Hello to my dears

a few pictures for you, from the 26th of February- our last day off. What a day. We got up early and left for Vail Pass as soon as we located all of our gear. We even took my snowboard. Machine Gun Ridge has a long, windward slope perfect for big turns in untracked snow, and Bobby took me for several runs down it. It was a little painful riding a snowmobile with a snowboard strapped to my back, slid between my backpack and my back, but it was a good compromise for us- he put twice the miles on his sled than I put on mine, I put miles on my snowboard with a good anaerobic workout, and we both went home exhausted.

I realized again how used to riding on-piste I am. I ride with all my weight on my front foot, to allow me to be able to flex and twist my board with my back foot, and gyrate my entire body along with my snowboard. This allows for immediate, precision handling and split second decisions on snow not more than a few inches deep, and is the reason I can kick a lot of people's... well, selves... on bumps on a snowboard. Not bragging, I just happen to be a little more dedicated to technique than some. Apparently, it even gets noticed sometimes, because I got called "fearless mogul girl" on the lift yesterday.

(Ok, before i finish this story, i just have to digress, while I am on the subject of bumps...here goes.) There are snowboarders, and then there are snowboarders who ride the bumps, and then there are snowboarders who ride the park. While i may never land an inverted aerial, I have no desire to as long as I have bumps. Nothing is as exhilarating as knowing that you can take what the mountain gives you- maybe not with a lot of flare, but with fluid motion, air under your feet with each turn, the exhilaration of nailing each landing, keeping your line, feeling your body twist and bend like a slinky, but your board under you as solid and predictable as the parking lot far below. For those who become bored with spending more time on the chairlift than they do on the snow, I have this to tell you- it is time you begin a long and meaningful, love-hate relationship with big bumps. You will holler, you will curse, you will say "never again" when you have to stop to gulp some air halfway down a thousand vertical feet of crests and troughs, but when you get down to the chair, every time, you will want to do it just once more. My favorite bumps are through the glades, unpredictable, close to the rocks and trees, with alternate routes that belong only to me. Of course, now i have to include the caveat- my knees and back are only twenty-four and three-fourths years old, and still do as they are told without complaining very much. So I understand, I do, when you say the bumps are not your cuppa tea. But still, i wish i could find someone to snowboard with who loves them as I do. So I at least have to try to convince someone out there that the fun is worth the pain.

But now onto what I started to say, when I started that first paragraph. One does not ride powder as one rides bumps and groomers. If one rides with their weight on their front foot, they will bury their nose, and stop. And a snowboarder does not have poles to pull herself out of a flat spot. If she stops, she has no choice but to step off her board, into knee-deep, or hip-deep, or waist-deep snow. On a gently angled slope, it is easy to find a new center of balance, but on a steeper slope, say 40 degrees, in deep powder, I am a fish out of water. I spend more time falling, tumbling, and digging snow out of my pants than I do riding. So yes, I endured a bit of mocking from my better, more mechanically-minded half. He seems to enjoy my failures so immensely. He even gets excited about narrating the video he took of me snowboarding on such a slope that day- "Here she comes!-no, wait- plop...she's up and off! -wait for it...plop. ...And up...and plop. And plop. Ok, now she stays up for just a minute... falls into a tree well... plop. Digs herself out. Gets up. Rides three feet. Plop. Honey, I don't think you're as good at this as you think you are. Plop. This is kinda funny! Plop. All I can see is a giant puffs of snow- must be you falling again! All this is, is five minutes of you falling every few seconds!"

He thinks he had more fun that day that I did.

I do believe that was day off number seven for this winter. I actually have three slowish days, the next three days, and after that, we begin building into the frantic crescendo that is spring break. It all breaks loose about the 15th, and continues until the end of March. The sun has been shining lately, reminding us why we like it here. It has been a long, cold, dark, dreary, snowy winter until several weeks ago, but now, with a Vitamin D fix, spirits seem to be on the rise. last winter, I left every morning with all of my snow gear, ready to be donned at a moment's notice. I am finally back to doing that again. In between work yesterday, I found time to make six runs down the 'Zuma line, an arrow-straight line under the Montezuma chair. My thighs hurt, my abs hurt, my shoulders hurt, and my behind hurts- the right cheek anyway. It is a wonderful feeling.

