King of the Mountain

This weekend marked my official start to the ski patrol season. Unfortunately I had to cut my Christmas holiday visiting short but even more unfortunate was the weather forecast. Typically, I like to ride my snowboard in snow. I don’t mind if it’s cold or windy, but rain is a whole different story and that’s exactly what it was doing on Saturday. Even with rain and temperatures in the 40’s, the mountain stayed open.

Initially I wasn’t crazy about the idea of getting to the mountain at 8:30am to slide around on my board in the rain, but I figured since I had to be out I’d make the most of it. To my surprise the snow was really nice. Since it was warm and rainy everything was really soft. The mountain was virtually empty so I decided to test the limits of my board and have some fun. Also, Scott was patrolling with me so he grabbed his tele gear to get some practice.

After a few runs I realized that the conditions were truly fantastic. I could practically set an edge just by looking at it. I was digging trenches like a prison chain-gang. A few times I managed to drag my toes and bury the nose but it didn’t matter because the snow was so soft and forgiving. The mountain was ours except for a few other patrollers, several employees and about a dozen paying customers. By the time my shift was over I was soaked from head to toe but I didn’t care. I was having so much fun I decided to keep riding for an additional three hours. I even spent some time helping a new snowboarder learn some technique.

We were back on the mountain Sunday morning and the conditions could not have been more different. It was a bluebird day and much colder. Everything had firmed up overnight but as the sun continued to rise it softened up the cookies and made for some ideal riding. By the time my shift was over I was thoroughly worked and ready to get off my board. The riding turned out to be much better than I expected. The forecast is calling for cold temperatures and additional snow over the next week so hopefully it will be a solid season on the slopes.

Adult Santa

Contrary to what the title says, I’m not talking about a jolly man stripped out of his red suit having his way with a woman that’s been naughty and one that’s been nice (ho ho ho everybody). Now, if you could bring your mind out of the gutter I’d like to be a little more serious (but not really). This weekend I was having dinner with friends at Alison’s house and the question was asked if her kids still believed in Santa Claus. She said they no longer did but this got me thinking: why isn’t there a Santa Claus type thing for adults to believe in?

I’m not saying that grown-ups should try to convince themselves of something as obnoxious as a fat guy sliding down a chimney with a sack of gifts, but why not have something for adults to get excited about? The way I see it, once you stop believing in Santa Claus everything goes downhill. After Saint Nick is out of the picture it’s no longer milk, cookies, and trees surrounded by gifts. Sugar plums are replaced with shopping malls and lines and wrapping paper and trying to find presents that those on your list might actually like (or at least pretend to like). It takes a lot of work.

This is where a person or thing or abstract idea or amebic vapor would be useful because it would give me (as a non-Santa Claus believer) a reason to get keyed up about this holiday again. Granted, I truly do enjoy getting to see my family, the food is fantastic, and having some time off of work is a nice touch but the rest of this holiday seems to be more stressful than it should be. It would just be nice to know that falling asleep on Christmas Eve would mean that mustard companies would change back to the screw top lids. Now that’s something to believe in.

Happy Holidays Everyone!

A Dusty Shade of Pink

As a new homeowner I have developed a fairly substantial list of projects that I want to take on in order to improve and update my house. The dwelling was built in the fifties and therefore has a few items that need updating or improving. One of the items on the list is adding insulation to the attic.

This weekend my father decided to make a visit to the SC and help me with this project. He arrived on Friday night and the plan was to start working first thing on Saturday morning. We took a quick look around the attic on Friday (without actually climbing the whole way in) to see what the existing situation was and began to strategize for the morning. After several trips to the local big box home store we had 36 giant rolls of insulation ready to be unrolled.

My dad was first to go into the attic. I handed up supplies through the miniature opening in the ceiling and he staged them as best he could. On several occasions I heard a few expletives and, upon inquiring what was wrong, my dad said that there wasn’t enough room to move around. I knew my roof was low so the space was limited but I didn’t realize just how tight it was. Well, I was about to find out.

I climbed into the attic to be greeted by old, blown insulation that was plenty dusty, lot of cobwebs, and less room than I ever imagined. When I say it was was close quarters I mean there wasn’t enough room for me to sit completely upright at the ridgeline. It was not the most ideal situation but we were determined to make the most of it.

After about four hours of crawling, shimmying, wriggling, and using our hands and knees as feet, we had as much fluffy pink insulation installed as possible without compromising the ventilation. I also had more fiberglass pieces in my hands and arms than I cared for. Of course, with the weather turning cold, I’ve not only made my house more insulated, I’ve made my skin more efficient too.

