Skiing with Hammond at Homewood - We were indeed magnificent

8-11 Feb 2008: Second Old Frogs Ski In Tahoe

by Mike Hammond

The weekend was another warm hearted reunion echoing last year’s camaraderie filled visit while we lingered over morning coffee and oatmeal, pontificated on the chairlifts and harangued each other over beer and dinner during the evenings. Unlike last year, our days were full of glorious skiing, cruising down wide open corduroy groomed runs; spring time conditions, the warm sun beaming down through clear blue skies with temperatures in the low 50s. What did not change from last year were the uninterruptible blithering conversations of deeply rooted feelings about times past in the Teams, world problems & solutions and proverbial politics, especially this being an election year. Once again Bill ensnared us, unremittingly and unabashedly in dialogue while inflicting his tirades on the group. He ensured us that what he say-eth was based on in depth reading, the facts as he knew them.

I drove to Tahoe the day before the arrival of three old frogs, John Gulick (Guns), Bill Jebb (Heeb) and Vern Clinton. I needed to make sure there was enough sustenance and libation socked away, and ensure that all sharp objects were out of immediate reach and ensure there would be sufficient power to keep Vern’s sleep apnea gear operating. On arriving in Tahoe City to rent ski equipment both Guns and Vern were hyperventilating and exhausted from both being at altitude and Heeb’s dominating non-stop diatribe which Guns had been enduring solo all the way from San Francisco to Auburn. In retrospection calling the Tahoe EMTs for a heads-up might have been prudent; after all Guns’ performance last summer in Coronado gave everyone a fright. After meeting the guys in Tahoe City we went to Dave’s Ski Shop, rented gear with minimal wisecracks and disturbance and then promptly got separated returning to the house, a harbinger for what the rest of the weekend might bring.

The sign when guys have settled-in: unmerciful insults and assaults heavily laden with profanity. It is just something guys do, it is part of their bonding, relationship. Verbal abuse and name calling is a form of endearment and hard to understand unless you are a guy. Ladies don’t understand it, and don’t need to. They have their own form of nonstop bonding prattle. It makes the old fairy tale of what boys and girls are made of ring true; sticks and stones, and puppy dog tails versus sugar and spice and everything nice.

Friday night dinner homemade pizza was served up and well received. After more blathering, bed was not too far behind due to our age and time zone differences. At our age there may even be a time zone between San Francisco and Lake Tahoe. It didn’t take too long to get all spooled up the next morning over two pots of coffee and oatmeal (groat) that simmered all night in a crock pot. The day was beautiful so we decided to ski at Homewood and actually arrived on the slopes close to 10:30. It was wonderful sunny day, wide open corduroy runs and not very crowded. We stopped twice for water and a break and skied most of the whole mountain. Vern was ecstatic, his old memorable style and self charging down the mountain and arriving at the lift with a big grin on his face. The conditions were much better than the blizzard we attempted to ski in last year. Guns was skiing so well that the Heeb was forced to favorably comment on his ability and measurable improvement; a tribute that did not come lightly. At 3:30 Vern and Guns hit the lodge while Heeb and I took our last couple of runs. It was so easy to walk the thirty feet to the car, load up the skis and drive 1 ½ miles home.

Surprisingly not much beer or wine was consumed but we did stop by Obexer’s so the Heeb could buy a six pack of his local Boston made Samuel Adams. After showers and a rest we started once again to gear up arguing the pros and cons of the current political candidates. For dinner I had pre-made beef Bourguignon, and with pasta and a tossed salad we had plenty to feast on. Discussions on age, life and our very own mortality came next. I had just received a eulogy to be delivered by, Bill Tribolet, at his friend’s, John Woodall’s) memorial celebration. He used a poem originally written in 1931 by Robert H. Smith, The Clock of Life:

The clock of life is wound but once, And no man has the power to tell, Just when the hands will stop – at late or early hour.

To lose one's wealth is sad indeed, To lose one's health is more, To lose one's soul is such a loss, That no man can restore.

The present only is our own, Live, love, toil at will, Place no faith in time, For the clock may soon be still.

We then discussed listening, active listening, extolling how great people are who listen carefully, genuinely interested in knowing what you have to say; clearly a wonderful trait we all respect and believe is worth emulating. Great people pay attention, clarify, and provide feedback with what they understood you to say. These old frogs didn’t practice what they preached as nonstop arguing; red faced animated blustering and gesticulating arms knocked over wine glasses anxiously trying to make a point well before the other had finished. We proved once again that guys cannot send and receive at the same time. By 7:30 Vern checked himself into bed leaving Guns and I to do verbal battle with the Heeb.

The next morning, Sunday, 10 Feb. was much the same, a great sunny day with promises for more wide open corduroy skiing. After a frittata and buckets of coffee we headed to Alpine Meadows. Vern was still feeling the effects of the previous day so begged off. Guns, Heeb and I drove to Alpine and got on the mountain by 10:00AM. The Heeb and I lost John for awhile but somehow knew that we could find him either near the men’s room or the cafeteria which we did after a 45 minute hiatus. Unfortunately, the morning brief did not include a rally point if we were separated. It was another great ski day and another “lousy day in paradise”. Heeb was interested in some snowshoeing so we quit skiing at 2:30PM, returned the ski gear in Tahoe City and got home by 3:15. By 3:30 Heeb and were headed to the top of Eagle Rock. At 4:10 we were standing on top taking in one of the Lake’s most beautiful views. After photos, so Heeb could show his soon to be envious east coast buddies, we descended back to Blackwood Creek and home.

After resting, reading and hors d’oeuvres I was graciously treated to wonderful dinner at the West Shore Café and Inn. Even though it was Sunday night the restaurant got off to a so-so start when their tap beer was out and both their starter and entrée selections were limited. In general we thought the food was good but expensive. When dessert was offered most of us declined but the Heeb selected the Palette, different flavors of ice cream on top of a large flat pastry. I mentioned by motto of avoiding big desserts: at some point the dessert would be gone whether it was one bite or several, in this case scoops of ice cream, one spoon full or five scoops. Since the ending was going to be the same in both cases you might as well just have a small amount. When it’s done it’s done. Vern quickly leaped on that composing his own analogy saying the same was true with skiing. Skiing was so good that skiing one day was much better for you than skiing two days. Go figure! Arriving back at the house both Guns and Vern were wasted and decided to turn in early. Heeb and I stayed up solving world problems for a couple of more hours and went to bed.

The next morning, Monday, since Heeb had a 2:00PM flight out of SFO the boys rallied, cleaned up the house and shoved off by 8:30AM.

Somewhere during the stay I thought it as also useful to include another portion of Tribolet’s eulogy, one of the things John Woodall had taught him:

Remember; if you don’t clutter your speaking time with complaints, criticism of others, self-praise, and gossip, you’ll find that you tend to generate a bunch of quiet…and give added importance to what you say.