Bobby hasn't been so lucky. He spent the day on the roof of one of our houses, shoveling off two feet of snow, and chipping at the ice dam that has been causing water to run down the insides of the walls and soak the carpets. I feel a little bad, starting to finally enjoy winter, when it is still such hard work for him. I offered to help him, but like a gentleman, he told me to stay off the roof. He has become a bit protective of me lately, since Michelle. We all look at Wendell, and hold a bit tighter to those we still have.

I know it has been a while since I have posted on this blog, and it may be a while again... it's exhausting to try to find items worthy of recounting for you when all we do is work.

Oh, yes, and and cook. (just thought of something else i could tell you) I am back in the kitchen these days, trying new recipes to support healthier habits. In the middle of everything else, my dietitian friend has convinced me that ignorance is not necessarily bliss when it comes to nutrition and toxic eating habits. After exhaustive research (yeah, it has been pretty exhausting (just ask my family) but I try to leave no stone unturned) I have decided to try an mostly raw, organic, plant-based diet for awhile. I know this sounds blasphemous to some of you, and i shall certainly not be trying to convince you, but for me... I am cutting out all animal products (except for honey- life without peanut butter and honey would be sad indeed). There is just too much evidence of the disease-promoting qualities in animal proteins, especially dairy products and meats. That's not to say that i won't eat what is served to me at a restaurant or at your house, or that i force poor Bobby D. to follow my dietary guidelines, but when I have the choice, vegan is the choice i make. So every meal must be tailored to an easy switch between herbivore and carnivore. A vegan main dish, which can be mixed with meat and dairy as it is served.

It seems to be a natural switch for me. Maybe I was unaware of some still-unidentified food allergies, of maybe it is just switching to a low-fat, carb based diet, which my body has been begging for by way of cravings for the last five years, but I don't notice the uncomfortable inner workings of me as much these days. I have never loved meat as much as potatoes, or cheese as much as bread anyway, and I find that i do not even miss them when they are gone. Especially since I have the option of vegan junk food once in a while, organic soy ice cream instead of Blue Bunny... gotta love living in Summit County, where food like that actually sells, and every restaurant has at least a few veggie options.

Adios my friends, don't be strangers.

Dear friends and family

Thanks for your prayers as we say goodbye to Michelle, that tall, gorgeous, crazy woman.

Wendell says the only reason he is getting through it is the prayers of those around him, and his biggest fear is the future, when people stop remembering to pray for him. Since they just bought a house in Cedaredge, he is trying to make a decision about whether or not to keep his job at the West Elk coal mine by Paonia so he can continue making house payments, or to leave Colorado until the memories of their time here are not quite so painful. As painful as it would be to leave all of his friends at the mine, it will be worse to come home a house filled with her belongings, her paint and wallpaper and furniture, and not have her there with him.

A week ago, we were shopping for tickets to Mexico together in the spring, scheming a trip to Lake Powell in the fall. She spent every possible minute up on the Grand Mesa, right outside of town. She loved playing golf, Jeeping and biking in Moab, snowboarding, everything we couples, and the couples they hung out with there, did together. She was such a beautiful diehard. I've gotta admit, Bobby and I are not doing so well with it all...although neither is anyone else who knew Wendell and Michelle. To say that we'll miss her is such an understatement. We all know she's happy, we wouldn't wish her back, but we are all wondering when we will be able to hike, snowboard, ride an ATV, golf, or pack a picnic without crying.

Stuck to her fridge with a magnet, in her big, flamboyant handwriting, is a note she wrote a few days ago that says, "Tough times never last. Tough people do."

hello again.

We took a day off today. For some reason, only four guests checked in to Seymour lodging today, and only two of those were back-to-backs, meaning they had to be cleaned this morning before they could be checked into. That translated into a very small day for me, small enough to be covered by the rest of the office staff. And Bobby, although unable to stop worrying about what was falling apart in his absence, also decided it was time. Even though it stops his running count of days since his last day off (his last one was in October), he was willing to accept that.

