Maxed Out

What can be more soul-sapping —life-threatening conditions or income tax deadline time aside—than regularly sitting in gridlocked traffic? Vehicles crawling at a pace just slightly faster than a walk, taillights stretching for as far as y

In the pale predawn light, a time when most of us were trying to wring out the last moments of sleep, with the mountains to the south of me just beginning to take shape, blackened silhouettes against a sky fierce with wind and torn cloud, punctuated

In case you hadn't noticed , 2020 is a leap year. Oh yeah, baby, one extra day to celebrate in the shortest month of the year.

While it may not be fashionable in this populist era to admit it, I'm a capitalist.

Around this time of year I fall out of step with many—most, maybe—Canadians. "Around this time of year?" I hear you snigger. I'll ignore that. You see, I like February. I mean, what's not to like? It's short.

I'd just like to take this opportunity to admit I'm guilty. Don't feel too smug. You're guilty too. And you and you and you. All of us. Guilty, guilty, guilty.

"Death don't have no mercy in this land." -Rev. Gary Davis So you're a reasonably robust Whistleratic. You ski, bike, surf, run, do any number of things that make you feel vibrant, alive.

So much for the holidays . Back to work. The tasks we collectively face to move both the resident and tourist needle in a positive direction did not go away in the past few weeks' sea of eggnog and shortbread.

Possibly the best thing that can be said about 2019 is, "Whew!" Yeah, it was that kind of year and closing the book on the second decade of the 21st century at least gives rise to the hope the next one will be better.

Leave or stay? Stay or leave? It's either a question weighing heavily on your mind or something you never really give much thought to. I fall in the latter camp.