More Snow Than A Shoulder Bargained For

My dad and I took a delightful trip to the mountains this weekend. We prepared for our skiing adventure on Wednesday by packing up the truck making the trek up to Copper Mountain. The roads were crystal clear, and there was not a cloud to be found in the sky. My dad and I were enjoying the beautiful scenery outside, and enjoying each other’s company inside. The only omen of the forthcoming doom was the gusty wind that chills the high mountain valleys. We arrived in Copper just in the nick of time. My dad had a medical conference to attend in the afternoon, and he sneaked into the conference center just as a presentation began. I enjoyed unpacking our truck in our cozy room. Once again, our time together was beginning with a glorious splendor reserved for wonderful times. We met back up for dinner, which was provided for by the conference. We ate to our taste-buds delight, and enjoyed a relaxed conversation with two congenial fellows. Finally we circled the frozen lake where people were ice skating. The only thing missing from such a wonderful night was a wonderful lady to go ice skating with. All in all, we were thankful for such a great beginning.

I awoke the next day to find my dad already at the conference center. I got ready for our day of great skiing. I turned on the news to find that the storm that had promised to dump feet of the fluffy white stuff was delayed. Gosh, I thought, we won’t have fresh snow until Saturday, the last day at the mountain. Oh well, dad and I will enjoy our time on the mountain anyways. Dad decided to put on the snowboard to save his legs for the following days of fluffy goodness on his telemark skis. We headed up the mountain and went to an area known for its fabulous blue cruisers. We went down all of the runs on that lift and found one, American Flyer, that had the best snow. On our third time down the run, I noticed that dad was not coming down the run behind me. I stopped and looked up the hill. No dad to be found. Eventually I became convinced that dad was hurt. He is known for grave accidents. His fifteen years on the hill have resulted in one broken wrist, one back vertebra, one ankle, and many other assorted injuries. As I was about to get back on the lift to go and find him, I spotted him riding down the hill.

At first he appeared to be alright, but then I noticed him clutching his shoulder. Oh no here we go again played over and over again in my head. Upon reaching him, I learned that on his way down the hill, a fellow snowboarder came from above and ran him over. The damage, one shoulder and head slammed into the hill. My dad was wearing a helmet, but his shoulder was not so lucky. After becoming woozy due to the shock of the injury, my dad unwillingly allowed ski patrol to tobaggon him down the hill. One medical examination, x-ray, and over $200 later, my dad emerged with the knowledge that he had a grade two shoulder separation. With our trip ruined, we made a couple of quick calls to the copper headquarters to determine if we could get a refund on our room. We did, and my dad set off for the afternoon part of the conference. I began to pack the truck back up. We spent that night in Copper, my dad attended the morning conference, we sold our lift tickets, and set off to return home.

It seemed like quite a shame to have such a promising trip come to a screeching halt. With Copper set to be dumped on, we had lost our great snow. My dad lost more than that. He is an exercising nut, and won’t be able to get back into things for over a month. He will become grumpy from not being able to relieve stress through his daily run, which will spell pain at home, and within himself. However, there are too many things to be thankful for to loose heart over a ruined vacation and separated shoulder. Dad and I still had a great time together. We grew closer through a hard time. Compared to our relationship one year ago, I would take a separated shoulder over that any day. Then there is the potential benefit for our family to grow closer. Dad works very hard and loves to go skiing; however, when I head back to college he will loose his skiing buddy. This means that my mom will loose heart over her beloved skiing by himself. They will both loose valuable time together. But now, the hope for that time together can be realized. Sometimes, God slows us down to remember those things that are truly important.

As for me, it realized that I enjoy things based on my memories of them. Let me explain. I have fond memories of going to Copper last year and the year before that. I was looking forward to this year’s trip as a chance to make great memories for the future. I was looking forward to the trip to be nostalgic about it. Normally, this is not hazardous to one’s health; it doesn’t tend to kill you. However, it can make you forget to live in the present. It can make you live in the future and past at the same time. I was starting to do things to have good memories of them, rather than doing things because that was what the present demanded. And as God has taught me many times, living in times besides the present will only create depression in one’s life. We will look back on the past with the lens of missed opportunity, and the future with the lens of potential opportunity. There is too much sureness of the past, and not enough of the future. So thanks God for reminding me to just live in the present.

Speed Limits

I just got my driving permit a couple weeks ago, and now find myself in that amazing world which I am sure every new driver has been initiated into: that couple weeks’ window where parents want their automotive protege to drive them anywhere and everywhere. This is also the couple weeks’ window which will determine whether, in a few weeks’ time more, the same parents will want to be in a car anywhere within a thirty mile radius of their child’s vehicle — parked or unparked. Now, my parents seem to be taking my progress rather well, and I may be able to avoid all vehicular shunning entirely, a prospect which is rather appealing to me. As it is, though, I am getting rather an excess of driving time in; any trip that might merit the use of a car is used for my instruction.

In the car, as a permit driver, I tend to receive a large quota of tips, advice, commands, and general driving proverbs. There are a few classes of such tips. First, there is the, “When my parents were teaching me to drive, they said…” tip. These are used either to distance oneself from a suggestion that is likely to be unpopular, or to portray a sense of ease and calm, as in, “I am so relaxed about this next tip and confident in your ability to enact it that I think I will double the number of words necessary to communicate it.” Next, is the conversational tip. These are said in the best of dinner table voices, and are often interspersed among comments on the scenery or one’s clothing.

The third type of tip is the staccato. “Turnleftherenow.” This signifies either a slightly hightened sense of urgency or that they were concentrating so hard on how often I have been checking the mirrors, that they forgot to tell me the upcoming route. This can be modified for increased distress and urgency by gradually adding the appropriate amount of all caps and exclamation points. After one tip of this nature, the elongated staccato is likely to follow, as in, “o. k. when. you. are. switching. lanes. make. sure. to. check. over. your. shoulder.” This signifies, in general, a spirit of pure thankfulness to God.

Most interesting, however, is the concessional tip. These are those which start something like, “Now, if you were driving normally, you would do such and such, but since you are getting ready for your driving test,….” It is here that one learns about such things as California rolling stops, the nuanced definition of “limit” when it is painted in black letters on a white road sign, the truth about yellow lights, and other such confidential information for members of the drivers’ club only. These are usually said with a glint in the instructor’s eye and are often intended to boost camaraderie amongst car-mates. The implicit thought here is that the technical legalities of day to day citizenship on the road are not as essential as is first suggested by such things as DMV applications and examinations. Safety, everyone will say, is the key to good driving, and the number one law of the asphalt. Hence, sometimes one must break the law to keep it.

It is quite true that, practically speaking, “limit” is a somewhat fuzzy term for the general populous, and most likely, if one would rather not be smashed or constantly honked at, it would be wise, at times, to ascede to such fuzziness. Hence is “speed of traffic” born. Yet, it can only be unfortunate that driving necessitates something of a double standard when in the society of law enforcement versus when in the society of, well, everyone else. A strong piece of advice is to always drive as if there was a highway patrolman right behind you, and maybe a good one… assuming of course that you take your phantom patrolman to be rational rather than robotic.

As it is, I am still wondering what on earth “limit” actually means. I never knew that such a small word could have such deep and complicated meaning, except in the philosophy classroom (or my dormroom). But I suppose that, for better or worse, and consciously or otherwise, driving will make philosophers of us all.

The beginning

Someone’s got to post first…