I first came to Park City in the early eighties as a ski bum. I fell in love with the place. My first time down Main Street I felt like I’d come home. After a season of playing the ski bum part it would take me another fifteen years to become a full time Park City resident and that’s an interesting story of its own, depicted in a work of my fiction. When my husband and I arrived back in Park City after years spent in San Diego, California (oh yes, one tidbit, we were east meets west in a bar on Park City’s Main Street) we had two young children and no jobs. Our family and friends thought we had lost our minds. We quit existing jobs for no jobs, and were moving to a Mormon state where it snowed. I don’t think any of them thought we had much hope, and figured we would return with our senses shortly. Dennis, my husband, went back to work for an old construction buddy at fifteen dollars an hour while he tried to break out on his own. I was going to try and stay home with the kids. We arrived in May and it only took till the first snow fall for me to realize I needed to get a job. I wasn’t built to be a stay at home anything.