I stepped outside, I was blown away by the perfect weather.  It was 75 degrees without a cloud in the sky—it feels like fall and looks like summer.

For dinner Dena brought us to a local Thai place.  We shared the most delicious Thai food we ever experienced.

We got back in the car and Dena decided to show us around a little.  We drove through a forest preserve and up to the top of a hill where I was startled by the breath-taking view of Uganda-looking rounded, rolling hills saturated with the golden glow of a perfect sunset.  Unfortunately, since I was only planning on dinner, I did not bring my camera, so it looks like I’ll have to make a trip up there again.

It’s hard to conceive that something as delectable as chocolate could originate from the bitter cacao seed. It’s even more difficult to comprehend that one day somebody looked at that seed and thought it would be a good idea to ferment, dry, and then grind it…all with the hope of creating something yummy.

To my mind, that kind of brainstorm could have only come from God, who knew that someday a woman like me would need a little zap to the pleasure center of her brain to make it through a bad spot in the day.

It’s a scientific fact: chocolate is good for you – in moderation, anyway. Dark chocolate lowers blood pressure, lowers cholesterol, and stimulates the production of endorphins (the body’s natural morphine). It also contains serotonin, which acts like an anti-depressant. No wonder I am feeling so mellow right now.

I know God is real because He invented chocolate.

In love and friendship,

- Amy

P.S. Do me a favor. The next time you are shopping for that perfect confection, consider buying fair trade chocolate. You will feel even better about yourself.

Kristi Overton-Johnson is living proof that God doesn’t make any junk.  Despite our weaknesses, He can do something magical with our lives… if we let Him.No matter who you are, you will face adversity in your life. You may feel overwhelmed, but there is always light at the end of the tunnel.  Good things often come from the refining we experience in the fire.

Kristi Overton-Johnson is a water skiing legend. Her career has spanned  over three decades, from learning to ski at the age of four, to her more recent success as Champion at the US Masters Women’s Slalom at the age of thirty-two. Kristi is an eight-time US Masters Champion and a four-time US Open Women’s Slalom Champion. She held the world record in women’s slalom for more more than twelve years.

The follow paragraphs are excerpted from my book:  How Do You Know He’s Real:34 Celebrity Reflections on True Life Experiences with God

” I am amazed to look back over my life and see the fingerprints of God all over it! To think God would care enough to introduce me, a four-year-old girl with a serious hip deformity to the sport of water skiing – a sport which would crown me champion twenty-five years later.”

“I was born with a serious hip disorder that caused my hip sockets to develop improperly. In His infinite wisdom, God put me in the only sport I could possibly do – water skiing. I was 15 when I discovered this disorder, and as a result, I have never been able to run or even walk short distances without great pain. But in water skiing, my feet are secure in the skis and the muscles developed in this squatted position actually held the balls of my femoral bone in the sockets!”

“With God’s help,I was able to ski through the pain and climb to the top of the sport; holding the world record for Women’s Slalom since 1992.”

“…Even in the midst of all of life’s trials and tribulations, I have peace – peace in the midst of the storm. I know he’s real because of that peaceful feeling  – a feeling that you, too, can have. There are no mistakes. God is good all the time and He is ready to use your past, your triumphs, your fears, your hurts, and your pains for his glory. Get to know him today, claim His promises for your life, and be ready to see amazing things tomorrow.”

To get the rest of the story, pick up a copy of How Do You Know He’s Real:34 Celebrity Reflections on True Life Experiences with God or listen to Kristi’s  interview on my Blog Talk Radio Show ( just click below and turn up your speakers!):

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/whenmagazine/2011/05/19/god-unplugged-interview-with-author-amy-hagberg?sms_ss=facebook&at_xt=4dd342c7df3711a2%2C0

So what do you want to know about writing?  I promise, if I don’t know the answer, I will find out!

~ Amy

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QUESTION: Know I am not talented enough to do it myself…so I need some help. I have an idea but don’t have the faintest clue where to start.

AMY: I have built a career around people just like you. You have a couple of options: #1 – you could try writing the book and then hire a developmental editor or “book doctor” to rework it for you or #2 – you could hire a ghostwriter or collaborator right off the bat who could help you frame the book and then write it for you. If you have a good idea, that’s more than half the battle!

QUESTION: Amy, do you need an agent or publicist to go straight to a publisher with a proposal? Will having an agent help you?

AMY: In this competitive market, I think an agent is an absolute must. It’s like hiring a real estate agent to sell your house… you could try to do it yourself, but that’s not nearly as effective as hiring an expert. Small publishers are open to working with authors directly, but the larger houses will only accept queries from established agents.