Ok, not a recent photo. It's from this summer. But it seemed like a mini vacation, sitting here tonight looking at our pictures from back when the ground was visible, the wind was warm, and it was possible to walk places with only one's shoes for assistance. We have been playing "anywhere but here" lately, as one worst-case scenario after another has been playing out for us. Between flooded units, no water at all, shuffled bookings because of denver blizzards, and in the middle of it, a cleaning crew that flaked, forcing us to hunt for help, and do the cleans ourselves instead of running the office, it has been somewhat psycho around here. When someone turns up in a good mood in the morning, there is a full scale inquiry into just why they would think such light-heartedness is necesary. Something is awry.

Apparently, Mountain Dew hosted some big event at Keystone last weekend. We wondered at the surge of bookings, and why there were giant, inflated Mountain Dew cans at the base areas. Finally today we discovered that there had been an event there. How's one to know these things if they dont take the time to read the papers anymore, or lisen to the local radio, or talk to anyone, because that would take time? Well, that's life from inside a vacation area. The tourists know much more about these things than we do, we just clean up after them and conclude something must have gone on.

But we have survived yet another Christmas and New Year's Eve. That counts for something. It is another eleven and a half months till the next one. Too bad it can't be longer. And, we only have twelve more weekends until Keystone closes. Oh, yes, we keep track of these things.

But enough of that. It has been cold here lately, freeze the hairs in your nose cold. But not cold enough for long enough, they claim, to kill the pine beetles that are turning the lodgepole pines forests around here into dry, dead kindling. Every year, we have a cold snap like this. Last year, we only had one vehicle, B. was in Keystone working late, and I went to the rec center and missed the bus home. I walked three miles in a windy -9 degrees, in sweaty workout clothes. It remains the most miserable night of my life. I would have cried, I felt so sorry for myself, if I could have worked myself into a warm enough state to be able to do so. The skin on my legs refused to tolerate being touched or shaved for several days after. Sweatpants are not good protection from the elements. One of the few lessons learned that night.

Bobby is going through my most sacred of computer programs right now, that is, the most sacred one that he will touch. He leaves my writing completely alone. But right now, he is going through my music. I have given up trying to explain to him that every single song in my entire 500-some song collection corresponds to a certain mood and hormone level, and that's why they are in there, not because I am completely enamored with every one of them. They make the rounds from stoner rock to classic gospel to the Georges Strait and Jones to teenie bopper pop to reggae remixes of eighties rock songs to screaming punk to contemporary Christian to heavy metal. But for some reason, having him going through it makes me nervous, as if I am exposing something I don't want anyone to know. He asks for so many explanations. I don't know, ok? Every one of them has provided a soundtrack for one mood or another. Men just don't get it, with their barely there moodswings and consistant tastes. They do not have to prepare for eventual mental states without knowing how or when they will come about.

We are now a two-computer family. I am lying on the bed with the laptop, tapping away, while he sits at the desktop. Yes, we now embody the irony, the picture of the family spending "together time", one with a cell phone, several with laptops, someone text-messaging under the table during dinner. We all have personalized ring-tones, because there are eight cell phones that we have to tuck in with their chargers at night. Add to that, the ringtones that are personalized to the callers, plus the slightly different tones for voice messages and text messages, it can become a regular caucophany of electronic chirps and beeps at our house in the evenings.

Yesterday, our busy season ended with our first day off together in... I cant honestly remember. I got one about two weeks ago, but it has been at least a month and a half for poor B. As is necessary on one's doy off, if one actually wishes to be allowed to take it, and be left alone, we had to leave Summit County. We spent the day in Denver. It was wonderfully warm, and we decided we might actually be able to get along if we had many such days, just the two of us. We shopped for clothes, our wardrobes having taken a bit of a hit since the last time. B. found lots of sales. I found nothing, and loudly lamented the differences in shopping for men's and women's clothes. He bought three sweaters, they all fit him just like all the rest of his clothes fit him, and three pairs of jeans, in just his size, no great ado, no "does this make my butt look bigger?" no having to debate the difference between wide pockets, narrow pockets, wide waists and narrow thighs, narrow waists and wide thighs, ad nauseum. Nothing puts me in a worst mood (well, very few thigs) than jeans shopping. Shirts, hats, scarves, so much fun. Jeans, a road straight to wallowing in self loathing and cursing my genetics.

And today, feeling oddly confident in new jeans that B. pronounced looked the best of any of the many I sashayed out of fitting rooms in, I actually felt like working again. Every unit I had to inspect didnt seem like yet another Everest. It was unusually warm and windstill, reminding me that maybe winter wont last forever after all, our cleaners all did an exceptional job, reminding me that the success of Seymour Lodging does not rest entirely on our shoulders, even though it occasionally feels like it. We have determined that one day off is actually the ideal number. If one only has one day off, and an indefinite number of days until their next one, one does not feel so entitled. If we have two doys in a row, the day we are back feels like a Monday, we are slow and feel sorry for ourselves. But nothing is quite as revitalising as one rare, unexpected day off.