People who attempt to reach the summit pay dearly for the chance. For the cost of a fixer upper house and the privilege of pushing your body past the extreme, anyone can line up for the chance to ascend into the clouds. Yet it is on the backs of the men who grew up in the shadow of the mountain that the yak cheese and tea, ice picks and spare six hundred dollar mittens are ferried up the cliffs. 

But after the catastrophe, the Sherpas aren't budging. Their demands include increased compensation, and insurance for their families in the case of their injury or death. The widows of the recent avalanche were granted less than the price of mittens. 

One of the issues is more respect for the work they do. Hey, they are in a class by themselves. There is no university degree, trust fund, or lottery ticket that can buy the skill they possess. They earned it with years shaved off their lives, living in an altitude that does not support shrubs. 

I was talking to a friend who wants to be appreciated by her spouse for what she does. Although there are no mountains involved, she carries their baby and toddler much of the time, loses sleep every night, and cranks out food like there is no tomorrow, which for a starving two year old, there isn't. I heard her wishes, and wondered how a husband who is not tuned in to the magic of gratitude can be converted. Later I happened to be next to him at an event and managed to ask a thinly veiled question. 

"Do you appreciate all that your wife does?" I tried to sound casual. 

"Heck, yeah." 

"Do you tell her?" 

He did not answer. 

Rather than worrying about whether he would give voice to his feelings, I decided to go find John. I hadn't thanked him in far too long.