Slim Randles' Home Country
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[February 28, 2009]
Marvin Pincus usually has something to say about almost
everything, and this time it was skiing. He was stopped there on
Parker's Ridge, our local ski slope, resting his arms on the antique
wooden ski poles he'd used since the Hoover administration.
Down the hill came youngsters, swooping and swooshing on snowboards,
cutting roostertails of powdery snow, and setting ol' Marvin to
shaking his head.
"When I was young, we had to work at this, you
know," he said, his breath rising like geysers of human antiquity.
"First of all, you had to take skiing lessons. It wasn't easy,
because of course you had to wait until there was snow. Then you had
to learn fast so you could be a skier before it all melted. Then you
had to buy the right equipment and practice learning to stop and
turn. When you got really good at it, you could go out and pick up a
handful of snow, squeeze it in your hand and tell exactly what kind
of wax to use on your skis."
He shook his head. "But now we have these snowboards. It sure
does look like a lot of fun, I must admit, but near as I can tell,
all you need to get started in that sport is an idiot and a
[Text from file received from Slim Randles]
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