Skiing Is A New Thing

 rated PG

We didn't ski growing up. It was expensive. I guess maybe I could have started skiing, like, in high school if I wanted to ask for all the ski crap to comprise both my birthday and Christmas gifts. But by then my close friends already knew how to ski and I was reluctant and intimidated. 

I went to a fancy private liberal arts college in Colorado. Everyone there had been skiing since they were three, wearing fur muffs and diamond skis or whatever. Actually, it was more about how hardcore your gear was, which is the same thing. I was reluctant and intimidated. But I did tag along one weekend to Vail with all my extremely experienced friends. I rented all the crap and shuffled and fell towards the ski lift with my friends and found myself on top of a very large mountain. Vail is huge. And busy. There were beautiful and adept skiers everywhere. I felt to be the only person who didn't know how to get down the mountain. 

Keep in mind we were college students, but we were still teenagers, which means we were still buttheads. So, my friends were my friends but they were also very focussed on being cool and putting out the vibe and all that. There wasn't a lot of patience for my utter inability to do anything correctly with my body. I kept falling down and they kept pausing and sort of huffing with impatience waiting for me to get up. My friend Lucius was like 

"Nelson, just go like this..." and he goes swish swish swish for several yards, moving his skis pertly from side to side. Like, duh, just do that. 

I told them to just go ahead. They did. At some point I found myself on a cat track, although I didn't know that is what they are called. I just thought they were reasonably slanted ski paths. I was scooting along trepidatiously when I accidentally clipped the back end of the ski of a fancy gal who had paused to talk loudly and importantly with her fancy friends. I said "sorrysorrysorry!" while I was doing it, but she turned towards me and yelled 

"Jeez** Ch**st!! What the f***!!! Watch where you're going!" I did not have the familiarity with skiing culture to understand she was actually being a total asshole. I thought instead that I ought to be ashamed of myself for even being there, and that she assumed I was some servant who had wandered out of the stables. She was probably from NYC, and I grew up in the rural West, so it's very possible she had experienced heated verbal exchanges with strangers on several occasions, while I don't think I had ever been in the position to practice rightfully defending myself against an obnoxious peer in public like that. Excluding junior high, which is a cesspool of humanity, and one generally knows one's enemies there. Needless to say, I was out of my league and did not have the fortitude to encourage myself otherwise. 

And then! And then I was almost to the bottom of the big whatever in front of the lodge and I accidentally cut off some pipsqueak on a snowboard and I was like "sorrysorrysorry!" and he said 

"You b**ch!" which just completely deflated me all the way to empty. This dumb kid. Who are these people? I was done. I spent the rest of the weekend in the Vail Public Library reading. One of my friends offered to buy me a lesson, but I felt so condescended upon, that I refused. So, I became the person who said 

"I don't ski." So there. 

But then this whole parenting thing. We're not a real sports-oriented family. But I want us to ski. Because I want to seek vengeance on the snobs of Vail Mountain and because I want to rectify the fragility of my younger self. And I want my son to learn to ski because that will fix everything. So Buck and I started skiing last year. We went twice. We went mid-week to avoid crowds. We took a lesson. The instructor was weird, but it was ok. Buck amazed me with his fortitude. I posted about it on Instagram. I did well also. The winter wonderland aspect of a ski mountain has really wooed me. 

Here we are, ski season 2022. I rented an Airbnb. We're skipping school. We rented all the crap and hit the slopes yesterday. Wes is a master snowboarder, so he swirls around us, or sorties off to do other runs and then catch back up with us. But Buck and I are back in the saddle. I'm very scappy, which is a word that Buck made up that means scared/happy. It's just so easy to be intimidated by all the people who already know how to do all the things. But I must present as calm and enthusiastic to steer everyone else's emotions in the right direction. Actually, Buck was chomping at the bit, and Wes was very leaderly and solicitous. 

