Off the Field of Play - Alpine Last Line

We've been home since Friday evening.  I was cleaning out the lint trap in the dryer and the lint was brilliant sky blue.   Well, I didn't get a reminiscent lump in my throat, missing my volunteer role or uniform.  It was well worth the effort, but I won't try something like that again.  I can't stand around for 9 hours in my ski boots. I wasn't there long enough to get to know anyone, because the steward crew was quite numerous and I was paired with someone new every day; in fact, they had so many stewards there was very little to do.  I found out I cannot be firm with people.  And in that role one couldn't feel close to the action.  It was fun to sit in the break tent with a crowd of volunteers and watch the Women's Combined on the TV.  I didn't get that sense of contributing, I suppose because I wasn't there long enough.  There were no days on which I was in Whistler Creekside to soak up the Olympic atmospere there--I was always up-mountain, guarding some passageway, until all the events were long, long over with.  At Creekside, when there isn't an event going on, there is nobody there.  One has to take a bus to Whistler Village for apres.  But, I must do SOME field research, in my role as your intrepid gal reporter, even if that means standing by a ski run in the snow all day long, making sure no riffraff get onto the racecourse, even if only three people come by the whole day, and there is no toilet in sight, and I feel like I'm starring in an episode of My Life on the D-List.

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