A bit to my chagrin, wasting a day snowboarding is not Bobby's idea of what needs to be done on a day off. He has finally become secure enough to just be able to admit that he does not enjoy snowboarding as much as everyone thinks he aught. He thinks he has hit a plateau that he cannot advance beyond, and furthermore, he does not wish to push himself hard enough to force himself off it. He doesn't want everyone to wait on him (everyone being me), so if I wish to snowboard, i shall be doing it by myself, or with someone who is not him. I know where he is coming from, even though I haven't hit that point myself. I am almost bored with the same old piste. The same crowds. I am never there for the corduroy first thing in the morning, and seldom have the time to hike the bowls for some powder. Down in eight minutes, wait in a lift line ten minutes, up in twelve minutes, down in another eight. I loiter in the trees, seek out the unknown lines, carve through the bumps just to procrastinate another twelve minutes on the chair, when my breathing slows, I cool off, and the breeze no longer feels refreshingly cool, but bitingly cold. I love snowboarding, but I want a change of scenery, and epic conditions every time, or I am easily convinced to go home early.

But B. was more than willing to spend a day off snowmobiling, and we both agreed that if we were to take a simultaneous day off, putting twice the stress on the remaining office staff, we had better spend it together. Otherwise, one of us should go back to work. So I whispered to my snowboard not to take it personally, and we hooked up the double snowmobile trailer to the pickup.

Now for a tangent. Ya see, there is a vast difference in the recreational interests of Bobby D and me. One of us loves speed, horsepower, two-stroke fumes. Rooster tails of snow, spit out from two inch treads. Tires on rock. Low gears. Precision steering. Trails with two tracks. Wildlife long gone, warned off by the screaming whine of an engine. A belief that the world has been here, damaged but not destroyed by it's human inhabitants, for this long, and it will probably still be here, much the same, long after we are gone, barring an apocalyptic destruction of it. ...And the other is passionate about human powered sports. Silence broken only by the crunch of pine needles under fat tires, and the click of a chain slipping from gear to gear. The swish of a snowboard cutting through weightless fluff. The slap of shoes on a loamy wilderness trail. Wildlife startled by the sudden sight of a human in their world. A belief that the world has been here, damaged but not destroyed by it's human inhabitants, for this long, only because it's human inhabitants have not had such resources to destroy it as we and our posterity will have, if an apocalyptic destruction of it does not do it for us.

I leave it to my blog-readers to discern which of us is right. Arguing a point is not the point of this blog. I have spent the day in a toxic cloud of burnt fossil fuel, throwing up rooster tails. It was fun. We spent some time in open meadows, exploding through snowdrifts, catching air over frozen stream beds, practicing turns by throwing our weight around (the only way to turn in deep powder), opening up the throttle and hanging on for dear life. Just playing around. My brain is overloaded with the beauty of winter in the mountains, such a clean, muted expanse of white. Silent stands of bare aspens, striped sunlight across the trail, pine boughs groaning under the impossible weight of snow on them. Softness everywhere one looks, any edge, any variation in the landscape hidden by piles of cold, deep softness. It would have been impossible to see so much beauty without the snowmobiles. We used up almost a tank of gas each, and put fifty-some miles on each sled.