The day started off well. We fall a bit on the first green run, but by the second run Buck is staying up and enjoying himself. Before lunch I insist we do a blue run because it looks so beautiful and swooshy. That blue run went pretty well. But the thing is, I have a bad knee: I have arthritis in my right knee; and there are other things; and it's a whole thing. And I forgot my special tape and special brace back at home, which was not great. So by the time we are enjoying lunch in the lodge, my body is very tired. But I don't realize it because I'm so stimulated by this new experience of clomping around the lodge and dealing with all the gear and trying not to feel like the new kid at school. 

But, look, I'm forty eig - well, it doesn't matter how old I am, but I must admit that I am not young; nor is my body. We return to the green run and Buck is like: peace out! and flies ahead of me. I find myself speeding out of control on the super long, big, slicky part and I fall really hard. I bonk my head; my neck goes CRUNCH; I am mad with nobody to be mad at; I want to cry. This happens again a bit later. We do the beautiful blue run and I realize that my legs are simply not responding to my commands; they're tired from this novel exercise. Also my back, arms, shoulders, and neck. I trip on my own poles. I fall One Thousand times getting down that hill. I yell at my family to leave me alone. I might have even said 

"Stop looking at me!" 

The boys obey me and depart. At one point a nice couple stops to hand me my pole as I am trying to pull myself back up. He's a good deal older than me, which today feels like an encouragement, but at the time I felt like a big baby. He kindly asked if I was ok, and I said very honestly

"Yeah, I'm just tired." And he said "yeah, that happens." 

Many years later, I got to the bottom of the mountain where the boys were waiting for me. Wes helped me pop out of my bindings. We agreed they should take a few more runs while I convalesce in the car. 

Eventually we found ourselves in the hot tub. Then we went out to surprisingly yummy pizza. Then we slept with the sedation of the exhausted. Today I realized that I am still very exhausted. And my neck is right pissed off. I knew if I went back up there I would hurt myself and complicate things for our lives beyond the winter wonderland. 

I started to think, what, well, what if, I could just stay here at the cabin all day. It might (absolutely certainly) be lovely. Watch the snow come down, crochet that blanket I'm working on, watch the fire crackle, scribble a word or two. Also, one must acknowledge that at this age, rest is as important a component of training as the exercise itself. This rest will only better my abilities, surely. Buck was very supportive. Definitely, stay here Mom. No big deal. We'll be fine. I'm getting good now and I can stick with Dad and we'll go over jumps. 

So here I am, watching the snow fall from in front of the fire, all by myself. The biggest win, really, is Buck's growing confidence on his skis. Because it is a glorious feeling to swish down the mountain. Except I want ski mountains that have mostly green and blue runs; nothing scary. And also little cozy hobbit holes here and there, where you stop for cider or a wee dram. Warm up a bit by the fire. Then swish around some more, get good and tired but not I-think-I'm-gonna-cry tired, before retreating to firesides and warm beds. 

There's no big moral here. Skiing is expensive and inaccessible to many. But I am deeply, deeply grateful for the ability to learn a new thing. And to retreat like this, resting by the fire. 

p.s. If you have good knees that work just fine, you get down on those knees and humbly offer up your gratitude for all your working parts. 

Animal Kingdom

rated G

I'm sitting at Whidbey Island Coffee, the one by Home Depot, and I'm working on a writing project (none of your business, I'm shy), and I'm looking out the window at the parking lot of Kohl's Department Store. Just now: an older, little sports car zooms into and around the parking lot. There are two young men in it (duh). He swoops into the handicapped parking area and parks straddling the parking space and the striped pedestrian area. He opens the door, drops a pair of gym slippers onto the ground, puts them on, and saunters towards the doors of Kohls. His pal remains in the car.

What, I wonder, is the equivalent of this in the wild? Like, what does inappropriate young male behavior look like in the Alaskan wilderness or the Serengeti, or wherever there is any wildness left? What is the moose version of this rude, dangerous rule-breaking? It's so exhausting. I guess my desire to slap him and yell at him is the equivalent of the wild response of whatever exhausted, exasperated wild mama would do. I wish I was closer so I could at least scold them. It's my instinctive duty. But I'm far enough that it doesn't directly endanger me, so I just roll my eyes. I'm the human version of the mama moose sitting in the sun on the hillside on the other side of the valley, far enough away for it to be too much of a bother to discomfort myself.

