Mountains of concrete

We have returned from Utah and all is well.  The Professor enjoyed his meetings and skied well and I gained a few pounds while sitting around while my knee continued to heal.  Ugh!

For several days we had beautiful weather during our stay in Snowbird.  But then a heavy snowstorm was predicted and not wanting to be stranded since we didn't have a four-wheel drive, we decided to leave ahead of it. Unfortunately, we didn't leave EARLY enough and found ourselves inching down the mountainside in low visibility traveling barely two miles an hour.  It was quite intense as we passed a number of cars that had slid off the road.  

What was amazing to me was the number of cars that were coming UP the mountain!  I guess there is nothing like fresh powder for those who love to ski.

Me, though ... I'll take sugar-white beaches of sand versus snow.  Too cold in those mountains! Although I do love Utah's beauty and wide open spaces.  The mountains are breathtaking.

Unlike my view today in downtown Philly.

 

I guess one could call these buildings or better yet,
these 'concrete mountains",
as breathtaking.

And in a way, they are breathtaking.

But whenever I feel enclosed,

I find myself looking skyward.

It makes me feel more free.

My preference always is and always will be wide open spaces

filled with critters and birds, beaches and shorelines.

And that's why while in the city today between my appointments, 

I found this delightful window view where I could write this post.

Even in a city filled with concrete,
beauty and space can be found.
We only have to look up!

Chillin' in Utah

As you know, I'm really a beach girl at heart, but once or twice a year, The Professor needs a ski fix, so off we go to the chilly mountains of Utah. 

 The Professor has an annual conference at Utah each year with fellow colleagues. 

After the meetings are done, they all head out to get some skiing in either at Snowbird, Alta, Park City or Deer Valley.  There are so many mountain ski resorts surrounding Salt Lake City, 

it's hard to pick a favorite.

Probably my favorite is Park City.  I'm not a great skier but do enjoy the beauty of gliding down the mountainside at my leisure.  I especially like finishing the day with a cold beer 

to celebrate that no injuries have occurred!

Being 60, one is appreciate of such things. 

Unfortunately, this year, no skiing for me 

as my knee continues to heal from recent surgery.

But The Professor is enjoying skiing with our son who took the above photo today 

as they head down one most difficult black diamond course, 

Nina's Curve!

 And this year for me, I'll enjoy the view from our warm lodge 

and still have that cold beer at the end each day . . .  

to celebrate OTHERS who have not

incurred any injuries!

By the way, it's COLD up here!

Helter skelter week

My life felt a little bit helter skelterish last week. 

After visiting lovely warm Scottsdale, I met up with The Professor in cloudy cold Snowbird, Utah.  He had some ~man~ time for several days skiing with our son.  Apparently, the weather wasn't great and by the time of my arrival, he had had enough.   So much for ME capturing any ski shots!

But fortunately they sent me an iPhoto shot ... I guess proof that they were actually skiing ....  in between beers!  Ha! 

The only photos I got on this trip were riding in the car.  Gah!  And all of them were taken through the car windshield coming DOWN the mountain, since I drove myself UP the mountain to meet the boys.  And I wasn't about to take my hands off the steering wheel on that winding, guard rail-less road!

So this is where Topaz comes in handy.  

Turning those blurry useless pics into something a bit more pretty.

So I guess not all was lost.

: : :

I'm looking forward to hanging around home for a little while.

Maybe the cardinals and my other feathered friends will soon forgive 

my absence.

Hope you are having a great week!

I plan to begin watching Downton Abbey's first season.

Everyone says it's awesome.

So, am I the only one among you who has not seen it yet?

~ sigh~

~ ~ ~

Elusive dreams

sleep does not come to me 

I lie here looking backward
in time
hoping some image
some event
will bring the
comfort of memory
to lull me into a place
of dream

This my dear friends, was written sometime between 3 and 4 am when I had yet not fallen asleep!

*argh*

Sure does make a girl cranky!  As a result, I chose to stay behind today and not venture up the ski slopes of Whistler.  Just too tired and as we all know, that’s when accidents can happen.

But I’m happy that The Professor, whose meetings have ended, is out exploring the more difficult slopes without his slug of a bride holding him back.  The clouds have lifted and it has been the first day that the mountain peaks have displayed themselves.  I made sure The Professor took the camera.  We should have some good images to share.  (We would have great images to share if I only had that Nikon d90. *hint hint* Professor)

Each evening for dinner, we cross a bridge over the stream you see above in the picture.  At night, there is a blue light that shines down on it creating a beautiful scene.  My little Canon couldn't capture its essence.  So you'll just have to imagine it.

Although I’m a beachy type girl, it is beautiful here and the temps don’t feel near as cold as the mountains in Utah.  Interesting.  Maybe it’s just that time of year.

Tomorrow we are off to Vancouver and then home.

*sigh*

I miss home.

And kitty kitty.

