Yes folks, I finally committed to a (town)home. After much deliberation I went with a new home which means I get to decide on carpet, flooring and bathroom tiles. Although it's extremely exciting, it's also exceptionally stressful. For those that know me, I am indecisive by nature. So imagine the joy it is for those around me as I try to debate on what I should do. All that echos in my mind is "What if you screw up and the place looks awful?" This is a house, not just an outfit I wear for a day. If it doesn't come together, it's not a cheap fix. I'm relying heavily on some friends to use their expertise and steer me in the right direction. I will post pictures when there are some... until then, my mind is pretty focused on all of this. But by the end of March, I hope to have my wits about me AND my new home. So be patient and stay tuned.
I'll tell you what love is... my friends. Oh boy did I feel the love this Valentine weekend.
Friday night I had dinner made for me, Saturday night the same. And it wasn't anything out of the box. It was homemade goodness. Both nights the movie rental was out of their pocket. Movie and dinner. Boyfriend? Pish.
My friends listen to me rehash the same concern (ahem-home ownership) over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. And they still love and listen to me anyway.
Maybe I'm not married, but I'm sure not navigating this world alone.
Remember when you couldn't wait to be an adult? You were convinced that life would finally get good when you could make ALL your own decisions. Working with teens I am frequently reminded of the naive fantasies of being a grown up. Oh, to be a kid again. I can't quite convince them to enjoy being young but I wish I could.
When I was about 7 there was this crazy snowstorm that hit in May. All the schools were closed and people were stuck in their driveways. I was devastated when my mother told me that I could not walk to school and would have to stay home. (Lest you worry about me being a keener,* come junior high my parents had to bribe me to go to school. I was the queen of excuses as to why I sick this time. Once when my mom was on to me, I drank a concoction of pickle juice and raw eggs to try and make me throw up. Sadly it didn't work and tasted awful). What I wouldn't give for a snow day now!
If I had my very own snow day I think I'd sleep in, curl up in my bed and read all day.
Other ideas or snow day dreams are welcome!
*Keener is an underused word in the US of A, so to those readers here you go
There was a long period in my life when I hated the winter. I couldn't wait for Spring to arrive... until I rediscovered my love for skiing.
One of my earliest ski memories is plowing in to a hay bail at Canada Olympic Park when it was known as Paskapoo (such a cooler name). I'm still unclear as to why they had them but leave it to me to run in to one. All I know is that I was more intent on waving at my mom at the bottom of the hill than I was on looking ahead. Gratefully this crash didn't finish off my ski affair.
The next fond memory I have is skiing in Windermere with Mel and family. Well, it's not so much a skiing memory because if I recall correctly, I got irritated on the hill. But I do remember singing and dancing in our bedroom to Milli Vanilli. Imagine my shock and dismay when I later learned they were merely scam artists and not just bad musicians. Blame that on the rain! And how can I forget the time my mom let me play hooky from school so Keltie and I could ski Sunshine on a Friday. She even fed us homemade scones that day. My parents were and are cool. Again, I don't remember much about the skiing but I do remember losing track of my speed as we sung along to the Cranberries in my dad's truck. (Hey, it was a V-8... I didn't know what to do with so much power!!). Apparently I have a theme of singing and not so much skiing.
Probably one of my last ski memories until three years ago, was going up a tow rope with my dad on the now defunct Fortress mountain. Somehow we crossed our tips and I graciously broke my father's fall. We weren't thinking quite straight after we untangled ourselves from skis, poles and each other, so when we got upright we decided we'd hike the rest of the way up. Trudging through deep powder in ski boots was one our collectively stupidest ideas in our child-parent relationship. Skiing back down would have added 5 minutes to our total time. Fifteen minutes later we got to the top, huffing and puffing and sweating. Maybe that was the second to last nail in my dad's skiing coffin. Not too long after he took a nasty spill and sat in the lodge the rest of the day. Months later he discovered that he had actually dislocated his shoulder from the fall. Tough man, still is.
In my 20's I started to try my hand at snowboarding but never went enough to get good (along with my intense fear of getting hurt... and that's why you start at 5). After one particularly bad spill I realized I could ski, not board. And that's when I rediscovered my true love for the sport. I have never looked back.
On Saturday I felt happier than I have in quite some time. I have been determined to conquer moguls and last week I got one step closer. Maybe this year will be the year. Whether I improve or not isn't really the point. I just love hearing my skis carve in to the powder. I enjoy the thrill of attempting a jump, even if I only catch 2 inches of air. Being with good friends and laughing till my stomach hurts is a pretty good bonus too.
But mostly I love breathing in the fresh mountain air, feeling the sun beat down on me, taking in the beauty of Creation. Yes, life is good.