Maxed Out

I believe this is what showbiz folks call a soft opening. Yesterday Whistler, today Blackcomb. Tomorrow? Depends on the snow.

It's been a week since, well, you know. That unpleasantness south of the border. I've quickly moved into the seventh stage of grief although I've had to modify it to drop the whole hope thing.

Well, this is going to be interesting, isn't it? As it seems it has with everyone, there have been too many times in recent years I've found myself wondering how out of touch those in power can possibly be and how seemingly intelligent people can so

Back in the day, a can was a can. In 1935, beer started to be sold commercially in cans. Cans were made of tin, or more accurately, tin plated steel.

It was a dark and stormy night. The wind howled like a Republican bemoaning what would become of his party once The Orange One ran off all but the most malcontent old white guys. Sloppy, stinging precip blew sideways.

Well, a year ago yesterday it was all sunshine... or perhaps sunny ways... or perhaps sonny boy. Whatever it may have been, the past year has suggested it was actually the Not Ready for Prime Time Players, er, Government.

The fine Chinette never appeared. Ditto the starched linen tablecloth and napkins. I wasn't up early stuffing an oversized bird and filling the house with the rich smell of roasting turkey.

It is not unusual, indeed, it is downright fashionable among some, for locals to say they rarely visit Whistler Village. The loss is theirs.

"Age is not a particularly interesting subject. Anyone can get old. All you have to do is live long enough.

It either took an extraordinary mental sense of spatial topography or the advent of the airplane to comprehend, but seemingly lost to history is the name or names of the first people to wonder at the geological oddity that has become Bowron Lake Prov