Oh, here he comes. What a little twerp. Ain't in no hurry, either. Probably taking something to his girlfriend. She texted him, was all: babe, PLS bring my other car keys bC those have my gym card omg I don't wnt 2 miss my cardio 2nite. XOXOXO

He's all: can't. late.

She's all: come ON. PLEASE.

He's all: maybe

And then he brings them to her and she puts up with his crap attitude and everything is annoying and boys are the worst.

Dusty Room

Rated PG

Whoa. What is this strange place? I think I've been here before. It feels like an overlooked room, dusty and musty. I need to get in here and kick up some energy. There are so many things I've wanted to write about, but I seem to have forgotten how to get here. Summer swallowed my mind up like a sinkhole. And usually autumn brings in a sense of motivation and busy-ness for me, but this year I am at sixes and sevens, spinning in circles and indecisive.

At the end of May, a friend of mine passed away which was tremendously sad and discombobulating. Following that, it seemed like sadness and mishaps were falling from the sky for various reasons. I got really and very suddenly quite depressed. I wrote a post about it, and about how I eventually achieved a sort of vibrational shift for the better. But I didn't actually post it.

I did, however, out of desperate curiosity, look into astrology. I just wanted an explanation for the shitstorm. I stopped reading my horoscope in junior high school because I found it was affecting my attitude too much; I was mopey and tortured enough, I didn't need the nuances of a horoscope to fuel the confusion. And I've sort of shied away from them ever since. However! In my hour of desperation a few months ago, I poked around the internet and found some interesting tidbits. This summer of 2018, there were a bunch of planets in retrograde at the same time. Don't ask me exactly what this means. I think I know what it means. I'm not sure. It felt to me like my plans, my thoughts, my actions, my intentions, were stumbly and uninspired. My brain was blah. My brain IS blah. I'm forcing myself to write this post to un-blah my brain.

Maybe the brain planet is still in retrograde. I don't want to look into all of it too much because I think it will swallow me up. I became a stay-at-home-mom so I could get some shit done around here, not so I could become an amateur astrologist. Mind you, I've been at home full time for almost four years and a lot of that shit has not yet been done, so I don't know what to tell you.

Nevertheless, it is October and October is one of my favorite parts of being alive and it makes me want to carpe the diem. At least, it usually does. Maybe the carpe diem planet is also in retrograde. I seem to be low on the carpe diem. I am fully stocked with bored-and-grumpy, but low on look-at-the-beautiful-leaves(!). I'm hoping a little blogging will help me carpe the diem. What I don't want to know is that this is just my lady hormones and that I need to embrace and accept the changes that come with the majesty of the maturing female at this time in life and all that is yet to come or something. What I honestly want to hear is that the path to enlightenment is via binge-watching British crime dramas. That's all I want to do. Instead, I'm writing this post. At least it's something.

Otter Pops

Rated PG for minor cussing.

You guys. The news is a very bad place. I mean, things were already woeful, but I've just seen that Justice Kennedy is retiring, so now we are really and truly you-know-what. I mean, this shitshow just keeps getting bigger. But you wanna know what is amazing and fills me with hope and revitalization?! Let me tell you.

Yesterday my mind was a tumultuous place because these are tumultuous times. I went to Costco (because evidently all I do is go to Costco) for provisions, distracted by the fact that I was even lucky enough in this world to chose from such ridiculous provisions. Well, lo and behold, look what exists now: 

Otter Pops made from 100% fruit juice!!!!! Holy crap, there is some goodness in the world. No more neon-colored food-type frozen material of questionable origin! Actual fruit and actual natural ingredients. Don't tell me what evil conglomerate owns Otter Pops. Don't tell me what evil conglomerate owns Costco, either. Just give me this for today. These things better be good. All of my hopes and dreams are riding on this. And I promise we will recycle the box and repurpose the plastic into...something that helps rid the world of disease, lets say. Thank you. The end. 

