Yesterday Cath and I went up to Grouse Mountain. Cath is learning to snowboard, and last night she had a real breakthrough. The word 'carving' would not have been entirely out of place up there.
To get to the top of Grouse Mountain, for those who are not familiar with the area, you have to take a gondola/tram type of thing. There is a hilarious moment when the pimply conductor of the Grouse Mountain Super Skyride goes through his memorized rules and regulations over the tram's loudspeaker. I can't do it justice, but imagine James Earl Jones speaking quickly saying 'PLEASE TURN YOUR ATTENTION TO THE EXCLUSION OF LIABILITY AND ASSUMPTION OF RISK AGREEMENT ON THE BACK OF YOUR SUPER SKYRIDE LIFT TICKET,' only James Earl Jones is fifteen, obviously tired and bored, and pretty solidly stoned.
I was back on skis for the first time in a long time. On one of our last rides up the chairlift last night, I started to realize that I really enjoy skiing. I don't know
why I ever stopped skiing, really. And then that opened up a whole other line of thought for me - what other totally X-Treme sports had I abandoned in my youth, thereby potentially robbing myself of decades of totally X-Treme enjoyment?
It opened up a whole can of worms for Cath and I. Had we really lost the sense X-Treme-ness we had enjoyed during our courtship? Were those times when we stayed up all night, tattooing swear words into each other's arms with rusty nails just a distant memory?
As we discussed this, Catherine drifted off to sleep. I went online and did my taxes. I can't be sure, but I'd be willing to bet she dreamt of drained, abandoned swimming pools; they were hers to shred, straight on 'til morning.
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