When I was 9 my parents sent me up to Mt. Ashland to learn how to ski. There was an old yellow school bus with the seemingly mandatory cranky bus driver that would leave from Yreka and take kids and teenagers up to the mountain to ski. My family had only been in Yreka for about 4 or 5 years and we were still learning about cold weather and snow. For my brother and I this was our first encounter with skiing. My brother and I had these enormous hunter’s orange jackets both three sizes too big, you know, so there would be room to grow into them (we never did, we always wore them out before they actually fit).
Every morning for a couple weeks we would be dropped off at the high school parking lot as the other kids shielded their retinas from our burning orangeness and climb on the bus. My brother and I would sit and look out the window as the bus climbed over the Oregon pass and then dropped down only to head back up Mt Ashland. When we reached the ski area my brother would lead me into the lodge to pick up our rented skis and boots. All the while hoping that all the “good” skis were not gone or one would be stuck with some sort of prehistoric set that consisted of plywood and straps. Once we had fought to put on our enormous boots while struggling to get our hands to emerge from our cavernous jackets, my brother would lead me to my class and he would then head to his.
My Mother, a life long southern California girl, had fitted me with some suede gloves with sheepskin on the inside. These gloves, although very stylish, did nothing against the face peeling wind of Mt. Ashland and the wetness that came from spending most of your lesson crashing into snow banks and small trees. After about a few hours on the bunny slopes my hands were frozen, wet, and what little feeling I had was burning from trying to grip the rope on the rope tow that would take you up the hill. This particular day was cold, cloudy and the wind was relentless. There were very few people on the slopes that day because of the conditions but my parents had prepaid for the “ski lesson” package so here I was. I had just taken another run down the slope working on my snow plough technique when I slid on the icy snow and lost both skis. “Woooooooaaaa nice one!” my high school aged ski instructor yelled out laughing. “Shake it off man and I will meet you at the top with the rest of the class!” He yelled over his shoulder as they all got back in line to head back up. I struggled to get my skis back on and kept looking up to my class as they all waddled up the bunny slope. I didn’t want to be left alone. I couldn’t move my hands, my skis kept slipping away, I was frantic to get back to my group because there was not a soul around. Finally I got one of my skis positioned for me to snap my boot in but as I pushed on it it wouldn’t click because it was covered in icy snow. I was yelling at my ski “Come on! Come on you stupid…” The ski shot out from under me, my pole shot out the other way and once again I hit the snow. The wind pushed hard against my face. I was cold, miserable, snotty and I noticed my blue hands would not move anymore. My eyes welled up as I began to feel just how small I was, alone on what seemed like a very unforgiving mountain. I noticed the fog lifting a bit and I could see the lodge. Somehow I was able to use my stiff hands to fumble the skis and poles into my arms. I hugged them as I trudged painfully slow, for what seemed like an hour, back to the lodge.
The lodge was fairly empty except for the rental staff and a few couples but there was a fire and it was warm. I made my way to the fire pulled off my ridiculous suede gloves (now completely frozen) with my teeth then peeled off my jacket over my head because my hands couldn’t work the zipper. I then put my hands under my arms as I rocked back and forth trying to warm up. I remember not wanting anyone to see me. For some reason I was embarrassed of my pathetic state and worried I would be in trouble for leaving the lesson so I found a little corner of the lodge next to the fire that was a bit hidden by a chair. I realize now how silly it was for me to think I would not be noticed. A nine your old with a beat red face, blue hands, clumps of snow frozen in his hair rocking back and forth next to a fire in an empty room. A woman on the rental staff came over to me although looking back she was probably 19 or 21. She knelt down asked me if I was ok. I said yes never meeting her eyes. She stayed there looking at me intently. “Would you like some hot chocolate? It’s on me. You don’t have to pay for it. Does that sound good?” she said. “That’s ok,” I replied. I looked up at her and she smiled and said, “I am going to get you some hot chocolate.” She brought it back and said, “here, just hold it with both hands while you sip. It will warm you up.” I pulled out my cold blue claws to grasp the hot chocolate and she yelped, “Oh my God!” She then started saying repeatedly “Oh my god. Ok. Ok. Oh my god. Ok. Alright. Frostbite. Ok. Don’t worry. Ok.” She walked towards the counter,then quickly turned and walked back, then walked towards the counter, then walked back to me. All the while saying, “Ok. Ok. Alright. Ok.” She noticed my panicked look as I hid my hands under my arms. Suddenly a calmness came over her face and I could relax my own. She knelt down to get eye level with me again. She looked into my eyes and put her warm hand on my check and said quietly, “its ok. I got you.” I fell in love with her as deeply as only a child can and I could feel my eyes well up again and then tears begin to fall. She walked me behind the counter to a faucet and began to run warm water. “It’s ok. Your hands are frostbit. We’re just going to warm the up.” She took my hands and gently washed them with warm water. It stung but that warmth radiated through my body and I didn’t mind the stinging. I could feel heat rushing up my arms like sunlight, into my shoulders and neck relaxing them – calming them. All was good in the world.
In a burst of snow and wind my ski instructor came in through the back door. “hey Little man! Where have you been!?!? You know you can’t just walk off the slopes. You have to….” but before he could finish my savior looked up and snapped her head towards the door, “fuck off John. Look at his hands.” There was a long silence as my face beamed up at her. I looked at John as he stood there with his raccoon sunburned face and thought, “ya fuck off John.” I didn’t know really what it meant but it somehow seemed to sum up my feeling right then. Not really knowing what to do John decided he had better fuck off and shut the door behind him. “Sorry about that” she said. “Don’t worry about John, I’ll talk to him.” She then began to rub her hands over mine as they sat under the water and I dreamed of marrying her. I dreamed of playing tag with her “but” I thought, “I would let her catch me.” From that day on every time I had a ski lesson I would come to the rental counter to get my skis and she would always emerge from the back saying, “Wait! I got this one.” She would then pull out the best rental skis in the store that she had hidden in the back. She would smile and I would blush.
The thing is I have never forgotten that day and to this day when my hands are cold and I put them under warm water sunlight shoots up my arms, relaxes my shoulders, and I have this overwhelming sense of calmness, of peace, of well being. This tiny kindness, this tiny moment of compassion between two human beings changed me – became a part of me – radiates in me. My guess is that young woman never thinks about that moment and has no idea that the loving attention she gave a miserable nine year old changed him. These moments occure around us every day, how many of us sieze them? You want to change the world? You want to live deeply? Compassion. Compassion. Compassion. That is the answer. How we reach out to others is how we reach out to ourselves. How we mend our brothers and sisters hearts is how we mend our own and all of this starts with simply noticing the sad, lonely, hurting, poor, miserable, grieving, heartbroken, and cold around us. It begins with something as simple as warm water on cold hands.
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