Happy Sunday evening,
missing the mom gene

It's A Good Day When It's Time for a Brewsky

After 12 hours of traveling, we finally reached Whistler (via Denver, Vancouver).   The drive up from Vancouver to Whistler was pleasant and scenic.  Apparently Vancouver is the largest shipping port in North America. Didn't know that. Lots of water and lots of sailboats.

My kind of place.

Skiing today was a bit cloudy but the weather was fine. Apparently Whistler just had a snowstorm with high winds and shut down the mountain and gondolas just before our arrival.  But all were running today.

The Professor is still skiing and I'm waiting to enjoy that brewsky that makes it the best part of the day (at least for me, cause I'm done and I didn't break anything!!!)

Hoping for a little sunshine for you this weekend,

Have a great one,
missing the mom gene

Whistler, Here We Come

Off to Whistler tomorrow.

It’s a long trek from coast to coast.  Two flights plus a two hour car ride and we’ll arrive after 12 hours of travel.

*Ugh*

Although it is business that takes us there, one cannot NOT ski when at Whistler.  The Professor is very excited since he has always wanted to ski Whistler.  I, on the other hand, have memories of a past boss who skied Whistler and came back with a broken leg.

So ....  The Professor and I have very different types of eagerness for this trip.

Whistler is beautiful.  We have been there before but only in the summer.

My type of weather.

Our son, the skier/photographer, has advised us to use some crampons to walk about since it can be pretty icy.

More snow and ice.

*More ugh*

And it is going to be in the 60’s at home this weekend.

Figures.

I’ll keep you posted with my little Canon.

Have a great day,
missing the mom gene

Just to Be Clear

The Professor and I are in the mountains of Utah.  Blending a little business with a little pleasure of skiing.  Perhaps more pleasure for The Professor than myself.  Beaches, as you know,  are more my cup of flavor.

Disclosure: If you are staking out our home thinking it is empty, you'll be disappointed.  We have an attack cat and a college graduate with wasp spray beside the bed should you be thinking of robbing us blind.  Also, you will be greatly disappointed in your take.  Total waste of time.


We will be in the mountains for several days.  They are beautiful from a distance.  Close up ... well, that’s another story.

I do not ski down mountains like these

Nor slopes like this

And really avoid drops offs like these these

And definitely wear one of these in case I DO fall off a cliff

So just to be clear, my types of slopes tend to be more like this

Or even this

Get my *drift*

Yes, oh yes, I am much more a beach girl than a ski bunny!

Thanks for stopping by,
missing the mom gene

Tales of a Traveling Minimalist, Part 1

Recently, I had to check my luggage.  

Oh, the misery of it! 

The only time I check my luggage is once or twice a year when The Professor and I go skiing.  I have not yet discovered a way to pack ski sweaters, pants, scarves, mittens, ski helmet and ski boots in a carry-on. 

I have thought about breaking it up into several carry-ons and asking other fellow travelers who had only one piece of luggage if they would take one of mine. 

“Excuse me sir, but would you mind carrying this bag for me.”

But I’m afraid TSA agents would be on me like flies on honey and I would end up in one of those security rooms with only a table and light bulb hanging from the ceiling.  Not good lighting for someone my age.

So, I try to do WHATEVER it takes to avoid checking my luggage. 

Even traveling overseas, it has to be carry-on.  Lesson learned long ago that oversize luggage is not conducive to trucking around Europe.  Narrow hotel stairwells, cobblestone pathways and European car trunks do not make for happy travelers!

Nor happy hubbys.

No, when I travel, I’m a minimalist. 

But the biggest reason for NOT checking your luggage is that you never have to worry about an airline representative telling you, “We are not sure where it is.”

Dreaded words for a traveler.  Words that I’ve heard a few too many times before I smartened up and became a traveling minimalist.

In 1983, as a poor college student and single mother of three, my beat up luggage never showed up on a very short return flight from Aspen to Denver.   A DIRECT flight and my two bags ... gone!    Only mine, no one else’s.  Louis Vuiitton's they were not.  What are the odds that my bags were lost or stolen when so much better luggage was available for the picking.  Hello!  It was Aspen for god’s sake?  Home of Hollywood stars.  Maybe my shabby luggage had to fly cargo plane to Denver.

My kids wouldn’t talk to me for days cause I had LOST their precious T-shirt gifts.  Not to mention my meager college wardrobe of my fave sweaters and jeans. 

In 1989, another bag was lost on a return business trip from San Diego to Des Moines never to be recovered again. 

I’m sure all of my lost luggage has ended up at the Unclaimed Baggage Center warehouse in sleepy Scottsboro, Alabama.  In case you didn’t know, these are the folks who buy luggage from the airlines after 90 days and put it up for sale.  Someone in Alabama is walking around in my kids’ Ski Aspen T-shirts.

I have had about a half dozen episodes where my luggage didn’t arrive but fortunately it was delivered to me the next day.  An inconvenience, but at least it showed up.