The reason I was so enthusiastic about buying the sleds in the first place (other than that it was something that B really wanted) was that Bobby D described the endless powder riding possibilities available in the backcountry. Unfortunately, that is where I have successfully made a point with him. There will be no hill-climbing, high-marking, sidecutting, hiking, snowshoeing, snowboarding, skiing, or anything else taking place on an untreed 30 to 45 degree slope with a snow load large enough to allow any such activities, or on any surface directly below described terrain, until we each have a pack on our backs containing a shovel and probe, a working avalanche beacon strapped to our bodies, and enough practice to know how to use above mentioned items. I say unfortunately because i have shot myself in the foot (admittedly a better situation than buried myself in an avalanche) by forbidding such use of the backcountry before realizing just how expensive avalanche preparedness can be. So let's see... the cheapest beacon on the market, $289... a 300cm extendable probe, $59... a sturdy aluminum shovel with removable, collapsible handle, $70...and a backpack to hold these items, along with other emergency gear such as a space blanket, colorful ribbon to mark a trail, maps and compass, food and water, $97...that's give or take, not including shipping... times two, because ya cant just give the pack to the one who isn't going to get buried when you leave in the morning, with a cheerful, "here, use this to dig me out at 2:15 this afternoon when I get caught in a slide on the west side of a ridge- and oh, I'll be three feet under, about fifteen feet from the top, and twelve feet from the north edge of the slide." Nope, everyone going out has to have one, just in case. So we're talking a thousand dollars, just for a bit of insurance. Sketchy insurance, considering one-third of avalanche victims die from the trauma of being tossed about like a rag doll, in snow that can reach ninety degrees Fahrenheit from the friction created in the slide, and half of the ones that survive the slide itself die from asphyxiation in the cement-hard snow that refreezes when it comes to a stop, as their expelled breath forms an ice shield around their face, which fills with carbon dioxide as they breathe...and many who get dug out in time die from exposure or blood loss as their friends go for help and leave them with broken bones in hastily constructed shelters.

I know, this is a morbid topic, but a necessary one if one plans to spend time in the backcountry. We did take a crash course on avalanche awareness, which, surprisingly, puts us in a higher safety statistic than those who are avy-1 certified. We know we are still just dumb enough about avy's that it reduces our willingness to even try to take risks- we look at any slope with suspicion.

So today, we stayed on the trail. We only rode powder that was on the flats. We rode from Vail Pass to Camp Hale, and back again, with side trips to various vantage points and windswept hilltops. We were considering riding to Red Cliff, a small town accessible from back trails, but turned around after we were told that the road had been closed due to a slide. My eyes are red, my face is chapped from the wind, and my hair smells like it has been in close proximity to an idling two-stroke all day. I feel like i have taken a beating, even though i am not as exhausted as after a day of human-powered sports. Perhaps B is right. There is no harm in a day spent using natural resources, to renew a resource of your own- your sanity.

Check back in a day or two- just as soon as i locate the camera cord, i will post some pictures so you can enjoy a few of the vistas that we did this afternoon.



....next day. Ok, so now you have a few pictures.

I am thinking, (to head off any worried responses I may get to this post) I hope I have put everyone's mind at ease as to the risks we are not taking. I know that my dear ones worry a bit when we are out where it is deep and steep. We know the snowpack has deep unstable layers this year. The usual compression tests back country skiers and snowboarders are taught only test the instability of snow to about four feet deep, under the assumption that one person is not heavy enough to disturb snow deeper than four feet. But day before yesterday, in the backcountry over by Vail, two men were buried when a weak layer a centimeter thick, seven feet under the surface gave away. One survived, the other did not. In the first photo on this post, the massive, jagged cornice of Machine Gun Ridge that the lone skier is standing over gave away one year and dumped several snowmobilers over the edge, in weather nearly impossible to do a rescue mission in. The back country, winter or summer, is an unforgiving place. We know these facts, and we do not plan to take unnecessary risks, with or without the proper emergency gear. We go somewhat prepared for a night out in the cold. We take extra water and food. We stay away from slide paths, and do not go close to edges. So worry not, dear blog-readers. We may not be entirely prepared for every possibility, but we do understand cause and effect, and take precautions accordingly.

You thought she was a goner, but the blogger came back...

Good evening to you, those faithful few who drop by to see what's up in the lives of us. I trust your reasoning capabilities tell you why you have not seen very many updates lately. We wake up when the phone or the alarm rings in the morning, whichever comes first, and we go to bed when the phone stops ringing at night. In between those two points in our day, the circles under the eyes get darker, voices take on a more desperate quality, tempers flare, and we work our way one day closer to that cold or flu that eventually forces us to have to take an ill-afforded day off. Illness borne of exhaustion is inevitably the thing that brings us to a halt this time of year. Actually, I am feeling good about this year, because every year in near memory, I have been so sick I have not been awake to watch the new year arrive, and if I have been, I have been in bed, in a fetal position, with little balls of Kleenex stuffed into my nose so it will not run all over my pillow, unable to sleep. And this year, not a sniffle threatened. Of course, a day later, the Cold that Will Take Us Down arrived and Bobby brought it home.

