Monday, January 24, 2005

The Slippery Slope

Your humble Contributor corresponding slopeside today.

Gone are the halcyon days at Innsbruck and St. Anton, between assignments in Eastern Europe. Carving coded messages on the face of the mountain for the unseen eyes in the sky. Lounging fireside with the lovely but deadly snow vixens in their furry accoutrements. Prying a plank from a decrepit wood shed, and introducing the curious Austrians to the concept of riding the snow on a board.

But, that was many years ago, and time has weighed heavily upon our schussing skills. The summit, once a starting point for exhilaration, has become a death wish: unnecessarily elongated feet, a slick steep, biting winds, and old joints. Make a brief examination of conscience and push off: a small crowd will gather at the bottom, looking upon the frigid and rigid remains, the face literally frozen in horror, with the lost ski skidding down the hill like a frantic relative.

Better to make a name for yourself on the Bunny Buster, the Sissy Slalom, and the Easy Now. And, at the end of the day, count your bones, count your blessings, pack your gear, and head for home.


Blogger Gone Away said...

Blast! I had not meant to do this, to become interested in personal details of the Remainderman. But I catch myself wondering: how old is he? This piece would indicate a close acquaintance with the circumspection of age and yet, for some reason, I had assumed before that he was quite young. A quick check on the profile provided produces no information. Still, the man is either considerably older than I had guessed or even more talented that I had estimated, for his understanding of age is admirable.

There is, of course, that other matter to be addressed: that hint at large fishes in small pools and vice versa. But the matter of age nags at me, will not go away. Why should it matter? Would it make any difference to my appreciation of his work were I to know the truth? And I have admitted already that it probably would.

To heck with it; I shall not ask him.

1/24/2005 11:46:00 AM  
Blogger Gone Away said...

Aaarrgghh typo! That should be, of course, "THAN I had estimated..."

1/24/2005 11:48:00 AM  
Blogger Remainderman said...

A gentleman does not inquire after another gentleman's age.

That assumes we are talking about two gentlemen here: the inquirer certainly is; whether the inquiree is is (I love baffling the spell check in this way) a matter of some question.

Suffice to say that your humble Contributor still very much enjoys the bloom of youth -- broadly speaking.

1/24/2005 06:30:00 PM  
Blogger Gone Away said...

Youth? Hah, I remember those days. Sometimes. When the wind is in the west and the spring flowers bloom...

As regards age, as if it matters, I reciprocate, Remainderman, by assuring you that I am ancient (and I kinda like commas).

1/24/2005 08:02:00 PM  
Blogger Harry said...

*growls and mutters* The first youthful bloom that passes this way...Arrr

1/24/2005 11:34:00 PM  
Blogger Remainderman said...

To Gone Away: perhaps ancient, but always new.

To Harry: down boy!

1/25/2005 09:48:00 AM  
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