It was a beautiful snowy week. Perfect for skiing, hot chocolate and books. Jerry sat in the front seat while my very patient son-in-law, Dave, drove the long narrow roads to Snowshoe. They're knuckles may have been white, as we circled that mountain on those snowy roads, but Jerry didn't say a word. Lucky for Dave. Jerry and I were invited (paid for) so we could babysit our 4 grand baby boys. Works for me! Jerry loves to sit with baby Mac and pat his leg. Mac, being number 3, loves that too. My only request was not to have all four AWAKE at the same time. I mean, we are talking about 4 boys under the age of 5. (PLUS JERRY) I knew Jerry would want to ski. I felt so bad and I constantly was trying to distract him from the reality that he would not be putting on any skis.
As a break, I got to go out everyday. I snowplowed 4 runs! On the first day, I fell and couldn't get up. It was a "particularly steep" green, ya know. After a few unsuccessful attempts, I decided sliding down on my back might work. There I was, flat on my back, arms and poles spread wide, skis under me, when three cute snowboarders stopped by and said, "you need any help?" My first thought was "NO! WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE? YOU MORON!" Course, considering it was me who looked like the moron, I just smiled, waved them on, and said, "Oh no. You'll never get me up. I think I'll just slide on down. Thanks being such gentlemen."
Jerry was not happy about my leaving him for that hour. At one time, he actually stomped his feet when he saw me put on my jacket. Seriously! He stomped his feet like a child. I have never seen that before. I "lied" and told him that the doctor said it would be too dangerous for him to ski. I use the doctor as an excuse quite often. He skeptically accepted it, and once my daughter coaxed him into the hot tub, he was fine.
It seems I have a problem with ski lifts. Like the time on the Soaring Eagle lift, when I couldn't get off because my butt got caught on the edge of the chair. That wouldn't have happened if it didn't droop so much. (and I'm not talking about the lift, either.) Nonetheless, that stinkin' lift just scooped me back up and started taking me back down the mountain! There I was hanging on for dear life as my son-in-law, Jason, was yelling, "Stop! Stop!" Once the lift stopped I found myself dangling about 6 feet above the ground. What was I to do..but, jump off! On my skis! Without falling!
Now, on the Ballhooter lift, NO ONE TOLD ME ABOUT THE RED LINE. What red line? You know, the line where the skier stands waiting to sit as the lift turns the corner. Way too early, I plopped onto the chair as it moved around. Feeling rather proud, I moved right along and two skiers at the RED LINE, dropped right into my lap. What! I'm so sorry. Help! There we were, poles and skis all tangled up as we hung in the balance over a hundred foot drop?
As a treat to Jerry we all went tubing on the last night. That was a taste of reality to me. It took 30 minutes to layer him up so he wouldn't get cold, but I bundled him until he could hardly move. I handed him his tube and we all followed each other over to the pulley where his tube would be attached. I motioned for him to sit in the tube. He kept trying to stand in the tube. "No, Jerry. You need to sit. Just sit down in the hole." He just couldn't get it so they stopped the pulley. After gently forcing him down, he dropped into the tube and off he went, feet straight up in the air. Sigh! In spite of all the struggle, he loved the ride down and the whole series was repeated for about 20 times, until I was frozen like a stick and he was happy!
Thus you have the saga of the ski trip. Lots of work. Lots of fun. Wonderful.