Tale of the Rusty Ski

We came home from our much anticipated trip to Mt Selwyn over the Queen’s Birthday weekend with so many stories to tell. But I am not going to tell you how fun it was to be with four other families with eight overly eager kids between us. Or how much food we brought, complete with a very yummy Pavlova and coffee brownies courtesy of Carol. And how the dads sneaked our magic kalans to the back of the motel so we can cook a complete breakfast and re-heat left-overs. I won’t even go into the details of how hubby threw up a whole day’s worth of meals at 3am. I’m sure you’re not interested  It will probably bore you if I say we had such a long trip, driving over deserted mountains I was beginning to think we got lost and was about ready to call for help—except there was nary a trace of signal. No, I’m not telling you that. Aaaah, did I just tell you that? Teehee!


There was one story from that whole trip which stood out for me…


When we first moved to Australia three years ago, we went through the usual ‘pulot’ phase. I don’t know about you but most of my friends who just landed in Australia experienced this. It’s when you get excited and all pumped up when you see a pile of rubbish on the street-thinking about the possible treasures just waiting to be unearthed - TVs, old computers and printers, components, dvd players, clothes, bags, beds and the list goes on. More often than not, this phase could be born out of sheer necessity or as how my cousin and good friend call it- ‘sa ngalan ng pagtitipid’!


Anyway, on one such ‘pulot’ day, hubby excitedly came home with a pair of rusty skis and made a promise that the skis will have it’s day in the snow as soon as we can afford it. I just shrugged him off. He’s got the weirdest and most impractical ideas, I tell you. After more than 10 yrs of being together, I know when he wouldn’t budge. And this is one of those.


I have totally forgotten about the skis until last Sunday, when I saw it packed along with our snow gear at the back of the car as we were unloading our things. I must admit there was a slight tug in my heart. The look on hubby’s face as he carefully placed the skis on fresh snow was priceless. I was sucked by the drama of it all. It was like the skis coming full circle.


We all took turns having our photos taken with the skis, coming up with every imaginable pose and pretending we actually went skiing.

Hubby trying on the skis

Vince's turn...

Rafa loved it so much!

The skis with our snowman.

When it was time to go, hubby carefully placed the skis on the snow under an old tree. It will sit there until the next “pulot” guy takes it to it’s next adventure. Who knows where that will be? The possibilities are endless.