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Summit Up

Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column that likes to think of itself as a scrap drawer.We’re not sure how many of our dear readers are familiar with scrap drawers, but for those who aren’t, scrap drawers are found in household cabinets, usually in the kitchen under the phone, and contain all matter of scraps, ranging anywhere from Scotch tape to Pez dispensers. In Grandpa Summit Up’s scrap drawer, one is always sure to find a couple of used Band-Aids, some nails and an assortment of 300-year-old M&Ms. Those M&Ms have come in handy more than once during low-blood-sugar moments. As far as personalities go, scrap drawers provide the average snoop with a great deal of insight. What scraps are to one member of a household might be pocket lint to another. And pocket lint is pocket lint when it turns up in a scrap drawers, as it bears no distinguishing marks aside from that of pocket lint, which is fairly unmistakable. In other words, one would be hard-pressed to catch a piece of pocket lint masquerading as, say, a ticket to a Rockies game. And Rockies tickets, like so many things, are often put for safekeeping in the trusty scrap drawer. Love letters, death threats and ransom notes are just a few telling items that often find their way into the scrap drawer, not to mention pennies, thumbtacks and those little koala bears that clip onto the top of writing utensils.***One question we have for Mother Nature is, what’s with the tease? What’s with the ominous clouds threatening to unleash ocean-sized sheets of water to end the drought but which only hover threateningly and occasional emit bolts of lightning toward the combustible wasteland formerly known as Summit County? We here in Summit Up Land are getting very eager for monsoon season, not only because it evokes magical images of pirate ships lost at sea but also because we’re tired of ending up with a monobrow of dust every time we go mountain biking. We even heard the ground coughing today. If we wanted to live in the desert, we’d, you know, move there. Another thing, the fraudulently ominous sky also makes for gloomy afternoons that we could do without. If we wanted to think it was dusk at 3:30 p.m, we’d, you know, fast-forward to January.***As most fellow Summit Countians are aware, the coming weekend marks the official end of “mud season,” which, henceforth, will be referred to as “ground-coughing season.” That means, tourists will be swooping into town to indulge in the beautiful, relaxing summer days the High Country has to offer, the bike path will be stacked with families forming the death-defying (or maybe not) Human Wall, and local restaurants likely will stop offering two-fers, which means we’ll have to revert to our steady diet of Chex Mix. We apologize to all the new folks in town for the gloomy, January-like skies that sometimes fill the afternoons. We’ll send out the spotlight.***Now that we’re rooting through our scrap drawer, we’re pleased to find our old container of fun bubbles. The one with the faded, worn-out label with a note written on it in blue ink that says, “Touch, and die.”In the event of a fire ban, bubbles are a highly enjoyable alternative. Check your scrap drawer, because we’re not sharing.

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