But the biggest inconvenience is when your luggage is a no show on your arrival in a foreign country.  This is trouble.   Like trouble in River City or ... Malaga, Spain.

International Travel?  Let’s talk about that tomorrow!

Thanks for stopping by,
missing the mom gene

I'll take a Valium with that chair ...

Skiers recount 'scary' plunge from chair lift

This was headline news yesterday.

Not good news for a girl who has ski lift chair anxiety.  That would be me.  Huge huge HUGE anxiety!

The first time I skied, I was around 28 or so, freshly divorced and ready for adventures.  My boyfriend (bf) at the time had taken a job out in Boise, Idaho, and invited me out for a weekend of skiing.  I had never skied before, so I was up for it.  How hard could it be?

Boy, was I dopey.

It was Idaho, for god’s sake.  Mountains, big steep, freezing cold, snow covered mountains.  People can die on mountains, ski into trees, thank you Sonny Bono for that image.  Take a spill and have a brain bleed like Liam Neeson’s wife, Natasha Richardson.

But I was in lust ... anything and everything was possible in the world.

So I borrowed my girlfriends ski jacket (her size 6 ski pants were not meant for my size 12 bottom), hopped a plane and headed out west for my big adventure.

Now there were probably several signs that would have been alarming to me had I not been so gooey eyed over my bf.

Like arriving to the resort and being the only one in blue jeans.

Like spending only 30 minutes on the bunny slope, and 20 of those minutes trying to figure out how the heck you pull or pole yourself up once in a horizontal position.  (Oh, how you scoff, but it’s a whole other matter getting up from a horizontal position with 6 foot fiberglass planks on your feet.)

Like strangers giving me pointers on the bunny slope while my bf went off to do a couple of runs before we take the lift up TOGETHER.

Like not knowing the meaning of the Green circle, Blue square, and Black diamond symbols and totally trusting your bf when he says you are ready.

Did you know that there are reasons ski trails have names like Lazy Mary or Widow Maker.

Did you know that it is much easier to get ON a ski lift than it is to get OFF a ski lift.

And that one should wear special ski pants which are WATER proof so you don't freeze your ass off since you are going to be spending most of your time on it anyway.

See, didn’t I warn you earlier that I was dopey.

As I sat on the lift with the bf who had boosted my confidence that I was certainly ready to glide down the mountain with him, I started to feel this pinch of anxiety grow in my stomach about how one gets OFF the lift.  Oh, he gladly gave me instructions and I eagerly listened to each and every thing I should do as we approached.  But all I could see were the puffy coated people ahead of me easily gliding off the chair down the incline which looked MUCH larger than the bunny slope which I had just vacated.

I was gripped with fear!

What the hell was I doing here?

Tilt skis up, push off chair, bend knees slightly, keep poles close to body and glide down incline.

Or

Immediately fall to avoid incline only to be knocked in the head by the chair lift while taking out your bf.  (Oh, ye who had so much faith in me.)

Did you know they stop chair lifts when people fall?  Yep, they sure do!  Gave me time to pick up my wet bottomed ass and get out of the way.  That is, actually CRAWL out of the way.

Could I just pleeeeaaaase ride back down the mountain.  And then could you just pleeeeeeease stop when it’s my turn to get off.  Pleeeeeeease??

Nope, not going to happen.  Cause my bf was confident that I could ski down that mountain.  Down that Blue square symbol, intermediate mountain slope.

“Ready to go?”

I looked at him with less gooey eyes.

“I think you need to go on ahead.  It’s going to take me a little while to get down to the bottom.”

He paused before speaking.  The gooey eyes had turned into loathing ice crystals.

“Okay, if that’s what you want.  Meet you at the bottom.”

“I might be a while, so I’ll see you when I see you.”

And with that he slid over the edge and gracefully swished back and forth so easily in the packed powder.  At that point, if I had a javelin, I would have pitched it at him.

So there I was, alone, standing at the precipice of my demise, wet jeans and all.  Oh, I gave it my best.  I angled my skis to horizontally cross the trail only to have them plow into five foot snow banks from which I would have to pry them back out and do the same thing again in the opposite direction.  At this rate, I was covering about 10 feet of vertical slope every 10 minutes.

Off came the skis and I began walking down the mountain.  Have you ever walked down a mountain in ski boots?  Not fun.  Half way down was a lodge with a big roaring fireplace where I could again start feeling my half frozen legs.  A few hot rum drinks helped with that progress.

When I finally reached the bottom, I had also reached the end with that bf.  It was a long cold weekend before my Monday flight home.  And I’m not just talking about the weather.

Years later, when I met The Professor who was a big ski buff, I tried again.  Only this time, I had size 12 ski pants and a good coach.

I’ve been skiing now for 12 years, but my ski lift anxiety has never gone away and news stories like the one yesterday...

Well, let’s just say,

I’ll take a Valium with that lift ticket, thank you very much.

Yours truly,
missing the mom gene