Don’t Eat Yellow Snow
My Dad taught me how to ski when I was 4 of 5. I loved it. I loved to go fast. I loved it when my Dad fell down so that I could faster. I don’t know when this picture was taken, but I’m pretty sure my Dad still wears those sunglasses and still has that crazy Russian hat.
Last weekend was time for the annual Fortunati family snow trip. There were 12 of us, all staying in a cabin near Strawberry, CA. Unfortunately, Dean’s family couldn’t make it this year, so his girls couldn’t join in the snow chaos.
When we arrived on Saturday morning, the roads were dry and the sun was out. Then the storm hit and we got several inches of snow – enough to sled on, ski on, and eat.
Kevin and his 5 year-old cousin Alec had a great time together. They played inside and out, jumped on beds, looked for spiders in the dark with flashlights, and consumed a lot of sugar. Alec must have made a thousand snow angels and Kevin must have eaten a gallon worth of snow (which, as it turns out, acted as a great cold compress for his fat lip he got while jumping on the couch).
Of course, we made a (scary looking) snowman. Does it remind you of Wilson in Cast Away?
Dave headed back to the bay area on Sunday afternoon to be in the courtroom for jury duty Monday morning. Kim, his girls, and I headed up to Dodge Ridge for a day of skiing on Monday. We got a ton of new, fresh powder on Sunday so the slopes were looking just about perfect. It was a warm sunny day and barely a person in sight.
My ski boots broke into about a dozen pieces as I walked from the car to the lodge, leaving a plastic breadcrumb trail behind. They had been stored in hot and cold temperatures for about 20 years. That gave us a good laugh before we headed out.
I enjoyed my day of skiing much more than I thought I would. It had probably been over 5 years since I last skied. While I’ve lost most of my nerve to go screaming fast and do crazy jumps, I loved the freedom of flying down the hill, not waiting for anybody. I felt like the luckiest person alive.