Hello and welcome to An Altitude Problem, where the snow is all but gone, and I may be the last person in the county still trying to use it, and hating to see it go just a little bit. I have had the best of both worlds lately, sixty and seventy degree weather, shirtsleeves and deserted mountain, skis that take me up, then back down sloped usually crowded, and I get to take Andy, never a option when the slopes are open. In the last week, I have climbed A-basin twice, trudging uphill for a mile or two, depending on how high I go, then turning around and carving my way back down. It has been fabulous.

I went for a bike ride the other morning, and discovered that all of my favorite trails are bone-dry and rideable, but the trails connecting them are still boggy. I ended up a bit muddy after my 12 mile ride, mostly because of a massive endo in a soupy mud puddle. I did not realize how deep it was, so i hit it going at a good clip, and stopped dead, my front wheel disappearing up to the disc brakes and flipping me and the bike over it.

So, instead of biking, I have been skiing lately. The Basin still has snow on the runs, albeit extremely slushy snow, strips lying in the middle of dry ground and running water. I climb up, with Andy rolling in the snow, kicking it up, glissading down on his butt, on his sides, on his back, all flailing limbs and big grin. He absolutely loves the snow.

Today, i started about 2:30, a bad move if I wanted to avoid the inevitable afternoon rain, but still climbed up to the mid mountain lodge, then waited under the eaves as yet another thunderstorm moved through, slinging rain, then sleet at me. Our mountain weather does not lend itself well to solid wardrobe decisions. I started out with shorts and a bikini top (not another soul around, so swimwear and shockingly white skin is an option), then added a shirt, a windbreaker, and sweatpants, and a parka attached to my backpack. After climbing about 300 vertical feet, the rain that had been falling when I started left just as suddenly, and the sun came out, and i began to bake. I stopped and stashed the windbreaker and sweatpants under a tree, then after another quarter mile, peeled out of the shirt. Climbed about 400 vertical feet more and suddenly the sun left, thunder rumbled, and the rain started. I finished the climb to the lodge, took off my backpack, replaced the shirt and added the parka. Waited for it to pass, and as soon as it thinned, high-tailed it off the mountain as fast as the slushy snow would let me. It began to rain in earnest, slashing across my face and bare legs, until I got back to where I had left my sweats and jacket, then returned to a light drizzle. And no sooner did I slide to a stop at the bottom, but the sun came out, and the clouds parted, and I found myself under a clear blue sky. Mountain weather.

Bobby has been gone most of this week, down in Buffalo, Oklahoma, cutting wheat with his brother. I have had the house to myself, well, myself and Andy, who, until four days ago, was experiencing projectile diarrhea, giardia compliments (we think) of all the beaver pond water he helps himself to when we are hiking. He actually managed to not make a mess in the house, but it was only because I watched him like a hawk. He had to go out every two hours during the night, so I had to become a very light sleeper, so I could be sure to wake up when he became restless and needed to go out.

And now, Bobby has fish filets thawing, and since he stopped by my parents on his way home from Oklahoma, I have fresh lettuce and spinache from my mom's garden. I need to go make something simple and healthy (his request after nothing but pizza the last several days).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PP_MJlzYj4Y

Hey all! above is the link to the video compilation of our winter. After putting it together, I'm wishing for the snow again (and the last resort only closed three days ago...)

Hello and welcome to An Altitude Problem, where the lack of work is wonderful, but your blogger feels a bit...lazy.

Oh, it has been wonderful, and I have been able to take a few hikes, a few walks, a three mile run last night, and snowboarding this morning.

Now I sit here with a sunburned face, still in my finally dry jacket, with little bits of shredded paper all over the floor around me, compliments of Andy, and last night's leftover shriveled eggplant steaks, shriveled corn, shriveled potatoes, and an open bottle of Riesling sit exactly as I left them. I am trying to remember the point at which I stopped thinking about the state of the kitchen, after dinner last night, and I simply cant remember even once thinking about it after the last bite. Oh, I remember what happened now. I sat down with the remote, for just a sec, watch some news, ya know... and got momentarily stuck on a rundown of the world's 100 most beautiful women, and about five beauties in, began to feel so inadequate I went running to punish myself, and then it rained on me, and Andy and i were both stinky and soaked when we got home, and then I took a shower, and then fell asleep on the couch, and never went into the kitchen again. Honestly, I was shocked to see last night's dinner still on the stovetop when i got up this morning. But this morning, it was far more important to get to the Basin, since it closes tomorrow, than it was to scrape 12 hour old potatoes off a cast iron pan.

