It snowed all night Friday night and we had to sweep at least six inches from our rented Jeep SUV before driving to the ski area. Fortunately, while there was a lot of snow, none of it froze to the windows, windshield, or road.
We got everyone loaded – all seven – and made the equipment roll call: “Boots? (check), Gloves (check), Goggles (check)” and like that. It’s not as easy to do as it is to write. Our first day we had to double back to get everything we’d left behind.
It only took about ten minutes to drive down to our favorite free parking lot only to discover it was already completely full – apparently people arrived earlier than usual to enjoy the fresh new snow and they arrived before we did. So we drove another five minutes to an overflow parking lot, where we parked, loaded up gear, and rode the city shuttle bus to the ski village.
We grabbed our skis from the rental shop and hobbled in our boots into the deep fresh snow. Again, it wasn’t easy. Putting on skis is a challenge when the entire family is involved, and putting on skis in deep powdery snow is even more difficult. Especially for the youngest granddaughter. There was significant complaining before everyone was ready to scoot downhill to the gondola.
That is, everyone scooted but me. My skis wouldn’t move. When I tried to shuffle them forward it was like trying to move through peanut butter. I made it to the gentle slope down toward the gondola, but I still couldn’t move. I stomped my skis up and down and all that, but even though I was pointed downslope I couldn’t move forward.
I lifted my left leg to see if something might be broken on my ski or my binding and noticed two inches of snow frozen to the bottom of my ski the entire length front to back. I then checked my right ski and it was the same. I clearly wasn’t going anywhere.
So I angrily kicked out of both skis and started walking down toward the gondola. Cyndi had been patiently waiting for me to ski down to the bottom and get in line with her, but also wondering why I wasn’t moving and why was I taking so long since the lifts and the gondola were already moving. The rest of the family was already in the line but there I was standing with my snow-caked skis.
Cyndi, concerned about me, asked, “Why are you taking so long? The line keeps growing.”
I showed her the bottom of my skis. She didn’t understand the problem, just like I didn’t understand at first. This was a first time for this for both of us.
“Well let’s go. I’ve been waiting for you a long time.”
“Just go get in line by yourself, then. I don’t know why this is happening to my skis and I don’t know what to do about it,” I snapped, instantly regretting it.
We rode the gondola all the way to the summit and retrieved our skis. I’d hoped the movement of the gondola would knock some of the snow off, but no joy. My skis were still caked with snow. Cyndi grabbed one and started scraping snow. I took the other and used the nearby railing to scrape snow. Then we switched to our ski poles, and eventually had both skis clean and ready to go.
“I’m sorry I barked at you back there. I wasn’t upset with you, and you were very patient. But I was upset with my skis and the whole universe of winter sports and ready to quit it all. I didn’t know what was wrong and I didn’t know how to fix it.”
“I know.”
But now, with clean skis, I could move. It was great. I glided effortlessly and joyfully. I love skiing. I love winter sports. I’ll keep skiing until my last days!
Cyndi reminded me, “People over seventy ski free at Santa Fe. You have to keep this up a couple more years to get the free lift tickets you’ve earned.”
* * * * *
We used to ski with a large group of friends every year at SnoMass, Colorado, and one of the apocriphal stories repeated year after year was about a woman named Gretchen and her friend who stood in one place talking for so long their skis froze to the snow. At the time, I never knew whether to believe the story, but if I did, I couldn’t imagine it happening to any other two people.
Until now. It happened to me. A two-inch layer of snow frozen to the bottom of both skis and I couldn’t move at all. Bummer.
* * * * *
I used to take more ski photos – especially action photos – when I carried an actual camera with film. Now, with my ever-handy phone, I take fewer. Why is that? We used to pay twice for film pictures, but now digital pictures are free. I should be taking way more, not less. Maybe because it’s so easy to take hundreds of photos, I overreact by taking very few. Or it could be those old action photos were never very good and never flattered the skiers.
* * * * *
One of our primary games to play as a family nowadays is Rummikub. Well, we also play 42 (dominos), but that tends to be adults only. Rummikub is friendlier for all ages. Cyndi and I started playing Rummikub with the Pyeatts during the Covid shutdown. And once we even convinced some church friends, the Ervins, to play, right square in the middle of the dining room at Blue Sky Restaurant, after we finished our burgers. We also used to play regularly with our friends Roy and Karen.
Rummikub is a game that requires concentration (at least, when it’s your turn) and complex problem solving, but also leaves room for wide-ranging conversation and fun.
And – it’s easy to travel with. Cyndi usually packs it in her backpack when we are flying somewhere with family, and she pulls it out during long layovers.
One of the most ardent players now is our eleven-year-old granddaughter, Landry. She has followed the path of her mother and grandmother and aunt – a long line of strong, opinionated women who are ruthlessly competitive game players.
I learned during this most recent ski trip that I may be the only family member who doesn’t also play Rummikub online. I think all the others have been sharpening their game by competing against computers, and thus, they regularly trounce me.
I don’t mind. The fact is, I play to be part of the family and join in the conversations, and to keep from appearing to be an antisocial hermit. As far as the game itself goes, I’m just as happy reading a book. But reading a book doesn’t allow for much grandfatherly interaction, so I play games with the girls. Even though they’re becoming more ruthless game by game.
* * * * *
It snowed all day, our last day of skiing, so the powder was continually replenished. It was a bit difficult for us as once-a-year skiers, but it was also fun. And it was quiet. There is something about the sound dampening effect from the falling snow that adds a personal quality to the skiing.
We made several big runs in the morning, after Cyndi and I cleaned all the snow off my skis, and it was fun and fast and full of ego-building turns. But by 11:00 we were ready for a break and a chance to warm up a bit, so we stopped at the Thunderhead Lodge, located in the middle of the middle mountain.
It took a while to locate three empty chairs, but I eventually saw a group preparing to leave and used the time-honored technique of hovering over them so I could nab the chairs when they left.
As it turned out we ended up beside a young couple who recently moved from Mississippi to Denver. She told us she used to attend summer camp in Texas with, as it turned out, the daughter of one of Cyndi’s fellow teachers. The couple couldn’t help but notice our ages – we were at least as old as their own parents – and congratulated us for still skiing. And they thought we were exceptional grandparents to give a ski trip for Christmas instead of buying more stuff. They sort of went on and on, building us up and up, and I felt like hero of the day by the time we left the lodge. I can’t wait until we do this again!
“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32
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