Maxed Out

There are a lot of reasons right now to be worried, depressed, in denial, angry, suicidal, homicidal and just downright cantankerous. Summer’s proving to be a dud again this year. It’s still five months to the start of ski season.

Love ’em or hate ’em, there is one redeeming quality about politicians: Every so often, you have a chance to vote the scoundrels out of office the same way you voted them into office back when that seemed like a good idea.

There’s something inherently uneasy about the relationship between Canadians and summer. For starters, summer seems to be an all or nothing proposition in the Great White North. You either get it or you don’t.

“Don’t know much about history….” – Insipid Rock ’n’ Roll song Of all the many subjects we were collectively subjected to in school, few were taught as stubbornly wrong as history.

Let us pause, momentarily, and take stock of the world around us as we segue into summer. Let us walk a mile in the moccasins of our brothers and sisters south of the border.

When the only tool you’ve got is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. We all have hammers. Some of us keep them in our toolboxes. Some of us keep them in our head.

It was raining in Tiny Town. A steady, persistent, rain somewhere between drizzle and deluge. An ornery rain that had overstayed its welcome, like some tiresome politician trying to grind out one more vote in a pointless election.

I don’t know about you but I would really like to be pandered to. By politicians, I mean.

It was one of those moments.

As if on cue, the sunshine ignored the forecast — flurries — and made the mountains shine in their grand, ski season 2007-08 finale. Timing is everything and this timing was perfect. Well, nearly perfect.