Books

I recently finished the most delightful book called "Birds of a Feather" by Jacqueline Winspear.

I think if your name is Jacqueline Winspear you should write books because that is a very authory name. This book is the second in the Maisie Dobbs series of mysteries. Maisie Dobbs is a smart, young woman who operates a private investigation firm in London in the inter-war period of the 20th Century. She has had a unique upbringing, jumping social classes and gaining a good education, followed by service in WWI as a nurse. After the war, she spent years as an apprentice of a very learned doctor who himself practiced private investigation. I like Maisie because she is sometimes lonely, but also very self-aware, intelligent. And watching her navigate a man's world as a professional woman is enjoyable. I've never really gravitated towards mysteries, but I'm really enjoying these books, partly because they are part historical fiction. I definitely recommend.

In the middle of reading this book, my friend Whitney sent me "Everything Happens For A Reason, and Other Lies I've Loved" by Kate Bowler.

Bowler is a professor at Duke divinity school whose research emphasis has been on the prosperity gospel in North America. (She also wrote "Blessed: A History of The American Prosperity Gospel.") Bowler was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer in 2015. This book is a memoir of her journey through the first years of treatment. She very honestly frames her experiences in the religious faith of her upbringing and of the traditions she has examined in her research.  (katebowler.com)

My friend Whitney is an oncology nurse practitioner, and I often pretend I am an oncologist, so we like to talk shop. I think she knew I would appreciate this book as I'm always up for the story of a search for meaning (aren't they all?), especially in the challenge of fighting a deadly disease. I am fascinated by the role of faith and religion in fighting disease. Bowler offers her fears, doubts, comforts, frustrations - all of the aspects I would want to know about. She also shares a lot of the absurd things that come out of other peoples' mouths when talking about dying or talking about cancer, and its her thoughts about these exchanges that brings the reader close to her heart. Or brings her close to the reader's heart. I wasn't always at ease with her writing style, with the way she structured her narrative, but I was gripped by her emotion. It seems like there are few mainstream voices that are both this religious and this accessible to the not-so-religious. Or maybe I'm just wildly unaware of other works of this genre. Anyway, little book big story; you should read it.

Day One

Rated G 

Well. Today is Day One of Summer 2018. My kid is bringing his A Game to Day One. This morning, we enjoyed waffles, we began a list of summer activity options titled "Summer 2018 Activity Options," and then we turned our attention to Legos because there are always Legos. So many Legos.

We perused my Pinterest Lego board (Omg, go to Pinterest and search Star Wars Lego ideas; all your desires are there.), and decided we would each build a cute little dachshund. Aproximately 7.2 seconds later, I had merely managed to locate several brown pieces. Buck had gone off-script and created the best Lego dog ever seen. Behold:

The foreground shows my tray with a modest collection of brown pieces, plus a Darth Maul figure. Buck's superior Lego dog is in the background. I should just have had Buck take the pictures because he would have done a better job than me.

After Legos we went to his cousins' house for a couple hours of fun. Then, we went to Fred Meyer where Buck helped an elderly woman put her items on the belt at the register, and I did NOT tell him to do so. After we got home, I told him there would be something called "Summer Chore" whereby Buck does a chore every day before he can have screen time, and that chore would likely most often be unloading the dishwasher. Following my statement, Buck turned to the task of unloading the dishwasher with grace and ease. So many adorable moments and its not even 4:30pm. And we still have a birthday party to go to tonight! What's up, Summer 2018?

Full disclosure, he did hurt one of his cousin's feelings and made her cry. He's not superhuman.

Summer Horizons

Rated PG for small swears

Well, the past week or so has been rather sad and shitty. You know, indiscriminate bad luck, personal sadness, general anxiety, and heart-wrenching headlines. It's all felt a bit relentless. I've tried my best to feel my feelings while accepting the natural ebb and flow of life's challenges. But jeez. So I've concluded its important to share several examples here.