It was a good day at the basin, in spite of a stiff breeze at the top. I was glad i had worn a jacket, in spite of the fact that the thermometer said it was 56 degrees when I left the house. I went all the way to the top, and discovered that pond skimming, the springtime sport of skiing or snowboarding across a body of water without getting wet, was in full swing in the pond that forms every spring in an indention on the main vein down. I made three runs, casing the joint, getting butterflies in my stomache at the thought of it, not so much at the thought of sinking in the frigid water, but at the thought of crashing on the ice on the other side and leaving pieces of me on the sharp edges. Then, I joined the group of indecisive skiers and riders at the top of the chute that led to the pond, and watched a few more skiers or snowboarders either make it across, biff it and have a yard sale and have to fish their skis from the muddy, hip-deep icy water, or sink into the water halfway across, or hit the lip on the other side and flip themselves arse over teakettle into the hard, sharp ice and snow. We discussed strategy, then clothing options. Should I plan on sinking, and take off my snowpants before hand? Should I take off my jacket, so in case I got wet, I would have dry clothes? Or should I leave them on, knee and elbow protection in case I made it across and crashed on the other side? After a bit of discussion and imput from fellow pond-skimmers, I stripped down to my running shorts, which I was wearing under my snowpants, but left on my jacket and gloves.

Then, I took a deep breath, and hit the chute. I freaked out at the last minute because of a bit of turbulence, some rough, gouged out snow throwing my board around, and lost my momentum in a tiny, sideways slide. I almost made it across the water, but some slush and floating ice chunks on the surface slowed me down too much, and I sank into the water to my hips. I had to reach down to remove my board, and climbed out of the pond with the help of a bystander. Several people showed me pictures they had taken, and I could see I was not leaned far enough back to allow proper planing of my board, so I retrieved my snowpants from someone who had chickened out of pond skimming and had decided to carry them down to me, and I hung them on a bamboo caution post, rode down to the chairlift, and, teeth chattering, rode the chair back to the top to try again.

That time, I knew what to do. I loosened up my knees and squatted low, to take the shock of the rough chute, and must have been doing at least forty when I hit the water. I was aware of a splash, and for the next half second, an incredibly smooth ride, and then I hit the bank, caught some air, landed it, and skidded to a stop. As expected, it was a rush. Unfortunately, the person behind me was not so lucky. He biffed it big time, a giant splash from which arms and legs flopped, then submerged, and he broke the surface sputtering and ski-less. Since I was not wearing my snowpants, I climbed into the water with him and helped him search for his sunken skis, not wanting them to add to the reported five skis already frozen into the bottom of the pond. We felt around on the rocky, icy bottom, arms and legs numb, until he had located both of them, then climbed out, my legs angry red, goosebumpy, and oddly warm. By the way, the first picture on this post was snapped by Chris. I do not know Chris, but he offered to email me the picture he had taken of me on the water. The last two pictures located somewhere in this post, are camera phone pics, not the greatest, but hey. One is of the pond from the chairlift, and one is of a hapless skier fishing his skis from the icy muck on the bottom.

I saw some familiar figures ahead of me on the way down, and stopped to ask them if they were, indeed, Kim and Cameron (Grandpa Bill's daughter and daughter's husband). It was indeed, and we exchanged pleasantries, but I was in a bit of a hurry to put my pants back on, so I left them and rode down to the lodge. Once there, my adrenaline rush began to abate a bit, and I was sad to see it go. What could it hurt, I wondered...so pants in hand, I climbed back on the chair and made another teeth-chattering ride to the top. Kim and Cameron found me at the top of the chute again, and offered to carry my snowpants, so I took them up on it, and hit the pond again, and nailed it. By this time my legs were a bit more blue than red, and they made my decision for me. On the way down, Cameron invited me to lunch at the Dam Brewery in Dillon, so, snowpants in hand, I made my way into the bathroom and held my feet, one at a time, under the hand dryer, letting the warm air melt the ice that encased my bootlaces, until they were pliable again. I stripped off my boots, rung out my socks, and pulled my snowpants on over my goosebumpy legs, then, barefoot, picked my way down the steps and across the muddy parking lot, suddenly getting signals from my ankle that stairs were not a wise choice for me.

