Slopes of Life

“Snow, Jean!”

Jean laughed at the excitement in her husband’s voice. He had been saying the same thing all morning. She shook her head fondly - some things never change no matter how old you get. Every January a smattering of snow would fall and Philip would convince her to go for a walk to see the town painted white. And so when he had opened the curtains with the same exclamation she had known they would be going on a walk up the hill first thing after breakfast.

She shuffled to the coat rack, pulling on her padded winter coat with effort. Her hands shook slightly as she wrapped a woollen scarf around her neck and she grimaced with frustration. Everything had got harder since she had turned 75. She sighed and shoved her hands deep into the pockets to withdraw her hat and gloves. 

Philip creaked round the corner, a huge smile deepening crows feet into canyons. She couldn’t help but smile back.

“Have you seen how deep it looks? We’re going to need wellies,” he said, glee shining from every pore.

“Well get your coat on and I’ll fetch them from the porch,” Jean replied with a laugh as he hastily dragged gloves over papery hands.

She opened the heavy wooden door and stepped into the chilly porch as Philip put on his jacket. Her knees hurt from the cold, but they would loosen once she got moving. Pushing aside a few potted plants, she pulled two wellies from the wooden crate tucked in the corner. Checking the size, she put them aside for Philip and dug around for another pair. Behind another few plants, the painted wooden sled caught her attention. She paused as Philip joined her, remembering whoops of laughter as they flew down the hill with their daughter many decades ago.

“Do you think…?” she said, trailing off and looking at the sled in contemplation.

Philip followed her gaze and shook his head. “Bit too heavy for the two of us to carry up now.”

Jean nodded, turning away from the well loved sled. Her back and knees complained as she leaned over to pull boot socks and wellies on. The thin rubber let in the cold and her bones ached. He was right, they were passed the age for sledding.

“If it snows like this next year, we should convince Sarah to bring the grandchildren and take it up,” she said. “We could watch from the top.”

“That’s a good idea. Do you think little Molly would like that? I know the boys would.”

“Are you saying that girls can’t sled?” she teased.

“I wouldn’t dare.” He nudged her gently with an elbow and they grinned at each other.

They clasped hands and stepped gingerly out the door together, bracing tense muscles for a slippery surface. She could remember a different time when they would launch themselves down the icy path together, competing to see how far they could skid. Fear of falling had grown with age; as steadily as the strength to pull a sled up the hill had faded.

The snow was deep enough that every step crunched under their feet. Jean relaxed, but still held Philip’s hand tightly. He kissed her cheek as they reached the foot of the hill and tucked their clasped hands into his pocket. They weaved up the gentle slope with a chill wind nipping at their faces. Joyous laughter and shouts of glee reached them as they crested the hill. On the steeper side, families had gathered with children, dashing up and down with sleds of every shape and size. Philip laughed with delight when a dog jumped into the lap of a surprised teen just as the sled picked up speed. Jean joined in as cries of ‘Spot! Spot! I can’t see!’ faded into the distance. They watched hand in hand, waving to their younger neighbours and chuckling as Spot the dog continued to make a nuisance of himself. As the sun reached its highest and their stomach grumbled, they smiled softly at each other and began to wander back.

“What a shame we couldn’t bring the sled. We could have glided all the way home,” Jean said wistfully.

Philip made a noise of agreement, then froze. Worried, Jean turned to see what was wrong, relaxing when she saw his face stretched in a mischievous grin.

“I have the shopping bags with me,” he said.

She frowned. “So?”

“Let’s do this like old times - before we had the sled. Here, hold this.” He pulled a folded, plastic bag for life from his pocket and shook it out before handing it to her.

“But how are we going to stand back up?”

“Who cares? Let’s just do it.” He placed another bag on the slope, collapsing on his bum in his haste. He grinned up at her and shuffled to sit on the bag, scattering snow in every direction. “Come on, my love! One last hurrah.”

“Absolutely not,” she laughed, but carefully placed her bag on the snow and slowly lowered herself down. Once she was settled, holding the handles in gloved fists, she lent over to smack a kiss on Philip’s nose. “Never the last.”

With a whoop she tilted backwards and let gravity pull her down the slope. The plastic squeaked against the packed snow, and to her disappointment she found herself slowing to a halt after only a metre. Looking back, she burst into gales of laughter. Philip sat a little behind her, scooting forward and collecting a pile of snow in front of him.

“Just you wait until I get over this hump,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “Then you’ll be left in my dust.”

“Sure I will, old man,” she taunted, tucking wispy white hair back under her hat.

“I’ll show you old!”

Plastic bags, as it turned out, did not make good sleds. They ploughed through the snow, grinding their heels in to propel themselves down in short bursts. Deep furrows trailed behind them along with the occasional pile of snow where they hurriedly decanted mounds that had built up in front of them. At the foot of the hill, they rolled to their feet clinging to each other for purchase. Breathless with laughter they stumbled home for a very late lunch.