Passing the torch

I spent a glory day on Mt. Baker last weekend.  The sun was shining and the snow reflected the blue of a sky so clear even angels would have had to squint. It felt like coming home. Our kids grew up on Mt. Baker, it sealed the deal of what family meant to us; it’s the place they learned how to get along with each other, how to laugh at their dad and to ski like the wind.  If I listen closely I can still hear the echo of that past, those olden days – our olden days.

Those olden days have become new again, the next generation of skiers is emerging in this family and those yesterdays have melted into a today that is so familiar it brings tears to my eyes.  

Skiing was my husband’s thing, he was a natural – watching him on skis gave form to poetry.  I, on the other hand, seemed born to cheer, coordination has never been my strong suit. We were probably the perfect combination when it came to encouraging our kids to ski – he gave them ability and I gave them accolades.

Watching my granddaughters find their ski legs and my daughter melt made my day, she is as enthused about sharing her love of the mountain with her kids as her father was sharing his passion with her.  I watched a magical relay of generosity taking place in the glow of a perfect afternoon.  The torch has been passed and in the glorious sunshine on a perfect day I know one angel in particular was beaming.