"Sky pilot…"
My first memories of this song was when I went skiing for the first and only time, with my good friend and his family, in this skiing resort, in Vermont. It was abundantly clear to me that skiing was not my sport, not even close, I could not even learn how to "snowplow." For lack of a better word, to break my skis and my body. I basically had to twist both my ankles to halt the skis.
I had an excellent time with my friends, family, or what I also consider one of my foster families, extended family of sorts. My family is nothing like that family who are casual, fun loving, and great people, who I miss very much.
My family, though much smaller, and now very much smaller, are loving but far from being the casual type. The first time my friend came to the house, he asked me why everybody was yelling. I told him it was an ethnic thing, and we were especially loud. My friend, and all my friends seem to get used to it, no harm intended. We were "close talkers," much before it was identified by Jerry Seinfeld.
I heard the aforementioned song for the first time in my friends fathers brown van. It seemed appropriate given where we were, and the altitude. Needless to say, I never skied again, and now given my physical condition, it would be nearly impossible, but I can always keep that as a pleasant memory.
Jimmy
That's a lot of good memories wrapped into one blog. Families can be like that. I had a similar situation with a friend's family. His grandmother was a fascinating and fearless woman who taught us to swear in the "old language" and would read our fortunes in the bottom of a coffee cup. My friend and I shared many a good time repeating her stories. This dear woman certainly made an impact on all the people she touched.
ReplyDeleteThey may have blessed this boy while I stood in line but I can't for the life of me figure out what to click to subscribe/follow your blog. I know you're here to help me, you're a good holy man.
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