Last night I ran out of Earth. It’s easy to do that when you live the life I live along solitary lanes and remote real estate. Good news is that when you run out of Earth, the first step past the boundary puts you in Paradise. The gates are unguarded and there is no St. Peter to demand an RSVP. It’s all very natural. You just ski or blade or walk (any means that uses your own power) to the edge of civilization and then you keep going. When the incandescent lights dim behind you, you discover blinding white stars; and when the man-made noises fade, you are deafened by a symphonic hush; and when the canned air is purged from your lungs, you savor breaths as bracing as mountain water. Dreams expand, fears shrink.
Wherever you are, I hope your dreams tower above your fears. Dreams are the freest part of us, fears the most crippling. You don’t have to use nature to inspire potential, but finding the honesty and courage to reach for perfection is the only way to avoid long-term regrets. Whether or not you actually reach your destination isn’t what you’re accountable for. Taking the journey is.
It was a first snowfall that freed me to venture beyond the man-made stuff I’ve been skiing at Elm Creek since November 15th. As if passing through a picture frame, I left the lamp glow and the gliding ballet of dozens of skiers on the groomed loop for the raw miracles of untracked phantom blue snow and latticed trees gone naked in the night. No matter how many times I’ve escaped into a winter’s night on skis, I’m always struck dumb by the magic and the grandeur. The feelings, the thoughts and the perspectives as you stand steaming at the top of a promontory under a full crystal moon simply cannot be described...
It was a relief from that treadmill-like mile of man-made snow I’ve been skiing over and over with the hundreds of others who come at this time of year when Elm Creek is the only game in town. I used to laugh at one of my swimmers who actually lost count on an 8-length race, but would you believe I lost track of the mile loops I was skiing one evening. My nightly drive inevitably follows skiing, and then I come home and play the T-sax to old-time rock ‘n roll music videos on YouTube. The skiing is safe, and the late-night drive is changeable, but playing the T-sax along with Little Richard’s band is downright dangerous. I once jumped off a piano with the sax mouthpiece between my lips like the dude playing "Long Tall Sally" and nearly tore my teeth out.
Lots to be thankful for this past Thanksgiving , like Norby Nation for having me over to dinner, or the many fans who e-mailed about last month’s column about my kids and their creative schemes [ http://www.storytellersunplugged.com/thomas-sullivan-growing-up-dead ], or responses to the newsletter [ http://www.thomassullivanauthor.com/newsletters/11162008.htm ], or birthday cards and gifts on November 20th, and a host of other kindnesses. And last month I thanked Chuck Hines for quoting me in his upcoming book on water polo; this month (very belatedly) I want to thank prize-winning bestseller Loren Estleman for quoting me several times in his book, WRITING THE POPULAR NOVEL.
My latest column is now up on StorytellersUnplugged.com [ http://www.storytellersunplugged.com/thomas-sullivan-%e2%80%9chelp-help-they%e2%80%99ve-stolen-my-book-and-all-the-words-and-everything%e2%80%9d ] and it deals with plagiarism from New York to Hollywood. For those of you who love the photos, the evil Dr. Foto (folk singer Mark Manrique) has caught me in a Grinch-like moment below. There are also before and after shots from Elm Creek showing the transition from snow guns, when skiing was confined to the gerbil treadmill, to the infinitely more beautiful and solitary realm that opened up with the first snowstorm.
Latest hi-tech toy for me is a pair of Zanier Heat GX 2009 gloves. A few years ago I got a finger slammed in a door, and so I have to protect it from cold. Extremely expensive, Zaniers are nevertheless the only heated ski gloves that actually work. Gave them the acid test the other day in -40 chill factors. It was so cold that when coming down hills into the wind I considered gender reassignment. The Zaniers aren’t supposed to make you toasty; they’re just supposed to keep your opposable thumbs from falling off. Have to say, the gloves did the job. At least they did until one of the lithium-ion batteries punked out way sooner than it should have. I think I just got a bad battery. Fat chance I’ll get a replacement under warranty, I suppose, but I’ll let you know how the gloves hold up throughout the season. Here’s wishing you the merriest of holidays and a warm new year with or without gloves...
Thomas “Sully” Sullivan
http://www.thomassullivanauthor.com/
