My father, Harold, was born in 1917 and lived through two wars as well as the great depression.
As a young girl, I was constantly lectured for being a dreamer, “Life is not about having fun,” he’d bellow. This advice coming from a father who had an entire treasure chest filled with old photographs of him happily sailing in Madrid with one beautiful girlfriend and skiing in Kitzbuhl with another. It was very hard to take his words seriously. If life wasn’t all about fun than why did he marry our mum, twenty-one years his junior.
His mixed messages were often confusing. In the summers, we traveled to Europe. Never leaving us behind, he was the kind of dad who woke us up like a Sergeant, ordering us to get up and attem. In the evenings, he dragged us out for dancing at the best discos where all the beautiful women hung out. Enveloped by the loud thumping beat of the music, we danced wildly between the legs of all the dancers, never giving it any thought that we were the only children there.
It’s no wonder that two out of three of us landed in a ski resort where fun prevails.
Currently, I’m ready to take the fun to that edgy, cool level that we always do this time of year, only we’re missing something very important and many of us are getting a bit despondent at the loss of it. I’m dreaming again but now, as an adult, it is more controlled and is singled in on manifesting cool, white, fluffy crystallized flakes.
DANCE FOR SNOW:
I’m sure you are all with me that it is time to orchestrate a pow pow. Let’s name the date and the time and make it happen. Let’s concentrate all of our efforts and dance and pray and stomp and wish for the skies to turn dark and ominous and produce the good stuff, shall we?
I’ve heard that some of our local children are putting on their pajamas backwards before going to bed because they were told that it will bring on the snow. Should we start there?
Videos and photos of your efforts are welcome on our facebook page!