Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column seeking solace from the sage, smooth one. You know who: Smokey Robinson.Maybe you thought we were going to say Voltaire, Thoreau or Castenada. They each have their time, and this one, unfortunately, belongs to Motown’s man.See, it takes a certain genius, a certain gift for comprehending the universal travails of man (and especially man and woman) and to be able to put that down in words, string it beautifully along a melody, and craft a lament that uplifts, as opposed to a dirge that depresses.Consider a verse from the Book of Clowns: “Now if I appear to be carefree/It’s only to camouflage my sadness/And honey to shield my pride I try/To cover this hurt with a show of gladness/But don’t let my show convince you/That I’ve been happy since you/Cos I need to go, oh I need you so …”Who else but the most skilled minister of souls could invoke opera like Pagliacci to salve the sick?The prophet also wrote: “Since you left me, if you see me with another girl/Seeming like I’m having fun/Although she may be cute, she’s just a substitute/’Cause you’re the permanent one …” One cannot help but note the sublime sadness in denial and how it compounds healing.We realize that if our dear readers wanted a sermon on this fine Sunday, they would not be reading, but rather be in church. We hope they can forgive us (and that’s why we quote the great Smokey and not some other, more trite scripture). We are just now turning over a new leaf, having emerged from three days bulldozed by the flu (complicated by the life-altering events you’re gathering here).And maybe the soothsaying songwriter makes us take ourselves too seriously (he did write, after all, “Well there are some sad things known to man/But ain’t too much sadder than/The tears of a clown when there’s no one around”).We must take heart, then, buck up and forge ahead in the certainty of our purpose, hard as it might be. Wish us luck.***All right, we’ve got a truckload of good news and bad news bits to unload here. So strap into your seat belts and hang on.This Scum Alert!! Scum Alert!! goes to the idiots that tried to drive up Sts. John, which isn’t plowed and, of course, they got stuck. Then what do they do? Try using branches ripped from live trees to get traction, and when that doesn’t work, taking planks from a nearby historic structure and shoving them under the tires. “Appalling,” our anonymous correspondent said, “and they’re probably tourists who won’t ever read this.” Don’t worry: It’ll all be on a Post-It in the Big Book on the Other Side when they check in.Here we have an Angel Alert!! Angel Alert!! for Nick and the girls at the Breck WestStar branch. A nice young gal called and said she’s horrible with her money and they still give her excellent service and help her to no end.We’ve got halos and wings as well for everyone who helped out with the Daniel Bombac Fundraiser. This Angel Alert!! Angel Alert!! was e-mailed in by Tobye and Robert, with a long list of good folks who need recognition: Columbine Cafe, Judy Rice, Chuck and Sandy from Mountain Tees, Burke and Riley’s Irish Pub, Giampietro Pizzeria and Pasta, Blue Moon Bakery, Breckenridge Brewery, Avalanche Sports, Gart Sports, Breckenridge Massage Therapy Group, White Mountain Snowmobile Tours, Downstairs at Eric’s, Valdoro Mountain Lodge, Keith Synnesvedt and Stephen Rutkowski and everyone that came and supported Daniel after his accident.***It’s Sunday folks, and if you’ll look closer it’s easy to trace … ah, you get it already.
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