‘I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.’ Jade Boulder is back on display at the Cariboo Jade Shop, this time inside the store. (Photo credit: Babara Roden)

‘I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.’ Jade Boulder is back on display at the Cariboo Jade Shop, this time inside the store. (Photo credit: Babara Roden)

The Editor’s Desk: The life of a rock star

Cache Creek’s Jade Boulder checks in with a guest editorial

Why, hello there! It’s Jade Boulder again, with a little update about what I’ve been up to in the last six months. So many people have been asking, and it really warms my heart.

I must say it’s hard to believe it’s been that long since the upsetting incident just before Christmas last year when I was kidnapped. Mind you, when you’re my age, six months is literally just the blink of an eye, and to call what happened a kidnapping is giving too much credit to the people responsible. Honestly, I’ve seen better organized Keystone Kops. To say they didn’t have the sense God gave a goose is an insult to geese. If I had to pick a song to accompany the whole event, it would be “Yakety Sax” playing on a loop.

Looking back, the most upsetting thing about the whole business is the fact that the two brave men who raised the alarm and pursued the thieves had a boulder thrown at their truck. That could have been serious, and I don’t know how I’d have lived with myself if they’d been injured or worse while trying to protect me. All’s well that ends well, though.

People have been asking how I am, and the answer is taking it easy and recovering from my ordeal. I wasn’t seriously injured; just ended up with a few chips top and bottom (they dropped me! can you believe it? I told you they weren’t very bright) and a bit of a scar on my face, which just adds a bit of character, if you ask me. Funny, though, to go so many decades without anything happening, and then this. Like Indiana Jones says, it’s not the years, it’s the mileage.

And speaking of Indiana Jones, if you want to hear some stories about injuries, talk to the boulder that’s in the opening scene of Raiders of the Lost Ark. She’s got some doozies, let me tell you. How do I know her? Oh, she’s part of a Facebook group a lot of us belong to, where we can let our hair down (or could, if we had hair). Percé Rock, the Rock of Gibraltar, the Blarney Stone (who can go on a bit, to be honest), Plymouth Rock, the Rosetta Stone: we’re all there. Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson drops by sometimes, but he’s a busy guy, as you can imagine. Very down to earth, though, so he fits right in.

It was nice to have an opportunity to rest and reflect and recharge for a while, but I’ll admit I was glad when I heard I’d be coming back to the Jade Shop. There’s only so much solitude a rock can take, and I was missing the hustle and bustle. The whole process of getting me back to the store was a bit nerve-wracking, to be honest: I kept having flashbacks to That Night, and wondered if I might be picking up another scar or two. But everyone was great, and before I knew it I was back in place, safe and sound.

A few people have asked if I mind being inside, instead of out beside the door where I used to be. Not really. I mean, it was nice to be out in the fresh air, but it can get a bit cold, and I had enough of that when I was growing up near Dease Lake. Now I’m inside where it’s climate-controlled, but still have that south-facing view, so I get the sun. And I don’t have to worry about the occasional dog taking liberties with me. Ugh. One incident like that and it sours the whole day.

I’ve got nothing to complain about. I’m safe and have job security for life, and am surrounded by people who care about me. What more could I ask for? Well, maybe a souvenir or two. Nothing tacky; have you seen some of those Rock of Gibraltar souvenirs? A sticker that says “I’m a rock star: Gibraltar”? Get over yourself. No; something tasteful: a nice pair of earrings, say, or a tote bag. Tote bags are always popular. I’ll think about it; I have lots of time to think. And if you have any ideas, let’s talk. You know where to find me.



editorial@accjournal.ca

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