Quote of the Day:
“With the passage of time, most loathsome events become humorous tales.” —Jimmy Buffett
Have you ever been to Tillatooma, Mississippi? In route to Memphis to catch our flight west, TB found a reason to both be and to chuckle there. Honestly, if you are reading this at work you may think these snapshots are not funny at all. If so, look at this post again the next time you are on vacation. Maybe you have to be in the right frame of mind.
We made it to Tahoe and proceeded to gettin acclimated.
And as you can see….
And finally, sadly, there is no photographic evidence of today’s humorous event. However if there were, the photo would be placed into the dictionary next to the word “overconfidence.” Or if that word was already taken it could be considered for “premature jocularity.”
Ol’ TB has been forthright with my fellow denizens of the TBU vis a vis my skiing ability or lack thereof, as the case may be. But I must tell you, I am improving rapidly on this fifth trip to the slopes (counting a few days of hillbilly skiing last year.) I’ve tackled the steepest slopes of my career and handled them without faltering. My skis are beginning to move in unison when they have always previously suffered from multiple personality disorder. I have purposely run through modest tree routes. I’m fast, but in control.
So it came as quite a surprise to me this afternoon when I was suddenly the reluctant host of a yard sale. For those of you back in Mississippi, that’s a big fall, skis, poles and apparel strewn about the mountain. I never saw it coming. It was the end of a long hard run over moguls (bumps, friends) down steeps, through trees and past a bunch of rookies. It was on the green portion of the run (bunny slopes, Mississippians) and I was flying after coming off the steep. I was contemplating how to inject a bit more difficulty into the run a little further down the hill. When I realized there was gonna be a crash landing, but not why–I wondered this in mid-air–I had the presence of mind to aim my derriere at the ground (my ass, Smily). Said derriere connected with its target and after that I was just a hunk of meat and bones along for the ride with my old friend gravity. I know I flipped once and spun once and I know my missing ski was about twenty yards away. And I smashed my thumb. Fortunately that was my only injury as any other fingers would have precluded typing this report. Anyway, I looked around. The only people who might have seen me were a long way off and neither laughing nor concerned. The Rambler was still up hill descending cautiously and only saw the wreckage. Satisfied there was no one else to laugh at what befell me, I decided I better do it myself. It was funny. I wish I had a picture. I’m glad nobody saw it. My thumb hurts.