Deana and I actually went to Easthaven, though I was there during the school year and she did the summer program. That's how Stephanie knew the both of us, because she did both. I remember Deana from high school, just obliquely through other friends who were also in choir.
We found the Hyatt and parked at 7:40 in a relatively empty garage. We found Christy's, where we had done the advance rental for ski boots, skis, and poles and although their website said they opened at 7:30, the lights were still dark when we walked up at 7:50. Luckily it was only a ten minute wait to get inside and get going. The back of the shop is the rental corner, where you mount the stairs and look down at your feet to talk to the ski guys below you who are going to be messing with your boots. 
We are with a ski instructor and two little ones, five across, behind other lines of five scooting up for our turn to the lift. When the line in front of us is next, there's a little dip down and there I go, sliding right into the poor guy in front of me. Luckily there are people there to help me up. And I manage to fall into the seat correctly when it comes around. The ride up is spectacular.
For $92 (the lift ticket cost) I think I would be happy to just ride this thing up and down over and over again if they would let me stay on.
So as we're approaching the top, the ski instructor starts to lift the overhead bar, which is also attached to the place where you can rest your skis, and mine get stuck, so I barely get them off in time to set them down. I think I've got it, but I'm on the far outside, so as the chair makes the turn to go back down, it catches me right behind the knee and down I go again.
So we're at the top of Silverthorne and it is absolutely amazing. Give me some snow shoes and just let me wander. . .
Instead, it's time to start down. Deana proved to be an infinitely patient coach on what was, especially at first, a very slow descent.
Case in point:
This was the second fall, which came not too long after the first. The first fall was more toward the center of the slope without any deep snow. In the first fall, I tried to use the "how to get up" knowledge I'd gleaned from watching my Skiing for Idiots videos earlier in the week as well as Deana's pointers. I must've needed the Skiing for Überidiots, because it wasn't working. 
So, just guessing, we covered about 50 yards in an hour. Since you ski under another lift, I had plenty of encouragement from above, mostly in the form of "go cookie monster!"
I took out Deana a couple of times, when she was trying to help me figure it out. Really, there is no other way to learn except to fall, but I was getting really frustrated at how slow I was learning and how fast I was falling. Which was the primary problem: I couldn't relax, so I would get more and more balled up and tense, hunker forward, start sliding out of control, and end up laying down to keep from hurtling to my death. I learned in physical therapy I have a hard time knowing what my body is doing in terms of form. Carrie would tell me to get my back flat and I would swear it was. I had to have detailed instructions of what to do to actually get in the right position. Deana was quickly discovering this shortcoming of mine. She'd tell me to get up straight and I would swear I was. But I look at this picture and I can see immediately, I wasn't. I'm hunched over. And all of this bad form was stressing my hamstrings to no end.
We took a break (in other words, I took my skis off without falling down first) and waved at the passerbys overhead, even those who needed to ask, "Are you guys okay?" (Plus a few more "Cookie Monster!" hellos)
I also have to admit, even when I should have them, I just hate sunglasses. I always have. Part of it is not being able to see people's eyes -- it throws me off. And part of it is the discoloration of the shade. So most of the time, I kept my sunglasses around my neck.
After the break, when my legs felt a little better, we got back to it and between forcing myself to relax and lean back (straight up, but it felt like back), things started clicking. It's like learning to play a piece on the piano, or ride a bike or roller skate -- you are forcing your body to do things before it's mapped in your mind. And it just takes time and practice to catch the brain up to speed about how this is supposed to feel. 
So there are finally more pictures of me upright than on the ground from this point forward.
Most of the rest of the way was Deana shouting "pizza slice!" "Push those legs!" "Pick up that ski!" and me realizing each time, even though I was getting exhausted, doing it was getting easier and making more sense. So we zig-zagged down, back and forth from one side to the other, turning the skis back the other way, and doing it again. I got ahead of myself once and managed to wipe out again, but that was the last fall of the day.
