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Old as dirt. Twice as gritty.

On top of the world
by Jo Slade - Story: 68723
Dec 29, 2011 / 5:00 am

 
According to the Mesoamerican Long Count calendar, the world is supposed to end in 2012, but I think people will still want to celebrate on New Year’s Eve. Of course, the way people celebrate often involves over-indulgences of some kind, be it alcohol or food, and heaven knows I’ve done that enough over the years. I have spent many a New Year’s Day feeling a few degrees below cheerful due to the after-effects of the aforementioned over-indulgences. 
 

About ten years ago, feeling not-that-great had started to seem like a bad idea for starting a new year, and so Jim and I decided to celebrate the dawning of the brand new year in a brand new way. Instead of staying up until midnight, we arose at a ridiculously early hour on New Year’s Day morning. We bundled up, and headed into the woods for a hike up to the top to watch the sun come up. We were a party of three-and-change; myself, Jim, Heather, and Angus the dog. Angus, now dilapidated, has been a part of most things we’ve done since he came into our lives. At that time, he was still a frisky young lad. 
 
I remember our sense of wonderment during the two-hour trek in the dark through snow. We trudged along in silence, for the stillness around us seemed far too sacred to be disturbed by idle chatter. Our destination was the top of the Kelowna Crags, with its 360 degree view of the city, lake, and mountains. The off-trail route to get there was brightened only by the snow, but it was enough. We climbed up the west side (the east side is reserved for the rock-climbing crazies), and as the ascent steepened, we slipped endlessly on the snow-and-ice-covered slate. At that point we needed our flashlights, but we had no intention of turning back, despite the cold and dark and that sometimes we seemed to slip back two steps for each step forward.
 
We reached the very top feeling cold, stiff and tired, and there, to our amazement, we found a rudimentary living room of sorts built with slabs of slate. Three chairs, a coffee table and a fire-pit, all slate, and a tucked-away space stocked with plastic-wrapped dry newspapers, kindling and matches. When we packed our breakfast of croissants, chocolate, and coffee earlier that morning, we never dreamed there’d be dining accommodations waiting for us.
 
We sat in the frigid dawn and watched as the sun came up, and it seemed exactly right to be there. It felt like a promise, sitting together on top of the world, surrounded by our love of one another and by the beauty all around. In silence we welcomed the sun as it spread its morning light on us, and on our future. 
 
I’m glad we went that year, because those woods burned during the firestorm that rolled through soon after. The slate living room at the top is still there, I’m sure, but the woods to get there have changed a great deal. I’m happy that we knew those woods as they once were, and I’m happy to have the memory of being in the exact right place at the start of a brand new year.
 
That hike started a new tradition, and we still climb to the top of the world most years on January 1, but the hill is a different one. And the dog? Well, the dog stays home because his hiking days are done, but we do still have a frisky young lad in the mix, our almost-six year old grandson who has brought a small but significant change to our routine: the hikes, still wonderful, are now significantly less silent.
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About the Author

This bio was written by Jo Slade. As you can see she has written about herself in the third person. What normal person would do that? They just wouldn't. Who knows how many other persons might be involved in this thing, a second person? Another third? I worry about it. I - she - we - can't even keep it straight, this paragraph is a damn mess, there are persons all over the place. Round 'em up and shoot 'em. That's what I'd do, and by golly I think that's what Jo Slade would do as well.

Biographic nutshell: Jo has been messing around with words for a long time. Sometimes she'll just say words instead of writing them, it saves on paper.

This column: The columns that will appear here are of a highly serious and scholarly nature, therefore it is advised that you keep a dictionary and ponderous thoughts nearby.

If, after reading the column, you find yourself tossing and turning at night, burning with the need to email me, just do it. I answer to jo@castanet.net







The views expressed are strictly those of the author and not necessarily those of Castanet. Castanet presents its columns "as is" and does not warrant the contents.

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