This year has seemed busier than other years. Of course we only have last year to compare it to, from a management position. Other years, we have had very busy days, interspersed with slow days to allow us time to recover. This year, every day is just big enough to stretch us to the limit, but just small enough to keep us from hiring more people. A crisis a day, seems to be the way it works out. Most of the crises come from being so booked we do not have anywhere to move someone, should their unit become impossible to stay in. Which, since we have just come through a bitterly cold snap, has happened more often than we care to remember. Sewage in a basement, a heater on the blink, several frozen water pipes, and a house with a well shallow enough that, now that the ground is frozen, is not refilling with ground water. Bobby has spent three days on that one, hauling the guests bottled water and disposable dishes, going to Denver to buy a giant water tank so he can haul them water in the back on his pickup, buying them passes to the local gym so they can shower. Not only do crises happen more often when it is -10 degrees, our guests seem to lose their zen over them much more quickly than they do when it is a pleasant, sunny thirty degrees and they can send the kids out to make snowballs. And of course, every year, something happens that prevents our highest paying guests from making it into the county to enjoy their snowflakes and firelight, and since we offer no refunds for weather delays, they must look for other ways to get their refunds. This year, the interstate was closed due to blowing snow, and later, avalanche mitigation, on new year's eve. And what crisis would be complete without a computer crash and loss of critical data? Oh yes, the main office computer, containing all of our homeowner billing and invoicing suddenly rolled over and died right in the middle of it all. For the last week, Bobby has been trying to reconstruct the files that could not be recovered.

But exhaustion aside, we are all surviving. It has been a year for company. We were so glad we got to see everyone again, even though it has only been for a fraction of the time they actually spent in our house. Besides Bobby and me, Marci, and Danny, we have Jay and Wendy here to work for a few weeks, Donny for the last month, Amber and Scarlett on occasion, we also had Lance and Crystal, Wendell and Michelle, and Laci for a few days, Kayla for a day, and Clark, Caleb, Mandy and Terra for several days.

Today was the first slightly slower day in the last month, so after work, I strapped on my snowboard and hit the mountain with Donny. Later we met three of his friends from Mississippi, and spent the evening shredding. it felt really good to feel the snow, albeit icy snow, under my board. I even hit the tabletops again. I had one spectacular crash. I must tell it from my spectator's point of view, as told to the rest of the group a few minutes later, (he was standing on the top of the jump, beside the launch) since my point of view consisted of flashes of light and dark, snow crunching under my head with every cartwheel, and wondering when I was ever going to stop tumbling and flailing. "You shoulda seen her crash, man... I didn't realize it was her, I thought she had taken the other way down, so she comes flying past me, and lands it, and her board goes out from under her, and I'm thinking, man, that girl's having a hard time of it down there, and then I realize, that's Susan! Hey, you know what she did right after she crashed? She like sits up right away and goes, 'WHOOOOO!!'." (As a side note, yes, a rebel yell is necessary after a particularly ugly crash to spare those watching you from thinking for one awful second that you have seriously injured yourself. If I may offer a bit of advice to anyone out there, pain is temporary. Unless your insides are on the outside, swallow your pain and be cool. Cavalier. Make it a story you can tell later. there's a reason blooper reals are popular, and there's also a reason they always cut before the writhing and groaning can begin. Your homies will love you for cutting your live blooper reel short. You will gain hero status, and you can always duck into the bathroom after the next run to check for swelling and bruising.)

