October 4, 2005
Over
The other day I was looking back up the hill I’m supposed to be over and wondering exactly where it was that I crossed the top and started down. As I thought about it, I realized the answer was not all that clear. The nadirs, I’ve not a lot of trouble remembering, but the apex seems altogether lost.
As it goes in mountain climbing, getting to the top is always a mighty important occasion. Some people plant flags, usually one from whatever country they call home, or maybe build some kind of more permanent monument marking the occasion. The trip to the moon was a kind of hill to be over. They planted a flag, I remember, but there being no atmosphere, hence, no breeze, and their wanting the flag to show so you could see whose it was, they had to provide the it with some help to hold it out and make it look as if it was in the midst of a wave. I guess it’s still there.
I don’t ever remember planting a flag or a monument when I went over, whenever that was, but I am sure that I went or else life wouldn’t seem so down hill and picking up speed as it does now. I must not have lingered or I would remember.
I was once a member of a group of eight or so folk most of whom had had or was winding down some kind of profession. We called ourselves the Over the Hill Gang. We provided audience and counsel for those who were not yet over, or didn’t think they were, who were still, one might say, under the hill, that is, still on the climbing side.
Most hills have a number of climbing sides, but only one top. It’s probably good for the climbers to have an idea what the top looks like so they could recognize it when they got there. So our function was maybe to tell them what to look for as best we could, what was the evidence, what were the signs, and where might the best climbing paths be where one could get at least a toe hold. Since none of us really knew, it made for some considerable albeit interesting ambiguity.
The more I listened to my colleagues tell what it was like, the more tops I imagined. But it was never like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and their Hole in the Wall Gang.
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