Andy greeted me as though I had been gone for days, and nearly flooded the parking lot when I let him out of the jeep, where he had been sleeping all morning, to do his business.

And so it happened that I was treated to lunch at the Dam Brewery today. It was good to get to know Kim and Cameron a bit better, and I found out from them that my family may be planning a trip to the mountains this July. Yes, my family. Funny I hadn't heard about it...aherm, anyone?

And now, before it rains, I need to take the yellow beast outside for a scamper, to offload all the excess energy he has been storing up all morning while sleeping in the jeep.

Hello and welcome to An Altitude Problem, the blog who's author and author's husband have just celebrated lucky number seven. The surprise B planned was a trip to a close tourist destination we had never explored- the little town of Glenwood Springs. We hiked up to Hanging Lake, which was beautiful with it's twin waterfalls, but not half as impressive as the less heard of waterfall just above it, Spouting Rock. We wondered why we had not made the hike earlier, and actually thought Spouting Rock beat out our hikes to Hawaii waterfalls in novelty points. We dined at a cafe in town, then, full and feeling a bit too round for swimsuits, spent the rest of the afternoon at the hot springs, alternately paddling lazily in 90 degree water, then soaking in 104 degree water, smelling of sulfer and watching the clouds build. The ankle, so stiff and swollen after the hike, is feeling almost new today. Maybe it was the warm mineral water, or maybe the two days I've gone now without twisting it anew. Whatever it was, I'll take it.

That's right, faithful few, it has been seven years since we so airily repeated those vows and sailed into happily ever after. Insert cynical chuckle here- it's ok. And just because, in case one of my faithful few thinks that happily ever after is a myth, I would like to invite you to a small slideshow of just what happily ever after, at least ever after for seven years, looks like. Sorry if it bores you. But I am in the mood to look back, and realize that it must have indeed, been happily ever after, because I'm glad it happened.

Year one was the most turbulent, highs and lows, long evenings of nothing but cuddling in our tiny, silent house, just us and Mosey, the blue-eyed cat, tears and drama, frustration and annoyance and fun and adoration.

Year two saw us mature a bit and tire of the constant drama of year one, and begin our Colorado job, necessitating a shift in our home church, and therefore family and community, status, and drawing from each other the support we had gotten from other sources. It also saw us in the turmoil of losing family members to terminal illness while we worked, helplessly, five hours away. It saw us become used to each other's presence, take it for granted, and drop any pretenses we were still trying to maintain after year one.

Year three saw us living in two places, Kansas and Colorado, with a long summer of farming, a long winter of scrubbing toilets, and never out of each others sight, but simultaneously growing closer and driving each other nuts. It held almost as much drama as year one, fighting about money, fighting about fighting about money, making up, fighting about making up.

Year four saw us become management at our company, and too tired to fight, or make up, or even care. It saw us begin to live separate lives with separate worries, separate acquaintances, separate identities in a house packed with family and roommates.

Year five saw us as near strangers, my life lived between work and the ski slopes, the rec center, and the trails, and B's life lived between taking care of our guests, taking care of the office, taking care of everybody except himself, overwhelmed, while I wondered why he did not love me anymore and he wondered where I was.

The end of year five, then year six, saw your blogger realizing that a lack of love was never part of the equation, and realizing how much wifely support her dear B had had to go without while the energy that should have been given to supporting him and their marriage was expended on manic snowboarding, hiking, running and weightlifting, and general avoidance. It saw us mending the damage of years four and five, crying on each others shoulders as we came against the flaws in ourselves, admitting to apathy, and renewing the unconditional adoration of the year before year one. We began fighting again, to our relief, and the making up and forgiving, after it was all worked out, was sweeter than ever before.

