Happiness (for me, at least)
is ‘Single-ness’ in the lift line
...a few words in
praise of conversation
The seeds for this column began to germinate during the short 15-20 minute drive from our home to Saddleback for a couple of hours of skiing on a recent crisp, yet beautiful, Saturday morning.

I had my car radio tuned as usual to Maine Public Radio. An author, Daniel Menaker, was being interviewed about his recently published book: “A Good Talk, The Story and Skill of Conversation.” The easy-going interview revealed the interesting conversational style of Mr. Menaker. It was clear he enjoyed a good conversation, and what he described as “a human art of great importance produced by all people everywhere.” The interview ended as I pulled up to the lodge to unload my skis.

I didn’t give that radio interview another thought until I was heading back home later that morning, and noticed the barely legible scribbling on my dashboard notepad, where I jotted down the author’s name, the book’s title, and a quote or two. It seemed coincidental, since I was still thinking about the interesting conversations I had that morning… thanks to being a “single” in the lift line.

My wife, Judy, teaches in the Saddleback Ski School, so I am most often a solitary skier when I shoot up to the mountain for a quick two or three hours on the slopes. Therefore, when the mountain isn’t very busy, I usually end up riding the lift alone. I’m not complaining mind you… since the views are something I never get tired of. However, a good conversation always makes the trip seem twice as fast. That’s where getting paired up with another “single” as a reward (in my judgment) whenever things get busier and lift lines form. I never consider the brief wait in Saddleback’s signature short lift lines as much of an inconvenience. Based on my experience, an enjoyable conversation on the chair is virtually assured.

As I see it, skiers are generally an interesting and fun-loving lot to begin with…and they enjoy challenges. They also appreciate the outdoors, they love the mountains, and many clearly subscribe to the “work hard, play hard” philosophy. I offer the following as proof positive from my chairlift conversations that morning:

It was hard to miss the impressive fur hat with a cold-war era Soviet insignia mounted on the front atop another “single” in the liftline. Here was a conversation-starter if I ever saw one and I made sure we would be on the chair together. It turns out that this large fur hat was much more than a tourist’s trophy. I found that my new chair-mate was a cargo ship captain who picked up that exceedingly warm hat while piloting a humanitarian load of grain for Chechnyan citizens from the U.S. to the port of Saint Petersburg during Russia’s conflict with that country a few years ago. It was interesting that the grain was to be transported through Russia for the citizens of their adversary. We talked about ice-breaking their way into the port without the luxury of a true ice-breaker ship leading the way, and a few other related topics such as piracy off the coast of Somalia before wishing each other a good day as we disembarked at the top.

My next trip up the chair was with a very interesting man who was an engineer whose company creates the concrete platform mounts for all the wind turbines that have been erected so far in Maine. I was fascinated by this short course in turbine technology during that ride up the hill. I gained

at least a 10-fold increase in my understanding of the art and science of drilling deep into the granite mountaintops and forcing a special concrete mix deep to form a proper anchor, as well as the engineering challenges of doing it right in a way that was as environmentally-sensitive as possible, so that those behemoths don’t topple in a stiff wind. We had such a good give-and-take conversation that the ride seemed to be over in seconds rather than minutes.

Perhaps the most memorable conversation I had was with the guy who had been some kind of trouble-shooter/ repairman for nuclear power plants in New England for the last 30 years or more. When I asked about the risks involved he recounted the time in the ‘80s when he was on a dive inside a massive water tank where the radioactive fuel rods were housed… when he discovered that his suit was leaking, and filling up with the water that surrounded the fuel rods. Of course, my next question was about his current health.

Remarkably, he said that he experienced no ill effects from that harrowing episode.

Of course, each of these conversations was a good give-and-take whereby they learned a bit about me as well. I certainly don’t recall those details since I was focused on their interesting stories. I am sure however, that I projected my sincere interest in their experiences and perspectives since I am truly fascinated by most people and their stories.

There is a wealth of experiences and perspectives in each of us. And in my view, they are meant to be shared, discussed, sometimes argued, sometimes congratulated… and always validated as important.

As I drove back to town, and noticed my scribbled notes on the dashboard notepad, I couldn’t help but think that author Daniel Menaker would have approved of these “good talks” as the time flew by while practicing and applying this conversational “human art of great importance produced by people everywhere” …most assuredly including all those interesting and engaging people riding chairlifts up mountains in Maine.

“We need to write, otherwise nobody will know who we are,” Garrison Keillor

Per usual, your thoughts and comments are welcome. Write them in good conversational style and drop them off inside the log door of our mudroom on the west shore of Gull Pond… or simply fire off one of those convenient substitutes for a good face-to-face discussion… an email addressed to allenwicken@yahoo.com. Who knows? ...it may result in us getting together for a good talk.

Pubisher’s note: Allen Wicken’s column, North by NorthEast appears in the second and fourth issue of the month, regularly, in the Irregular. Your comments are always welcome.d