The Inexperienced Expert Goes Skiing

The day was inexplicably gorgeous. The kind of day that is a welcome gift early in February. At the top of the pass, the sky glistened it was so blue, and the sun beat down on us to the point where we took off hat and scarves and instead donned more sun screen. This was the day to try skiing. The only unfortunate side-effect, was that everyone else was skiing as well. The gobs of human nature packed on the hill around the lodge, and drizzling down the snow packed hillside frightened me away from my original intention of downhill skiing for only the second time in my life, and instead lead me toward a more familiar side of cross country skiing. Still, I had not been in 15 years, and this time I had toddlers.

Simply strapping my girls into their skis became the first challenge. Unable to help, or even understand the point, my daughters flopped like rag dolls in my arms while I inexpertly popped first one toe, then the other into their skis. Immediately my youngest began to slide down the hill. Scrambling for her, trying to keep the oldest by my side and then put myself into my own skis, began one of many comedy of errors for that day. Finally everyone strapped in, we were ready to take off. My three year old immediately fell down and soon began her demands of being let out of the skis. We convinced her to give it another try, and off we took, again.

The two year old between my skis, and the three year old between my husband's skis, we used the practice loop to test our technique. The girls' poles were soon discarded and my husband and I dragged our own behind ourselves. I am sure we looked awkward and unbalanced, but it worked. Practice looped mastered, and three year old wavering between wanting to do it herself and wanting to be done, we turned to tackle the hill down to the easy course. The key word here, is the hill.

I was never skilled at skiing down hill. My husband was a downhill skier, hence the motive behind my plan. First, I must note that this is a very small hill, but I was terrified to crash on top of one of my girls. My husband would take one girl down and leave her at the bottom of the hill. He would then come up, get the second girl and ski her down. I would then ski down the hill, crashing as few times as possible, and that, with only two falls on my part is pretty much how it went.

At the bottom of the hill, we found a patch of snow and decided to make snowmen, but the ground was too iced over, and we soon abandoned our idea. Strapping back up, no more gracefully than the first time, we took off on the flat path through the woods. This time we were able to ski beside the girls holding onto one hand and moving fairly quickly. I was unbelievable proud of my girls as they plugged along for 10 or fifteen minutes. Cross country skiing, however, is hard work, and they were about done. We turned around and headed back. The girls did really well the whole time. The two year old starting to ask to take breaks, and the three year old starting to ski on her own. We made it back to the top of the hill and even had time for hot chocolate.

Altogether we probably only skied a quarter of a mile, and were out for maybe an hour, but it was exhausting and invigorating. The girls both slept all the way to Grandma and Grandpa's house, and everybody slept good that night.

Some of My Favorite Places

I decided that I wanted to include some of my old, and hopefully new, vacation photos on my blog. I am going to post the photo of somewhere I have been (they won't just be Internet photos, but ones I actually took) and loved. At the end of the month I will write a short post about where it was and what I remember about it. At the same time, I will add a new photo. My first is from a trip last summer to Glacier National Park in Montana. Most will be from the Western USA. Many will be from National Parks since my family loves to explore the outdoors. Occasionally I'll delve into my older international photos from some areas in Europe, Mexico, and Russia.

The Inexperienced Expert Plays Guitar

Imagine the musically challenged in a class filled with music. Imagine fumbling fingers, tongue poking out the side of my mouth, face cringing with concentration. Image all this, and you will have a good view of me in my first guitar class.

I love the guitar. The romantic inclination that can cover campfires and concert stages. I follow my memories back to a college apartment, feet crossed under myself, sitting snuggled on the couch while my latest crush plucked playfully on the strings that seemed to chime with infinite possibilities. I thought I had fallen in love with a handsome, quiet young man, but I realize, I think I just had fallen in love with his guitar. Since that day I have always kept a guitar tucked away somewhere in my house. I have tried in fruitless stretches of nostalgic whimsy to teach myself. I even successfully conquered "Ode to Joy", but no more.

You see, the problem with guitar is two fold. One is it takes practice, and two it hurts. It is easy to talk yourself out of guitar practice when throbbing fingers become more of a focus than halted music. This time I tricked my ever bemoaning fingertips, though. I signed up for an 8 week class. I figured that at the worst, I will have to practice for 8 weeks, thus developing the finger callouses, and taking away my excuse. Do you think it will work?

I have been at it two weeks. I have 6 chords that I must still pause to maneuver between, and I have nearly gotten down my first finger plucking song. Some of the people in the class have played before, and will casually trip along their strings like a brook across its rocky bottom. The ease and melodic nature of their half-hearted strumming makes me jealous, embarrassed, and even a bit inspired. It is a beginning class, but many of the participants have played before, but decided it had been so long they needed a refresher. Someday I hope to strum a chord with a smile on my face and a tune in my voice just like them. For now, though, I would settle for not looking constipated and like I have a claw for a hand.

Still, I am having fun, and I hope that by the end of the month I can play some fun kid songs with my girls. After all, they are the reason I finally did this after simply thinking about it for ten years. I want their lives to be filled with music and possibilities. When they pick up their little pink guitar, I want them to realize that someday they can make music with it. They can write a song and play along. There, I think I have their first line already!