Sunday, March 29, 2009

End of the Season

Sometimes, I am convinced that I am so important to The Universe, that it simply waits around for me to make plans or even hint that I might be making plans and then gives me a swat like a cat teaching a particularly insubordinate kitten.

To wit: that skiing plan from the last posting?? Turned into almost ten days of flat out focus on someone else who was Really Needing Help. The kind of help that rings in family and friends from near and far and that requires prayer and food and offers of any sort of help that might sound reedonkyoulous in any other circumstances. She will be fine but right now she's a long way from home and living in a new reality.

But: once "we" got her on her way, I did go skiing. Twice: once to deal with a lot of pent-up anger and the second time with a dear friend who has been one of my rocks these past few (!!) years. She said, "Where do you want to go?" I, somewhat fragile from the results of ministrations by another dear friend the evening before, indicated that it was her choice. She said, "How about Summer Road to Panorama Loop? " Gulp.

For those of you who don't know, The Sr Boy was a heller for cross-country skiing. As previously mentioned, he skied every day of the first winter of his permanent sabbatical even unto the trail grooming closure. In the snowy winter, it was Telemark and then home. In the sunshine of spring, it was either T'mark or Summer Road and then the long and glorious and terrifying right-at-the-end Panorama. Anyone who skied with him in the spring has an image of Himself paused at various lookout edges gazing west over the rolling Okanagan hills. I had looked at the turn-off a few times but it's long and relatively remote and I was on my own and I have to think about things like that now.

For the information of everyone: Summer Road in the sunshine with a good friend is an excellent hangover cure. So, too, is stopping and remembering and laughing, not to mention the long downhill with sweaters tied around waists and the wax all but gone. At the far end of the Loop, we followed the tracks of a group of bobcats - tracks that had been made between the early morning skiers and us. They eventually left the trail and disappeared over the edge, single file skirting the cliff. Wordless reminders of all unseen guests.

Juice and biscotti in the parking lot and the clouds rolled in. Ski season was over. Time to go home and get on with the basement and the considerations: sell or stay, give away or keep.

But first: clean the skis then rewax against next season.



Still breathing.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home