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Summit Up

Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column that’s been having flashbacks.

No, not those kind of flashbacks. These are the au naturale sort of flashbacks, the kind brought on by breezes on the cheeks, smells and the way this gray-tinged twilight of late has been bouncing off the backs of our eyelids.

It’s sounds strange, we know, but that’s why we’re telling you about it. It strikes us as strange, too. See, just about a year ago, we were with an expeditionary force of field agents exploring the wilds of South America, urban and rural. For some reason, this weather we’ve been having lately is giving us serious flashbacks. We think it has something to do with the air temperature, the color of the sky that’s been so common in recent weeks and the smells that come with the rain.

In case you never noticed this, nothing ever seems to smell around here until it rains. We could tell you about frightening flashbacks we get whenever we smell garbage – it takes us back to our city-living days and the rotting, festering trash bins admissions counselors try to call “colleges.” Fortunately, we don’t have a lot of that around here and, even if we did, the lack of humidity would keep those odiferous molecules from reaching our nostrils.

Anyway, these flashbacks have us, as usual, cogitating on the supernatural, the surreal and the fuzzy parts of intuition that we usually suffice to call “deja vu,” when really it has more to do with consciousness as a construct apart from the physical plane and the mish-mash of living in the present and the past at the same time.

If that makes sense to you, maybe you can explain it to us. All we know is, we keep getting these whiffs, these sensations and suddenly we can picture nothing but sitting astride a horse on a beach in Uruguay or standing in a cemetery in Buenos Aires listening to the marble age. We’ve had two nerve-wrenching moments already where we veritably woke up driving in Summit County and realize we, if only for a moment, thought we were driving down a South American highway. Weird and scary.

We wind up asking ourselves if this is the deeper parts of our soul beckoning. How come we never have flashbacks about the places we’re in right now? How come they’re always far-off places and people? And why aren’t we having these dreams at night, when we could enjoy them longer, darnit?

Oh, the curse that is imagination.


Lizzie Anderson says anybody that would steal a little kid’s balloons is worth a Scum Alert!! Scum Alert!! and we’re inclined to agree. Lizzie says the family tied up some balloons to claim a table at Marina Park Saturday. They went back to remove them when it started raining and they were gone. Alex Anderson, who turned four that day, had to go without inflatable fun at his party.

We hope the offenders sucked on any of the helium ones and had their voices permanently stuck two octaves higher. That’ll serve ’em.


Feel free to tell us about your flashbacks, real or imagined (can it be only one?), at, fax at (970) 668-0755 or just tell us we’re too young to have real flashbacks on the voicemail at (970) 668-3998, ext. 237.

We’re out sniffing below the

equator …

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