Since the jump lines are right under the lift, and the lift was packed, cheers spread up and down the line of chairs above me. I am used to that, because some of Keystone's most challenging runs are located down the narrow, arrow-straight cuts cleared for the lift towers, but most of the time I hear things like "tear it up, baby!" or "nice turns, snowbunny!" (what can I say... men on vacation), not "how's your ass?" and "nice crash, eight-point-five!" After the inner ear fluid stopped sloshing and I regathered my thoughts and my equilibrium, as well as my hat and goggles, I hit it again, and only sat down at the end of it, and then, just to show the big pile of snow who was boss, hit it again. The crash that time was much less spectacular, but it cranked my arm behind my back, and turned my thumb black and blue. I made my way down to the chairlift thoroughly whipped, glaring at the mountain and hating it for beating me. There was a time I consistently landed the tabletops, but now, I am so convinced I am going to crash that I inevitably do, each time convincing me more, each landing a little more nervous and stiff and off balance.

Several days later- I have begun getting comments about the lack of blogging. I have a few minutes, sitting at the office computer, not wanting to drive home. In an hour, the snow has covered the jeep enough that it will need to be brushed off before I can drive. BUt it is nice here in the office. If I were at home, I would feel the need to be busy, but since I am here, not there, I can sit for just a while longer, listening to the radio, and browsing the internet.

I don't believe I have posted since we added Cat to our household. Actually to our garagehold, since our landlord does not appreciate feline family members. Cat spent the summer on the sunny deck of one of our properties, until she was let inside by one of our tenants. When our tenants moved out, they left her behind, sitting in an ever-deepening snowdrift, as fat and healthy and homeless as she could be. We finally took pity on her the night that it snowed three feet, and took her home, where she has been in command ever since. She maintains her queenly dignity at all times, and when it is removed by a disrespectful family member, forgiveness is hard to come by. She feels entitled to food from the fridge, and cuddles on warm laps, as long as they are initiated by her, and despises the garage we make her eat, sleep, and poop in. Several names have been given to her, but they do not seem to stick, so Cat she remains. I have a fear that she has a good home and her own people somewhere, but have to conclude from the fact that she was a stray all summer that either they disinherited her, or she them. At any rate, she is repulsed to the point of frantic by the thought of going to the bathroom in the house, so we forgive her queenly airs and tell her she is welcome to boss us around as long as she pleases. Too bad she doesn't feel the same way about drinking out of the royal blue toilet in the guest bath.

My days have consisted of keystone, and nothing else, for a month and a half. I am there from nine 0'clock am to 4 pm every day, following my housekeepers around, fluffing pillows and wiping up water glass rings, retrieving used soap bars, wiping nasties from behind toilets that the cleaners missed. I believe I have written in the past about Keystone food. I find myself with chronic gastric disturbances because of the fact that I am unwilling to drive back to Dillon just to eat, even if I did have the time. Too much information? I challenge you to an existence solely on Keystone food. You would start to think that such things were a part of everyday life as well, and nothing to be ashamed of. Oh, those big, foldable, charred slices, with their homemade sauce and toppings so stacked they tumble off and roll down your chin hit the spot about 3 o'clock, after the rush has slowed for both me and the four square feet and two employees that is Pizza 101. And we take care of each other. I over-tip them, and they undercharge me. It is a wonderful agreement that always leaves me with gas.

Earlier, writing about my crash the other day sparked a memory of Pizza 101. They are located directly across the driveway from The Goat, one of the bars in Keystone that caters to the unshaven, not the mahogany and moose head affair that the on-mountain bars who serve jager shots to short haired men tend to be. It features live music, and an affordable cover. The entrance dumps it's patrons out onto a sloped driveway, often icy. Since Pizza 101 is slow in the evenings, mostly deliveries, the employees sit behind the counter, just feet from the window, with nothing better to do but create giant cards with ratings on them, and, somber as judges at an athletic event, hold them up in the window as one by one, the inebriated ones tumble out, forgetting that footing in Keystone is not the same as the footing they are used to in Tampa. Somehow, I do not believe the ones who do the falling think it is quite as funny as the ones who watch the falling.

Breaking news: this just in...

Just a word to let everyone know that something is seriously awry in the high country. Now, one would have to have spent time with us to know this, but every time it snows, Bobby D gets grumpy. No, not the dwarf. Nobody's out to get Grumpy. I mean Bobby D. wakes up, looks out the window, and says unsavory things in an unsavory tone of voice. Bobby does not like the snow. He does not like the cold. He likes the beach.

