THIS IS NOT A TIRE

Enjoy your respective celebratory festive rituals during this time.  If you have no celebration during this period then, I tell you first, you are not alone, and second…just in enjoy the changing of the seasons to this wintery bliss; or summer sunshine depending on which hemisphere you live.  Eat and drink until your heart is content (if your holiday is about contentment).  If drinking is against your dogmatic practice, that’s okay too.  Should you travel, be safe arriving at your destination of choice.  If the location was not of your choosing, be positive for the sake of those around you.  The children, yes the children, one cannot forget the children around this time.  Their faces all warm and happy, may they receive all the gifts they deserve, unless of course gifting is not apart of your merriment; or you have no children to think of, or if your children happen to be one of the grabby whinny faces crying out for all the things they want in Target, in which case please disregard the before mentioned statement.  Don’t have family, friends, or acquaintances’ of the caliber to invite you over, Not to worry you are not forgotten and happiness is sent your way too…clearly if and only if that is something you would want.

My brother and I loved building snow forts. We had little understanding of the dangers or the complex engineering that was involved with building structures and keep them standing. We were also dealing with a material that was both highly malleable and susceptible to the elements. Our forts were built at the corners of our driveway…you know where the plows dump all the snow from the road in addition to the driveway being cleared. Mountains, they seemed at that time, beautifully packed in boulders waiting for us to sculpt them into snow caves. To be completely honest, I don’t even remember what we did once constructed, but the call to dig and create these icy cavities was as strong as the migration movements of southern right whales, except we were eight- and eleven-year-old kids playing in the snow.
We had a system. It worked for us. To begin our dig like any quality contractor, we took a lay of the land, including the level of the snow, and incorporated what we knew of the curvature of the lawn under the huge pile of snow. With all of this information compiled, we marched into the white abyss and chose the location for the entrance. Like any child of good Canadian parents, we knew better than to make the entrance on the driveway side. This was my first urban legends, little kids being struck by their parents parking as they climbed out of the hole (at least I hope they were town or village legends…accounting accurately for the true population of where I grew up). Mark, my brother, would hold my feet, and I would lie face first in the snow and dig with a large soup spoon. Loosening up the snow. Mark, both older and stronger, would use the shovel when I became overrun with snow to clear the area before repeating the process. This would go on for hours. At times we would go into the house only to exchange wet mittens for dry.
One evening, we were putting the final touches on the fort, you know…crown molding. No, no, no it was more like smoothing out the inside walls and making the middle support ‘beam’ a little thinner. I clocked in for my union break. Resting on my back just for a moment, or what I thought to be a moment, somewhere along the lines the engineers underestimated the weight of the ceiling. Down the packed heavy wet snow came. My own personal avalanche. Mark was crouched and easily overcame our downed fort. Crying for help and paralyzed under the power of solid H2O, Mark cleared an airway. I was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, but instead it was merely the moon and the stars of the northern lights. My five-inch frozen grave had me imagining my own funeral… I was crying, and Mark was demanding to know what to do. I knew time was critical. “Go get Daaaaaad! Leave me here alone, and get Dad,” I instructed. Mark, uncertain that leaving his only sister, I mean what if I wasn’t able to hold on that long. He took off in a dead sprint.
My parents were entertaining that night. I pictured this interruption at the dinning table, “Dad, Lisa is buried in the front yard. The snow fort collapsed and she can’t move, but she has an air hole. What should I do? She told me to come and get you.” silence… instructions delved out by my omnipotent father both wise and with company.
After what felt like a lifetime, Mark returned. “Dad said to dig you out.”

Fifteen minute reminder – mute please!
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Signatures and sign-offs, we only want
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When replying, type your text above this line.
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With kind regards.

From great heights I’d fall with a smile not fright
At fourteen thousand feet I’d step out the door
This time in my life was not contrite
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Each jumper had a place planned out with foresight
There was never a shortage when it came to finding a mentor
From great heights I’d fall with a smile not fright
.
There is no better feeling than being in-flight
To Drop Zone I headed, they call it hardcore
This time in my life was not contrite
.
Low winds and Blue Skies were my delight
Freedom was mine, down to my core
From great heights I’d fall with a smile not fright
.
Hanging out with friends ‘round a fire long long past midnight
Recounting the day, each event I’d adore
This time in my life was not contrite
.
Two hundred and ten is all I can cite
A change in my world stole away my amour
From great heights I’d fall with a smile not fright
This time in my life was not contrite

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An Exercise from my writing class.  I needed a way to express the end of my skydiving career.  Fear not, I’ll be back to story telling in no time.  Until then…enjoy something a little different.