Howdy, Bubba! Hey, if you're new around these parts, I just want to say how much I appreciate you dropping by! Oh, and you may want to subscribe to my feed. Thanks, and a tip o' the hat to ya!

I had to cringe when I saw Roger von Oech’s post advising us to Change Viewpoints. To be sure, changing viewpoints is definitely a great tool for shaking those stubborn creative cobwebs loose.

But here’s what it made me think of…

It was Thanksgiving weekend, and I was about to take my first run down the mountain (this was back in the ‘70s). I hadn’t been snow skiing in several years, but I was ready as I could be, with weeks of muscle-building and aerobic workouts, the right clothing, goggles, and gloves, and plenty of warm-up exercises that very morning. I had even deliberately chosen an easy slope for my first run, just to let my body loosen up and “remember” how to move.

A simple push of the poles, and I was off! The crisp invigorating air, the beautiful clear day, the swish of the snow under my skis - life was pretty much as perfect as it could possibly be. Ok, time for the first turn. A quick shift of weight, reposition the arms slightly, gently touch the snow with my left pole, start to carve a perfect turn – uh, hey! What-? Drat-!! Oof! Snap! Pop! Ouch!!!

I didn’t quite break anything, but when I fell, I definitely heard the knees audibly pop. All I could do was wait for someone to eventually stop and ask if I was alright. After about 20 minutes, the Ski Patrol finally arrived.

Now lemme tell ya, my friends, if you’ve never had the singularly unique experience of riding in a Ski Patrol’s rescue sled (and God bless the Ski Patrol!), then Bubba, you ain’t lived! It’s simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. (It was reminiscent of that scene from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, where they have to jump off the cliff to escape a posse – and Butch turned out to be deathly afraid of heights. Let’s just say the folks downhill could hear me comin’ from a looooong way off.)

First of all, the whole reason you’re strapped into one of those babies is - you’re in pain! And the ride down the hill isn’t exactly, um, smooth. Then of course the view is something like the picture on the left. You have to control your natural desire to “know where you’re going” because you’re on your back and going downhill headfirst.

Yep, loads of fun.

Needless to say, my wonderful, long-awaited Thanksgiving ski trip was ruined, and I spent the rest of it with my right leg in one of those cute little inflatable casts. Extensive after-action analysis (believe me, I had plenty of time to mentally review it) revealed the root cause of the accident (and it didn’t help that it was partially totally self-inflicted!)

The first problem was, I had adjusted my own bindings too tight. (Hey, no problem – I can adjust them myself, he said.) Second, instead of going around, I had tried skiing over a few blades of grass sticking up through the snow (for those of you who don’t know, it’s sortof like trying to ski over sandpaper instead of snow). As a result my skis snagged, and I tumbled. Then, when the bindings failed to release, my right knee twisted into a creative shape it was never designed for.

Anyway, that was a long time ago, and somehow I survived the weekend. In fact I’ve even been skiing since then, just to prove to myself I could still do it. Of course, you don’t have to tell me twice - now I let the ski shop do the binding adjustments.

Oh, and I learned one more thing: when it comes to snow skiing, there’s a familar phrase that captures the essense, the sum totality of knowledge, the very profundity of being:

Keep off the grass!

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