April showers bring may flowers

Cross-country skiing is one of my favourite sports. There's nothing more exhilarating than soaking up Birch Point scenery, careening through mountain trails.

Climbing the hills is grueling, but well worth the effort. The view from the top is spectacular. The descents are a bit steep for me (more so these days). Sometimes, my skis move faster than my heart can take, and I freeze up (having nothing to do with the wintry temperature).

Our family has embarked on a journey through a challenging cross-country ski trail.

This morning, Gilly cheerfully greeted me with a reminder that we need milk. He was preparing for a visit from Jacques (sp?) and Chad, and wanted to ensure that there would be appropriate fixings for coffee, according to everyone's taste.

I returned from shopping to find Gilly on the doorstep with a welcoming smile plastered across his face, welcoming Jacques who had just arrived. He called out through the pouring rain to ask if I needed help with my packages.

I left for my mom's, pleased to see Gilly holding court with his two guests, immersed in discussions of pumps and whatnots down in the Bahamas. Chad and Jacques had recently returned from Freeport, doing the work Gilly has done many times in the past, but could not do this time around. Gilly was on a high; at the peak of his day. This was at 2:15.

The trip downhill was steep. Jacques said it came upon him all of a sudden. He stumbled up the stairs at about 5:00, just as I walked through the front door. The gentlemen bid Gilly a fond farewell laced with apparent concern. I surveyed the situation with growing apprehension.

The look in Gilly's eyes seemed unusual. I wondered if he could be dehydrated (don't ask me why), so I offered him water. He drank some. Next, I guessed he was hungry (no surprise; I'm a Jewish mother), so I offered some food. He could barely hold the spoon as he painstakingly chewed on some pineapple. The right side of his body was not functioning up to current par. I sat, holding my heart in my hands, petrified, feeling as though I had crashed right into a tree on my way down the hill.

My usual instinct kicked in; I implored him to go to the hospital. I even considered dragging him against his will. He laughed at me, slurring his words, assuring me that he's absolutely fine. He admitted that I do not often see him like this, but it happens, and then he recovers. I convinced him to lie down, and he finally agreed to rest in bed. I sat and watched him, trying to make conversation (He used to be an amazing conversationalist, but I have to take the initiative these days; role reversal).

Eventually, he confessed that it frightens him when I wear a worried expression. "You look like you think I'm going to die or something." His comment opened the door to a greater understanding of his experience. I silently vowed to work on toning down my reactions.

He's now fast asleep. I hear his strength returning by virtue of the change in his breathing; on his way up to the next peak. Our last visit to Dr. Wise was a real eye opener (forgot to use this pun the other day; so perfect); rainy days can be tough.

Too bad the meteorologist predicts we will not see much sun (if any) until Thursday. The only consolation is that all this rain is probably nourishing our Magnolia tree towards its annual peak.