Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only column that feels like the proverbial bug on the windshield of life. We can’t take credit for this wonderful little metaphor, and we’re not sure where we heard it first, although if Tom Robbins didn’t write it, he should have.
Be that as it may, we have lately come to understand exactly what such an unfortunate insect might feel like. One day, you’re buzzing along happily. You’ve got street cred with your peers, respect from your community. Perhaps you’ve just chewed your way through the tastiest and most tender green leaf ever, or you’ve just finished pollinating an entire tree full of sweet-smelling cherry blossoms, so you’re feeling self-satisfied and smug. If you’re really lucky, you may have just mated. Pure bliss! Then, all of a sudden – SMACK!!! All that’s left of you is a little oozing blob of protoplasm smeared anonymously across the headlight of some giant SUV, without so much as an epitaph to your name, no chance of a comeback and, who knows, maybe you were even wearing some of that not-so-outstanding underwear your mother warned you about. You never even saw it coming, never had a chance. So make the most of every precious minute of every single day, people. No time to waste sitting around trying to remove all that belly button lint. No telling when your heart might get ripped out of your chest and torn into shreds for no good reason, pretty much ending life as you know it. No way to know if, from one day to the next, you might be “downsized,” leaving you looking for a spot in the local homeless shelter. For that matter, you can’t be sure that a giant meteor isn’t gong to land on your head in the next 30 seconds, either!Yikes. We didn’t mean to start out this glorious Tuesday on such a downer, but we gotta keep it real here at SU, and sometimes that means just telling it like it is.
We’d love for our readers to believe that every day is a bowl of cherries, and we truly wish it where that way – but it ain’t, so deal with it. We do, with grace and style. Some days are just barely tolerable. Some are downright not worth waking up for, while others are simply somniferous. That, by the way, is our word for the day, and we’d like to invite all our readers to submit their own sentences using the word somniferous in some form or another, with extra credit for rhymes. Send in your most somniferous sentence to firstname.lastname@example.org, or recite to us at (970) 668-3998, ext. 13627 and see if you can put us to sleep. We came across this word in one of the Lemony Snicket books, which revolve around a “Series of Unfortunate Events,” like the Jim Carrey movie of the same name, wherein just when you think things couldn’t possibly get any worse, they do. So who says you can’t learn from kid’s lit? Anyway, we love our new word and we plan to use it liberally in our everyday conversations, as in, “My, that was a particularly somniferous planning commission meeting last night.”So after a somniferous morning, we tried to cheer ourselves up by pretending we were in Paris. What could be better tonic for a seriously trampled soul than a May morning on the Champs Elysees or in Montmartre, sipping a coffee that’s as black as the night, strong as the devil and sweet as love, while reading the International Herald Tribune and knowing, just knowing that any second, love is going to happen? That’s what Paris feels like this time of year, so if you’ve never been, you should immediately drop what you’re doing, go to http://www.justfares.com, book a ticket and go. Quit your job, take out a loan if you must, but go!Of course, it’s no easy task pretending to be in Paris when in reality you’re at 8,000-plus feet in the Rocky Mountains. But we did our best, which involved buying some croissants at City Market, finding the sunniest, warmest and most sheltered café we could and then using intense visualization techniques we learned at the feet of the great Zen Master Sushi-san Karaoke. Hey, if we’re gonna meditate, we think we might as well meditate about Paris.
Before we somniferate the last of our loyal readers, warmest congrats go to John and Kate Hudnut on the birth of their baby, Charlotte, whose arrival Friday was definitely not somniferous. Way to go, guys! Couldn’t happen to a sweeter couple. May you all live long, well and prosper. And somewhere on this page you should be able to find a photo of at least two-thirds of this happy family. John, of course, is an artist extraordinaire, proud founder of a glass-blowing studio in Frisco, and we hear that he’s already coaching his daughter to follow in his footsteps. Her spit bubbles are going to be the best ever. And without Kate, the arts community in Breck would likely come to a grinding halt, so we are not going to give her too much time off just because of this baby thing. ***We out, avoiding windshields!
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