But by the "Easiest Way Down" marker, my legs were telling me I had a very short space between their current pain and complete shutdown. So we took the easy way only to discover we had arrived. . . at the wrong place. Our gear was further down the slope. Of course. Easy is not always expedient. But just getting the skis off and sitting was worth it. We also tromped through the masses toward the shuttle to more cries of "Cookie Monster" including one very baked dude who wanted to start up a conversation. I think was was exacerbating his case of the munchies.
Deana managed to figure out which bus we needed while I sat plopped on the bench.
And after about 15 minutes we found ourselves back where we started. Deana had brought a celebratory lunch, including champagne and Toblerone chocolate (man, the white chocolate was amazing...) and I finally was able to shed the Frankenboots and sink my sore feet gloriously into my Ugg boots again. Even better, Maggies (the spot where we ate) was blasting 80s on 8 tunes from Sirius/XM.
Deana did Silverthorne by herself, which took about half an hour. It took us three and a half with me in tow. But I made it, all the way down on skis, even though there were plenty of times I wanted to take them off and just walk, or hail one of the emergency snowmobile guys, or just curl up in a little ball and curse at how hard it all was. I made it all the way on my own.
So Deana joined me in my basking, snow boots still on, as we reflected on the absolute beauty of the place and the day.
We got our gear dropped off, with some hapless Aussie dude who couldn't find our paperwork, but just wrote our names down as "successfully returned", and we were on our way through town by 4:00, quite joyously taking the scenic route, although in this part of the country, even the Interstate view is breathtaking.
Up the lift.
And up (all of this up means a loooong way down.)
Whew! Off the lift. Missed the picture of me falling off the lift, though.
And sitting, mostly in between falling. . . 
Rare upright picture.
Deana brought champagne and chocolate for our victorious return to the bottom.
And then she hit the slopes again. And I sat right here and basked in the sunlight, listening to the 80s songs they were piping across the snow, thanking God I didn't break anything.
Awesome day, all around!Dear wakabacgame, |
| Dear camryn, Sorry for this I will refund money back for you within few days. Thanks. - wakabacgame |
I have owned this robe since 1985, when Mom bought it for me at the newly opened Macy's in Baybrook Mall. I can still see us getting the salesperson to pull it down from the high rack, this super soft, extra thick, dark blue terry cloth robe that has lasted me more than 25 years. It's been with me through those slender days of high school, to college, into marriage, to the hospital for the birth of both of my children, through the fat years, and back again. When I was on bedrest right before Samantha was born I stitched the kids' names on the pockets out of boredom. This is my robe and I have every intention of taking this baby with me to the nursing home.
This picture really doesn't do it justice: the thing is downright mangy. The back has rips and splits and he pretty much wears it for days on end.
So, okay, looking at this picture I can see the family's point. And I am hereby pledging to put some bad boy Frankenstein stitches on it and then find a great chenille patch to cover the repair and spruce it up. After 26 years, it's the least I can do. 
The dogs look a little put out here because we aren't walking but I was delighted at the way the trail lit up all golden as we turned the corner, just waiting for us to get into that sunshine. 
So there is still laundry to fold and dishes to put away (the bed is made, woo-hoo!). . . but this was exactly what I needed this morning. 
It had grayish-white paneling throughout the interior and mom made white curtains for all the windows. It hauled all the camping supplies, the big blue canvas tent that weighed a ton, the coleman stoves, coolers, boxes of food, the porta-potty, and a day bed.
The big blue tent was where Mom, Dad, and I would sleep. But the green van was where Mammammy and Grandaddy bunked when they went with us.
It blended in well with the forest we drove it through each summer.
It took us down to Port Aransas with all the fishing gear.
All it takes is looking at these pictures to get me lusting after a road trip. Maybe it's the mid-winter blues, but I'm looking forward to the drive to Brekenridge Saturday as much as I am the skiing.
