Hey y'all -
Like the Queen of England, your dad had a multi-day celebration for his birthday. A dinner with me, a party with the family, another dinner/party at Brooke & Todd's house, and then yesterday: skiing!
Your dad is an amazing skier. I would describe myself as competent. What normally happens is your dad swooshes way ahead of me, then turns and watches and waits for me. I fight my way down to where he's been resting, then he says, "Off we go!" and is gone again. I want to poke him in the eye with my ski pole sometimes.
Occasionally, I'll think I'm doing a super-duper great job - no one has ever skied this better than me! ...and then a three year-old who doesn't even use poles when she skis jets past me. This is that three year-old:
Your dad says I shouldn't take it so hard, because children at that age are made of rubber and have no concept of death. I'm old and brittle, and I don't want anybody else raising my young'uns.
This particular ski run is in desperate need of a name change. It's cold, no one yells, "Heeeeyyy..." when you pass by, and it does not smell like chicken grease.
Your dad and I both fell down. Your dad falls down when he attempts crazy new things, and I fall down when I pass underneath the lift, so as many people as possible can see me. The trick is to be a good sport about it, and not let it get in your head. At this particular ski hill, you have to take a rope tow to get back to the lodge. For those who've never seen a rope tow (hello, Alabama and Georgia!), it's a rope that's suspended about 3 feet off the ground, running between two motors, moving uphill at a constant rate. In theory, if you grab it just right, the rope will pull you up the hill in a smooth steady motion. I had never used a rope tow before, so the first time I grabbed it, it yanked me off my skis and I fell down in a cloud of klutzy. I rolled out of the way while yelling, I'm sorry EVERYBODY!" and managed not to get run over by the people behind me. A member of Ski Patrol came over and taught me how to do it, but every time I took it after that, I was a nervous wreck the whole way up the hill, because I had this running monologue in my head: "What if I fell down now? Wouldn't that be embarrassing? No, if I fell down NOW it would be the worst. No, I guess NOW would be bad because there's nowhere to roll." etc etc etc.
It was the weirdest day, weather-wise. Most of the mountain was beautiful:
But the far side of the mountain, which usually has the best runs, had such high wind conditions that they weren't even running the chair lift for most of the day. In the afternoon, they opened it up, and your dad and I hopped on. As a matter of reference, it's the long vertical red line on the far right that goes all the way to the top of the mountain:
The more elevation we gained, the windier and grayer and scarier it got. Our lift chair was swaying back and forth and bouncing on the cable. The wind would occasionally catch my skis, and I could imagine being lifted off the chair and swept away. It's one of those situations when I can imagine all of my southern relations at my memorial service shaking their heads and saying, "You know that girl had no business being on a dern ski hill. Teaching a southerner to snow ski's like teaching a hippo to roller skate," etc etc. And they would be so right. Pass the casserole. I don't know if you can see on the picture, but there's a red dot just short of the top - that's an early drop-off point where you can get off the lift before it makes it to the top. By the time we reached it, there was a guy instructing everyone to get off the lift. The people in front of us were begging to keep going, but when our chair got up there, I yelled, "YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME," and I hopped my butt right off that lift. I looked back, and realized we were the last people on the lift - the last people they'd allowed to go up the mountain before the conditions made it too unsafe.
Snow was swirling around us and it was a little hairy getting down. Your dad kept stopping and asking how I was doing and which way I wanted to go. I WANT TO GO THE WAY THAT GETS ME THE HELL OFF THIS MOUNTAIN.
I made it safely to the bottom, took off my skis, put on my street shoes and hit the lodge for a cappuccino. Your dad went back up for a few more runs.
The important thing is that your dad had a great time for his birthday. No - scratch that. The important thing is that I was able to pick you up from Grandma Sue's, and no one else has to raise my young'uns.
Love,
Mom
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