Year six saw us, for perhaps the first time, becoming comfortable with who we are, together. It saw us seeking community, spiritual stability, mutual friends. It showed us the need to live alone, the importance of depending on each other for entertainment, conversation, and emotional support. Looking back, it felt like the first year of actually being adults.

Year seven saw us in our own home, alone, surrounded by our own things, our own personal touches. It saw us making sacrifices for each other that, it turns out, were not sacrifices at all- a day or two all to ourselves, hiking and biking together, working late together. It saw us recognizing that our last two and a half years together have been something that many only dream of, and that we are truly lucky. It saw your blogger becoming comfortable with all the things she will never be- athlete, artist, activist- as well as the things she will be- wife and possibly mother, friend, homemaker, laundry do-er and cook and hospitality worker with an athletic, artistic, activist-ic streak.

And two days into year eight- what will it bring? We hope more of the same. We know, possibly more than many others our age, that each day is a gift, and that we may not even have next year. Both of our lives have been affected by unforeseens, growing up witout a mother, losing other friends and relatives, and we agree that to plan ahead is to be made a fool of. But just the same... we are not especially planning to add to our family, but we are not ruling out the possibility either, feeling more ready now than ever before. We are not planning to lose or retain our job, but feel up to the challenge of either option. We agree on fundamentals, and disagree on policy, politics and diet, but we'd hate to resolve those differences and have to fuss about more serious matters in their place...

If you have gotten through that, you must be truly a fan of us, and you deserve the thank you that you have coming from us, for being our friend.

Hello and Welcome to An Altitude problem, the blog that is down to blogging just to be able to spend a few more moments at the computer. I am slid far down in the cast-off leather armchair we rescued after it did not survive the decorator's cut in one of our condos, the dog using the top of my head as his stop to keep from sliding off the top of the chair. He loves it up on the backrest, although it is a bit slippery, and the cushion is tilted toward the seat. He can see out the window without raising his head. But the hapless human occupying the chair has to get used to snoring in the right ear, and hind paws and tail hanging down over the left ear. And say nothing of the flatulence that can only come from eating too many bits of rubber insole from B's old hiking shoes. Not that we feed him hiking shoes for lunch; that was an unsupervised moment.

It is another one of those days. The sun deigned to shine for all of thirty minutes this morning, and that through a curtain of moisture. Yesterday the rain waited until we got home from helping Marci move to a new apartment, with a dog about to explode with all his pent-up energy, who had been forced to sit nicely, tied up to a fence outside the new apartment door, even though there was a insolent cat inside needing chased and harassed just a few feet away, while we moved an entire apartment-full of furniture and personal belongings down three sets of stairs, around two corners, and right past his nose. And then, just as I was preparing to take him for a much-needed walk, heaven's floodgates opened, and only a moment outside was enough to make one need wringing out. We never took the walk. Or attempted walk. I was determined to at least try the walking thing again.

Ahh, yes. I may not have mentioned it, but it has finally gotten to the point where da feet are having to admit defeat- I may have sprained, or strained, or pulled, or popped something in my right ankle. No, not yesterday. Almost two weeks ago. I was fooling around on the neighbor's trampoline, and was talked into trying a backflip- something I have never done before. In spite of B's dire warning from the sideline involving landing on my head, breaking my neck, missing work because of a severed spinal cord, I jumped, jumped higher, flung myself over backwards... and landed on my head, jamming my chin into my sternum, my knees into my forhead, and creating whiplash for the next four days. Well, that was a learning experience. Now I knew what to do differently. I did it again and again, never quite nailing an on-my-feet landing. The last time, I gathered a bit too much momentum, overshot the landing, still tried to land it on my feet, twisted my right foot up and to the inside, and instantly knew I had messed up. I hopped on one foot through a game of lawn croquet, limped home, inspected the swelling, and hobbled to bed, expecting it to be back to normal in the morning. The next morning I could hardly rotate it. I gimped around the next few days, feeling less pain each day, and by our backpacking trip, I could rotate it and flex it quite well, only feeling pain at the extreme ends of my range of motion. Convinced it was healed, I hiked over unstable snowbanks on it for two days. Got home and could barely move it. Wrapped it in an ace bandage for two days, babied it, then, as soon as it started to feel better, began biking. Winced every time I had to make the particular twisting motion required of my foot to unclamp it from my pedal, but solved that problem by not dismounting until I got back home, so I only had to unclip once a day. And by the day before yesterday, it was feeling good again, as long as i did not bend my ankle side-to-side. I put on my strappy, flirty high heels and went to a wedding.