Remember how I got a new car? Well, a very important thing happened: I took her to Costco for the first time. Before we left the parking lot, I took a picture of her with a full trunk (or boot if you wish you were British):

Isn't this delightful? My kid looks pretty delighted. So. Guess what happened right after this? If you guessed "you got rear ended," you'd be right! It all happened very slowly. I had pulled out and was looking in my rearview mirror and watched as a large, brown SUV slowly backed into my rear end. Bam! So, I got out and I looked at my car: no evident damage. The other car slowly pulled back into its spot. I noted the license plates: Canadian. (Not that there's anything wrong with that!) A very small older man and his smaller wife (assuming) got out. And their English wasn't perfect and they were terribly nice and I kinda died of their adorableness. So, I practically hugged them and then sent them on their way. 

We got home and Buck says "MOM GOT REAR ENDED!" Thence began my husband's detailed examination of my car which resulted in discovering a tiny dent in my bumper. Followed were many observations made by my husband regarding the failure on my part to "get their information." Sheesh. Its just a bumper. That's what bumpers are for. Also, c'mon, let's just be grateful for a trunk full of food. Life is good. But, still, new car. 

Aside from the brand new bumper, I'd been steeling myself for the reality of flying across the country to a friend's memorial. Then Buck got sick so I made a last-minute decision not to go. It was a difficult decision; being absent from the memorial made me restless and sad. Grief is tricky, slippery business. We really aren't designed to grieve in isolation. Anticipating that memorial was its own kind of difficult; being absent from the gathering has made the grief more surreal. 

When Buck gets sick, I get rather anxious. When my nerves are worn down like they were last week, little things feel like big things and big things feel monstrous. Anxiety and grief make quite a maelstrom. So, it didn't take much for me to get good and rattled by certain headlines. I adored Anthony Bourdain. Obviously, with famous people, we won't ever know what their true story is; we don't have relationships with them. But they can occupy parts of our psyche, if you will, and play a role in our lives. Having that role tragically altered feels real and hard, no?  

Somehow, I found myself reading astrology horoscopes to try to make sense of this insanity and discombobulation and sadness. But even that was overwhelming. Just too much to consider. (Although, super interesting and maybe I should be an astrologer?) I just generally felt spooked, like what will happen next? I spent a lot of time on the treadmill, burning nervous energy and chasing endorphins, which felt really good. And it is always easy to look just beyond myself to see a strong tribe of love and friendship, both here in my village and in lands far away; I am fortunate. Ultimately, my spirits were buoyed over the weekend by driving around this beautiful valley in our big old truck, taking a break from social media, catching the Robert McCauley exhibit at the Museum of Northwest Art, and bbq-ing at my sister's house, watching the kiddos run around together. 

Now! I am happy to report that today is the last day of school! Woohoo! Definitely not shitty! Congratulations to Buck for completing the great and mighty 2nd Grade! I love summer with my kiddo. This place is in full bloom and splendor right now. I was driving the curves into town yesterday and the countryside seemed to flaunt itself in front of me like a choreographed show of beautiful ladies in magnificent gowns. Or like when a lady is beginning her ascent up the red-carpeted stairs and she does a partial spin so her enormous dress swirls and settles into place behind her. That's what all the trees and rhododendrons and fluffy, puffy grasses and bushes look like to me. Add some Puget Sound beaches and nearby mountains, and voila! Summer! Am I being Dramatic? Yes. I'm just very relieved that the open, fun days of summer are straight ahead.

P.S. This is where I make it very clear that I feel incredibly, fantastically grateful that I am in a position to hang out with my kid all summer. Being at home was a big ole decision I made a couple years ago. It meant going a certain direction with my life during Buck's early school years, and subsequently not going other directions. I won't be going this "at home" direction for many more years, as per my loose set of intentions/Master Plan, and the more I talk about this the more uncomfortable I get, so I'm just going to stop talking about this. The End.

p.p.s. Buck lost a tooth on Saturday. And the Tooth Fairy actually came that very night, so prompt, so attentive, so generous. What a high-quality Tooth Fairy.