Wednesday, November 29, 2006

The Cabbage Patch Man

I'm in bed with a throat infection, all covered up, bowlfuls of hot soup at my side and constant attention. Aaah... I kinda sorta almost love being sick. Since I'm in no shape to blog but I'm also suffering blog-withdrawal, I'll write about a not-so-distant memory that always brings a smile to my face. Okay, not really a smile, more like a hide-behind-your-hand giggle.

Not too long ago, I'd gone hiking with a bunch of friends. A mighty mountain, a practice run for the great Kilimanjaro. Just as steep, nearly as high, almost as deadly.

Now you and I both know, if you're going down a steep incline and you're not careful about how fast you're moving, you're going to barrel down, tumbling over wildly, accelerating out of control. I know some law of physics goes here, but I don't want to bore you (and I can't for the life of me remember. I was never very good at physics). (Maybe now's the time to take the "geek" off of the "goddess").

(Oh my God that sounds so dodgy. I meant that in the cleanest, non-perverted way possible) (Or not).

So there we were, thrilled about having reached the peak, elated at seeing the misty view of the city below us through chilly, translucent clouds, (did you know clouds are chilly? I mean it's cold anyway up at such heights, but if a cloud passes you by you'll feel the chills - and not just from the excitement. It's really, really umm... chilly). So anyway back to my story; there we were climbing slowly down the treacherous slope single-file, carefully digging each foot in the soil before taking every next step forward when suddenly this guy, Shab I'll call him, yelled out in panic "OUTTA THE WAAAYYY! MOOOOVVVEEEE!" and all of us, without pausing to look back and see what was happening, leapt off the track and onto the cabbage patches on either side that mountain villagers had planted. Shab thundered past us, somersaulting down the narrow dirt path that led straight off the side of the mountain plunging into a massive chasm below.

Hearts beating wildly we watched as he rapidly rolled down the almost-vertical trail until he crashed heavily into a rock and stopped. Thankfully he was okay, just bruises on his limbs and head. He sat there, head in his hands, breathing erratically, almost in tears. We scrambled down and asked if he was alright.

"You guys go ahead" he said to us, "I don't think I can come down."

"That's ok" we told him, "you let us know when you're ready and we'll all go down together"

"No" he said quietly, on the verge of tears, "I'll never be able to do this. Leave me here. I'll live with the villagers on this mountain forever and eat cabbages."

Eventually, we got him to walk down with us. But for ever more, the story of the origin of his name has been passed down for generations. (Not really, but friends, family, colleagues, neighbours, and random strangers).

And that is the story of how he came to be known as Cabbage Shab.


owlhaven said...


Hi from a fellow blogging chick!

Mary, mom to many

Flying Purple Moose said...

Thanks SO much for stopping by my place! I have read this ONe entry so far and I absolutely LOVE your writing. If you would like to email me at all I can be reached at flyingpurplemoose (at) hotmail (dot) com. I have moved back to the US but miss so many things about TZ.

Geek Goddess said...

Thank you both!

owlhaven Ive been checking out your blogs and I think its amazing that you've adopted so many children.. bless you.

Flying purple moose - thanks that made my day! ive noticed you haven't posted on your blog for a while - do keep writing, reading it is always a pleasure!