But this morning, he awoke to snow. And he was happy. Giddy. Excited. It has been a long four years in Summit county, before he had snowmobiles. He has dreamed of the day we can own a lake house, a beach house, a house somewhere warm. But today, he loves Summit County. Nothing wrong with it. Where else can you snowmobile like you can here, after all?

It is ironic that the year that Bobby has decided to embraced winter instead of fight it, it has chosen not to snow until nearly December. Last year, the ground had been hidden for two months by this time. But on Vail pass, the snow last night drifted deep, four to five feet in places. We wound up the sleds and let the two-strokes whine, and shot down the trail to Shrine Bowl. The bowl is a popular spot for high-markers (hill climbers) and consequently, a popular spot for avalanches. Even with this first snow, there was a fairly good slide already. Not to fear, we do not high-mark. Bobby's sled has a giant track on it, it could do it, but mine is strictly a trail sled. Too strictly. Just past the bowl, the trail got lost, I got into powder, and sunk it. We spent a half hour grunting, sweating, and heaving the sled around and lifting it out of the hole. As soon as it was unburied, Bobby decided to let me ride the machine with a bit more flotation and power, in the hopes that neither of us would get stuck again. Ummm... it went fine for a while, the sheer power keeping me from burying it, until I got all sidehill and 118 pounds of me pulling against 600 pounds of machine plus gravity did not do much to turn the sled out of the deep powder. Again, we dug. Again, we sweated. Again, I sheepishly climbed on my own sled, having proved that if I could get stuck, I would, no matter which machine I was on. The rest of the day, I made very sure to pick the path of least resistance, and managed to not get stuck again. But Bobby... that's another story. I think I'll let the picture tell it.

We got back to Frisco tired and hungry, and stopped for Taco bell, the longest we have ever had to wait for a grilled stuffed burrito. It didn't bother Bobby D. He's happy (no, not the dwarf).

Finally, hello to all my people. I don't mean finally as in this is my final post or anything like that, although I know I have had you worried... but I am finally back! Back to working late into the night (ahhhgh), back to getting a paycheck (oooohhh), back to excersizing indoors (oof! one...oof!two... oof! three...), back to the slopes (swish, swish, scrrrrr.... AAACK! thud. (that would be the sound of a happily carving snowboarder hitting a patch of ice, by the way)) back to holiday food (uuungh) icy walkways (oooww!) and tourists who can't drive (what the...?). And back to an abandoned blog (ah-hah!)

If you notice the word excersizing is spelled wrong in the above paragraph, it is because the computer is quite gleeful to tell me it is wrong, but can offer me no suggestions as to how to spell it right. It thinks I am trying for apotheosizing, of possibly metathesizing. I suppose it makes sense. The word probably isn't in the vocabulary of someone who sits for hours adding words to the computer for Microsoft to try to recognize later. At least not in present tense. Yeah, I know. My wit amazes me as well. And did you know (I did not just a moment ago, when I googled it) that you are metathesizing when you "aks someone for a mazagine"?

My goodness, digression might be the curse which keeps this post from being posted for quite some time.

We have been crazy busy, like twelve hour days busy, until thanksgiving. Now, we are taking a breath before Keystone's 36 hours. The 36 hours is a (you guessed it) 36 hour skiing, snowboarding, drinking, music, and videogame marathon that keystone hosts to kick off the season. All day, all night, and all day, until eyes are bloodshot, Redbulls consumed, arrests made, injuries patched, property management exhausted. This year, it may not be so bad because of the age profiling being done by reservations. We hope. We have been having about a dozen units recarpeted at the last minute, which means racing to them after a guest checks out, pulling all the furniture into uncarpeted areas, letting the carpetlayers in for a day, then racing back to vacuum all the little fibers that pop out of new carpets, and put all the furniture back in place just in time for the next guest to check in. And in the meantime, do several complete refurnishings, several paint jobs, a new tile floor here or there... these units have been ocupied all summer, so now is the only time we have had to do these upgrades. Every time we turn around, there is someone with a trailer and a furniture dolly in need of assistance. And the curse of this particular job is those heavy, polished aspen log beds that some people find so beautiful. Just a bed is one thing, but those of you who know a few of Dick Seymour's fetishes know that he loves bunk beds. If a room can hold a queen sized bed without rubbing the walls, it can hold a queen/queen bunk bed, which doubles the room's sleeping capacity. And those beds are HEAVY. they simply cannot be moved without being disassembled. And because of the nature of log beds, they must be disasembled by breaking them down into individual logs. A giant set of lincoln logs that takes three or four people to hold up all the pieces to keep it from collapsing once a few vital supports are removed. We have fit so many log ends into holes, and stacked so many of them, and heaved so many matresses around, it all seems like a giant blur of bruised ankles and splinters, late nights, take-out food in condos, ratchets and drills, bedskirts and pillow shams.