By now you are wondering just how stupid I could be, right? So am I. But seriously, was I just supposed to put all these things on hold while I waited for it to heal? Was I really supposed to wear flip-flops and an ace bandage to the wedding? Late that night, as soon as I had tottered back through the revolving doors at the hotel where the reception was held, I eased out of the shoes and gazed ruefully at the swollen, vaguely purple area around my ankle bone. Of course, several glasses of wine, then champagne, acted as a wonderful anesthetic until the next morning. Wrapped it that night, then, the next morning, put mind over matter and moved hundreds of pounds of boxes and furniture down flights of stairs, ironically only twisting it once- going upstairs carrying nothing. Sat down and gasped, then got up and finished moving the trailer load of stuff into the apartment.

Hence, the reason I am still in the armchair. I did have plans for a leasurely, pavement-only hobble this morning with the dog, biking not an option because I am smarter now, and realize that I probably should not be using clip-in pedals while gimpy. I thought to myself, a half-hour or so on the computer, checking up on fellow Facebookers, checking and replying to emails, then, before the rain started, de-energize the dog for the day.

But this moring, the weather was not in a benevolent mood. I was only just considering heaving myself out of the armchair and removing the dog's prop, namely my head, from under his ribcage, allowing him to slide heavily onto the seat, gathering his leash and inviting him on a ramble through the exciting outdoors, all wonderful scents, pine and sage and wet earth, and only a dog knows what else, when the first patters on the window behind me told me I was too late. Now a steady tattoo on the stove pipe, on the kitchen skylight, tells me there will be no rambling today.

Or work, I was surprised to be told this morning. Janie, the former in-county manager, now reservationist, who usually works from either Oklahoma or Arizona, or anywhere that is lower than 4,000 feet, is in the county for two weeks, reviewing units, refreshing her memory as far as what she can tell guests to expect from particular units or buildings, and is still doing reservations in the mornings at our office. Which means I have been a bit displaced, until they have particular need of me. My, I though I was a bit more indispensable than that. Not that I mind. I am going to enjoy my rainy day in my house, that is, as soon as I find the giant oomph it will take to uncramp my lungs, take a deep breath, hoist myself out of this chair, take something for my headache, possibly an effect of being so cramped over for more than an hour now, and get started.

It was very good to see all the Collinses at the wedding. Bobby's cousin David married his lovely Jessica, and we were treated to a most lovely wedding, and romantic reception, with food that nearly made this semi-foodie think she's died and gone to heaven. (Which reminds me, I was going to google purple potatoes...) It was the first Collins wedding we've been able to make it to, although we really had no excuse, since this one was so close, only an hour and a half drive. I hope the Collinses know how much even this inlaw looks forward to getting together with them. They are a noisy, funny bunch that does not allow one to feel like a stranger for long. We had told our boss we would be home by eight oclock; by eight thirty, we had stated we were leaving multiple times, and still were not quite gone yet. But we hated to leave all the cousins, after all, we seldom get to see them, and it was such a beautiful evening.

And now, the time has come. It is noon, for goodness sake. How did that happen? I have a big divided platter containing hummus, sliced veggies of many sorts, and a package of whole wheat pitas in the fridge, my meals for as long as it takes to clean it out. I gave my blender a run for it's money, but it surprised me by churning out some halfway creamy, wonderful hummus. After several evenings of a bit too much to drink, and a bit too much sugar and junk food lately, and even a daily coffee (it really has gotten that bad) it is back to my healthy diet now. I am anxious to feel light again, to feel the stamina and energy that a wholesome diet provides. Junk food really can be a bit of a ballast, even when it does not stick to the thighs. It just drains one of energy. People who have never gone completely off it for at least three months, allowing their bodies to recover and function as they are created to, scoff at me when I say this. But, at least for me, I find it to be true. Diet affects my moods and my energy levels more than any other single factor I have yet to encounter. And you would think that would make a person think twice about binging, but it somehow never does...