Happy Ski Day

I recently celebrated my birthday by going downhill skiing in Wyoming. My new helmet served as a good luck charm, for, not only did I not fall down, I was also not slammed into by any snowboarders. Wicked.

Two days later, I helped celebrate my main man's birthday by going downhill skiing again, this time in Colorado. Again, no spills, wipeouts or collisions. I should have bought a helmet years ago.

Two birthdays are definitely better than one, and any day in the mountains beats a day at work. Not that I was playing hookey or anything.

This year I wasn't feeling too bothered with getting older. I figure if I can still backpack and ski without too much trouble, I haven't gotten old yet. At one point, I rode up on a lift with a seventy-plus-year old man who said his ski poles were older than me. That didn't hurt.

I usually don't put photos of myself on the internet. But I think I can make an exception just once. There I go, shredding the slope....and my chosen slope wasn't even Wyoming crowded!

Iced In

When the temperatures dip below zero, and it's too cold for skiing, and the streets become so icy that everyone's developed a ridiculous shuffling walk, and my fingers turn red and my hair fills with static from the dry air, and the cats look at me reproachfully for ever bringing them to this place and step on me with their chilly paws, and I cannot walk to work without risking frostbite ... at least the windows are pretty.