But thanksgiving day, I found my snowpants and put them on again. My parents were out to help us with a few remaining deep cleans, and we had Scott and Anthony Nichols from Alpine here for the afternoon and evening. Anthony and I hit the slopes for a few hours. I let him talk me into renting skis. Sort of a disaster, since the slopes were nine tenths ice, but i still had fun falling. I put my snowboard on after a few runs, since Anthony wanted to ski a bit faster than I was capable of. And yesterday, I escaped work for three hours, pulled on clothes still wet from last thursday (they had been in the jeep, too frozen to dry out) and went up again, on much better conditions. The snowblowers have been transforming the slopes into a moonscape, giant alien spikes of snow in front of them, waiting to be spread out by the snowcats. Icy knobs begging to be ridden. I have been working on a casual, mid-cruise 180, reluctant to try it on a big jump until I can do it flatfooted. it was a day for riding slowly, riding backwards, taking jumps and riding bumps. I am feeling muscle groups in my lower body that I have been wondering how to target.
















And finally, a picture not from our life, but from a bit of the heritage that is ours. Anyone recognise this guy? that would be Grandpa Koehn to me, Jim to the rest of us, in front of majestic Mt hood in his glory days.

Hello to my peoples, of whom not one, not ever, has told me about the dangers of microwaving a hard-boiled egg. One would think, in my 24 years, four months, one day and seven hours, someone would have told me how to explode an egg. But no, it had to wait until this very night. My sister in law spent the evening in the kitchen, scrubbing and de-cluttering and bemoaning the fact that this was the very most lame way she could spend a Friday night. B and I spent it at the rec center with every one else who have nothing better to do of a friday night. I got home after my workout and a session in the steam room, followed by a swim, all rejuvenated and if not hungry, at least with an appetite. Something high protein, I tell myself, opening the fridge and locating two week old hard boiled eggs. The perfect dinner. A plate and a fork, nothing else to mar the sparkling kitchen. A minute and a half in the microwave, then I grab my fork and plate and start for the living room, preparing to mash my two eggs into a yummy protein pulp... when POUF! I find myself standing stupidly in the middle of a ten foot radius of pulverized egg. Egg on the fridge, egg on the stove, egg on the walls and into the living room and in the basket with the few leftover halloween candies the trick or treaters did not take. Egg on the floor in a perfect circle around me. And only a few bits of shredded egg white left on my plate. It took a moment of staring about me at the bits of clinging egg to fully realize what had just happened to me. Everyone here seems to think I should have known that is what would happen. Should I have?

Keystone opened today. The last day of an easy left hand turn was yesterday. The skier parking lot was full today, far too full for one run. I am tempting myself with going tomorrow, even though it might be to crowded to really enjoy it. Of course, we will work tomorrow as well, and go to church in the morning. And I am tired. A full eight hours of work (brutal, i know...) two hours of running, rowing, leg presses and crunches, a dinner of unexploded leftover tuna salad, a half hour of egg removal in the kitchen, and an orange julius (of sorts) with a splash of coconut rum...and it is getting late, and I am warm under my blanket on the couch... and my eyelids keep dropping. Goodnight, my loved ones. I shall write more later, perhaps the next time I explode something.