Latest posts by Chris Marchand (see all)
- For Pete’s Sake – 2018 Come Together Concert a tribute to late local musician - January 9, 2019
- DREAM project marks progress - April 25, 2018
- Northern Lights impressive - April 25, 2018
I was sitting in a pizza restaurant in Medicine Hat at the end of a 10 hour vehicular misadventure in search of Saskatchewan’s Great Sand Hills when I texted the semi-delirious note into my phone.
I was sure the idea would make me rich.
Now let me lean in close and mutter conspiratorially as I describe to you my business plan for a pair of swim trunks designed specifically for waterslides — using space age materials known for their ultra-low friction when wet and enhanced gliding properties.
Part of my marketing plan included getting the trunks strategically ‘banned’ at waterparks and planting urban legends in elementary schools about watersliders who had underestimated their capabilities and perished while wearing them.
The mystique of potential lethality would be irresistible to any young boy — like pop rocks and cola, pellet guns, or a jacknife.
I had done my research. My back and shoulder blades ached like a sunburn from consecutive days of waterslide hotels along the Trans-Canada. My quadriceps bulged from following my three year-old repeatedly up four flights of stairs at which point we would hurl ourselves down the watery plastic channels.
The single greatest revelation of our annual summer roadtrip is that three year-olds aren’t interested in wondrous geological features, fine dining, summiting peaks, or even dinosaur bones. They will endure such frivolities only with the promise of a destination featuring waterslide facilities at day’s end.
I apologize, dear reader, for the banality of this week’s editorial.
I’ve yet to muster much fresh concern for the state of affairs in our community that has not been previously expressed.
We are in a holding pattern, awaiting the insidious advance of summer’s end which tends to intellectually paralyze me like the schoolboy’s mounting dread on Sunday evening. The sense of impending loss makes it hard to enjoy what left of the summer.
But until such time as meteorological circumstances demand I begin wearing socks, I’m not going to get too worked up over anything.
This is a time of plenty for us forest creatures. Tomatoes on the vine, buckets of blueberries, chantrelle mushrooms. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we whine.