When I was just out of high school in 1970, I worked for a couple of summers digging ditches for a guy named Slim Manley. He had an ancient backhoe, a bulldozer, and a jack hammer. He dug ditches around the little town of Hideaway Park, a few miles west of the Winter Park Ski Area. The ski area is over the Continental Divide from Denver via Berthoud Pass on US 40. During the winter, the pass is subject to avalanches that can turn big trees into kindling, bury the road for hours, and, occasionally, sweep cars and their occupants over the edge of the highway and down the steep slope below.

Slim, who was even older than his equipment, knew what he was about. He ran the WW II surplus backhoe and the bulldozer. He surveyed the sewage lines that we dug to make sure that they were on enough of a downhill grade that all the “stuff” that was in them got to the sewage treatment plant. He planted the dynamite charges in the “doneys” (high county lingo for “big boulders in the way of sewage and water lines” that needed to be blasted). Slim would worry away at those big rocks with that old backhoe until he was finally convinced that there was no choice but to blast.

At which point I’d park myself on top of the doney with the jackhammer until there was a deep enough hole in the rock to plant the dynamite. Slim would take it from there, packing a stick of dynamite and a blasting cap into the hole with an old broom handle. The last step before the fireworks was to cover the boulder with an old mattress to, hopefully, keep rock splinters from going through the windows of the houses that often were no more than a few yards away. Slim would attach extension wires to the blasting machine fitted with a plunger, we’d all retreat behind the bulldozer or into some other hidey hole, Slim would holler “fire in the hole,” and there’d be a muffled “whomp.” Except for the few times when there wasn’t. In which case, rock splinters and dirt would come raining down. I don’t remember any broken windows. But, then again, this was a long time ago.

Homespun Aphorisms

To say that Slim had a dry sense of humor is an understatement. On one of those June 20th days I worked for him, he showed up in the morning and announced, “Well, winter’s on its way.” Of course, I was nonplussed-the 20th is the first day of summer! But the 20th is also the summer solstice, the day on which days begin getting relentlessly shorter. And that meant something in a town set at about 9,000 feet. Where winter often held sway from shortly after Labor Day to Memorial Day. Where the surrounding peaks, at more than 13,000 feet, had snow fields on them year ’round. And could be dusted with new snow any month of the year. One of the traditions of Hideaway Park was the 4th of July ski race on a snow field above town, just beneath the Continental Divide.

On another day-I was probably whining about something-Slim, without missing a beat, came up with this: “From the day you’re born, ’til you’re ridin’ the hearse, there ain’t nothin’ so bad that it couldn’t be worse.” Now mind, this was about 1972 or ’73. Going on 50 years ago. And yet I remember what he said as if it were yesterday.

Oh, Yeah? What Did Slim Know About 2020?

Now, I don’t know exactly when Slim Manley died. But I do know this: there’s no way he’s still alive. There’s no way he hasn’t taken that ride in the hearse. When I knew him, he must have been pushing 65 or 70. And his leathery face looked every day of it. So when he laid that pearl of wisdom on me he had no idea of what the year 2020 had in store for the us: COVID, the civil unrest that has swept our land from sea to shining sea, the wild fires that have scorched the western United States and even threatened the little burg of Grandby that Slim called home for so many years.

What would Slim say about 2020? Can it really get worse than this? You know the answer to that question: of course it can. But, at best, that’s cold comfort. And if it does get worse, will that make us feel any better about 2020? I suppose. But only in the sense that it feels so good to quit hitting your head with a hammer.

A Long And Winding Road

Which is a roundabout way of getting to what this blog’s about. Mental health. Bipolar disorder. Mania. Depression. And if there was ever a time when problems like these could bubble to the surface, this sure seems to be it. In fact, after heredity, stressful events are considered a leading cause of bipolar.

So what to do to keep the stress at bay? Here some things that have been helpful to me: working out on a regular basis, getting enough sleep, limit time with the news-especially with all the annoying political commercials. Stay in touch with family and friends-even if only by phone. Blogging. Sometimes. While at others, like this rascally, obstinate post, it only seems to make things worse.

And finally, and above all, keep this in mind during these trying times:

From the day you’re born, ’til you’re ridin’ the hearse, there ain’t nothin’ so bad that it couldn’t be worse.