Winter Wonderland

May I paint the picture for you:

We wake around 6:30 am on a Saturday. It's barely light out. Outside, the wind is howling. I think, UGH. This means it will be that much windier at Cannon. I'll be spending the day in the lodge, trying to find company with whom I can pass the time chatting. We go about the morning chore of dragging the kids out of bed, packing the lunchbox, packing the car with the ski equipment, getting breakfast, and getting out the door by 7:15-7:30 am. Yep, we live in New England, and we are a ski family.

I drive north 45 minutes to Cannon, watching the temperature gauge steadily drop, and emerge from the car to a crisp 2 degrees. Woo-hoo!

Now, let me paint another picture for you:
The skies are Carolina Tarheel blue, and the wind is dead. When I walk into the sun, there is a hint of warmth. I look up the mountain, and it's gorgeous packed, perfectly groomed powder.

I drop the kids' skis, they click in, and off they go with their respective groups. I go in, hermetically suit myself up for a chillly day of skiing, and head for the chair lift. I ski by myself for about 45 minutes, randomly chatting it up with folks as I go up the lift. And, for being a less than stellar skier, I was feeling awesome on my skis. Sorry, it's rare that I can say that, but the conditions were that good. It was the first time I had skied hard (well, that's relative to me) in a while. I'm not a powder skier. I do what's called 'sitting in the back seat', meaning, I sit back on my skis and strain the hell out of my lower back and thighs to compensate for balance in the powder. But on days like Saturday, I'm in my glory. I finally hooked up with some of the other moms, who all came out of the womb in skis, and was able to totally ski with them. I must say, I was impressed with myself, and so I do brag. But when I can say it was a great day of skiing in 2 degree weather... that's something to talk about.