"Dave, it’s time for a new blog…..love mom."
On the brighter side, my mom and dad are flying in for some skiing. Well, my dad will be skiing. My mum will be going to the British Shop with Ashlee spending gads of money on sub-par black licorice and nasty "Digestive Biscuits". Seriously? "Digestive Biscuits"? You couldn't come up with a better name for a chocolate covered graham cracker? Howabout "chocolate covered graham cracker"? That's far more likely to entice me than "Digestive Biscuit".
Hypothetical conversation:
"I say, would you happen to have any Digestive Biscuits?"
"Sorry lad. We're flush out, howabout you try some Fleet."
Anyway, what was I saying? Right; my folks are flying in for the annual Vogelsberg ski week. And that always reminds me of the day my mom wanted to divorce my dad. In fact, I think if there had been a judge and a pen on sight that day, it would have been over. Thank goodness there wasn't, because my mum would have dragged us kids back to the land of Eng and I would have had the most British-proper, gobbley-gook accent ever. No offense mum.
Back to the story. In 1982 my dad took the family to Alta (I think he wants his ashes sprinkled over Sugarloaf). And being the learn-from-your-own-experiences/make-your-own-decisions kind of guy that he is, he figured we'd be fine skiing the Sunnyside lift... without any practice. Oh wait, there were the few runs we managed by the rope-tow. But after three rides of hanging on for dear life, tripping all over our skis and poles and tearing our gloves to pieces, we were upgraded to the chairlift: ready to risk life and limb to save our gloves. Never-the-less, most of the family did fine. We skied with smiles and sweet outfits...
(btw, I make no apologies for my attire. My parents dressed me as embarrassingly as possible to keep the ladies away. Women were chasing me in harems even then)
...well, most of us skied with smiles. My mom was petrified. She took one look at the sloping mountain lying in wait and she lost it. Threw a fit. Cursed my dad. And then just cried. She proceeded to take off her skis and carried them down the mountain, leaving a trail of boot holes all along the way as she trudged back to the lodge.
I don't think she talked to my dad for the rest of the year.
Rest assured though, they stuck it out and my dad managed to make amends. In fact, from that year to current date, he still romantically picks up the last flowers available -usually a week old and dying- from whatever gas station he can find that is still open at 11:59 PM on Valentines Day. He's kind of made a tradition of it.
On an even brighter side: here's a sweet picture of my brother. I might mention here that though I undoubtedly warranted his abuse, he has never beat me up. Never even hit me (there was, however, the time I think he would have put me in a wheel-chair had I not outrun him after I hosed him down with the sprinkler in the back yard). He's really a pacifist. This might change that. Cheers bro!
I almost forgot! Dad, don't forget to bring the Juicy Fruit! Skiing is way more fun with Juicy Fruit.
4 comments:
That was an event I will never forget.
However, I didn't "throw a fit"- I was too terrified to talk.
I didnt' curse... I just kept telling your dad to go ahead with your kids and have fun and I'd walk down. He insisted on walking with me which made me feel so guilty because he loves to ski.
Yes, I love the British shop, but I can't spend in one visit what he spends on on a ski pass... or maybe I can.. I'll think about it.
As for the flowers... he used to buy me one red rose for each year we were married. But, we were students and as poor as church mice, so he then began spending the number of dollars for the number of years. eg $5.00 for five years of marriage. And yes, the flowers became fewer and now, after 34 years of marriage.. well I feel lucky when I get a red rose from the garden... about three months after Valentimnes day!!
I lvoe your blogs. Thank you. Love mom
I think your mum probably was just sick of looking at the she-man from your last post. Nice work on this post though. Almost makes me want to trade in our mid-seventies weather and freeze my butt off tumbling down the slopes. But only if your dad brings the Juicy Fruit. The taste the taste the taste would really move me.
Laughed out loud. You're funny Dave. Funny, funny. Hope the baby girls aight. And the wifey.
So that's why she never joins us during ski week. Loved the story! See ya in a month for ski week!
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