I grew up in South Texas on Padre Island. I was a beach girl. But I longed for snow. Every time an Artic blast would mosey on down I would pray for snow. But it never did. And every year when our “winter” would fly by, I would again beg and hope for snow. It wouldn’t be until I was 19 years old that I saw real snow. Touched real snow. I was with my mom and my brother. He had moved up north for work right after graduating college and my mom and I went for a visit over Thanksgiving. Seeing snow for the first time is one of the happiest memories from my youth. I was wearing jeans, doc martens and a jacket that seemed to absorb water rather than repel it. But I didn’t care. I was making snow angels, throwing snow balls, and I was having a ball. A year later, my dad took my then boyfriend, now husband on a ski vacation and I was thrilled. I took ski lessons and picked it up pretty quick. We had a great time.
Now fast forward 16 years. My family and I ski. I LOVE to ski. We have lived in the Seattle area for over nine years and gratefully live close to plenty of ski options. We have all the gear, my kids take lessons every year, and we really enjoy this sport as a family. And this was the year. The year that my youngest was good enough to graduate from the magic carpet and stretch his legs out on the bunny slope. I was so happy. I was looking forward to many fun weekends on the slopes.
Life has a funny way of throwing a wrench in your plans. [Read more...]