Who Are You Talking To?

Recently I’ve noticed that I’ve developed an interesting habit. I talk to myself. While this might not seem like a big deal, I kind of think it might be. When I say I talk to myself I don’t me the occasional “What should I have for dinner?”. I’m engaging in full-on detailed conversations and I’m doing it out loud. It’s making me feel a little crazy. I’ve always had an internal monologue going in my head, but this is a whole different ballgame.

After a lengthy discussion with myself, I came to the conclusion that I might be feeling a bit lonely. Here’s how my theory goes (or at least what I’ve discussed with myself). For the past several years I was sharing a house with my friend Brian. We spent a lot of time together so I would talk to him. He typically wasn’t paying attention to my ramblings but there was at least another human that could have added to the discussion. Well, in July I bought a house and Brian took a job as a fancy-pants college professor. Now, I’m living alone and don’t have anyone except for myself to talk to.

I don’t think it’s that odd. I know plenty of people that talk to their pets (non-conversational talking) or sing along with the radio (musical talking) or spend time writing (silent talking). I’ve just decided to externalize my thoughts. What does seem to be a bit nutty is that I recently noticed I was having a conversation with myself when other people were around. That freaked me out a bit and made me a little concerned that I might be on my way to getting a house-full of cats, letting my fingernails grow, and wearing tissue boxes on my feet. Fortunately I’ve recognized this issue and I’ve decided it would be better for me to talk to other actual humans. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

Giving What You Can

About two and a half years ago I made a decision. It wasn’t a major life-changing endeavor, but more of a case of laziness. For the last thirty months or so I’ve been letting my hair grow (I told you it wasn’t a big deal).

This rejection of hair management techniques took on several different iterations. Originally it started as a way to keep my head warm in the winter. However, once the spring rolled around I decided to keep it for a little while and see what it was like to once again have long hair (I was once a stand in for Gene Wilder).

After a year or so, it started getting a bit obnoxious and people began asking when I was going to get it cut. At this point, I was just starting to enjoy the fluffy coif and began telling people I was growing it out so I could donate it. That answer was somehow a socially acceptable reason to allow myself to resemble a convict. After a while however, I realized I’d need to follow through on this claim. This weekend, in the spirit of giving thanks, I decided to make good on my plan.

At first I wasn’t sure if I was ready to give up my Sampson-esque locks but as my mom (that’s right, my mom cuts my hair) began laying waste to my curls, it became easier to accept. After about two hours the majority of my hair was gone. It was actually kind of nice to have my neck exposed to the freedom of the outside world. I knew it was the right decision when I asked my six year old niece what she thought and she replied, “Now you finally look like a man.” While I appreciate her youthful honesty, I’m looking forward to saving money on shampoo.

Talkin' Turkey

Lately we’ve been experiencing some unseasonably warm weather here in the SC. This weekend was no different. I was happy the weather was decent because this past Saturday was a special day. After doing some yard work I decided to fully embrace my role as the sole provider for my family of one. I did what any red-blooded male would do this time of year. I exercised my right to bear arms, grabbed my shotgun, and headed for the woods.

Saturday marked the end of the turkey hunting season until next spring. Since Thanksgiving is only a few days away I decided it would be fitting to provide a fresh wild turkey for the table. I met up with Brian at his camp about two o’clock. That didn’t leave much daylight for shooting, but I was overly confident I wouldn’t need much time. After getting into maximum camouflage and popping a few shells into my gun, we headed out.

About an hour into the hunt Brian and I found ourselves on top of a ridge where we anticipated the turkeys would return for their nightly roosting. We had about thirty-minutes of daylight left so we hunkered down near a tree to wait. Shortly after we got comfortable we heard that unmistakable gobble of a turkey, and he was close-by. We positioned ourselves just off the ridge-top so the turkey wouldn’t see us but unfortunately we were a bit too far off the top because we couldn’t see him either. Because of this predicament we decided to slowly head back to the top with the hope of seeing the turkey before he saw us.

With guns at the ready we made our move. Each step was calculated and slow. It was like walking on eggshells. Ironically it sounded like we were actually on eggshells because of all the dried leaves under foot. All of a sudden we saw our prize. At that very moment he must have seen us too because he started running and began to fly up into the trees. As I tracked him with my gun; finger on the trigger; waiting for the shot that would knock my Thanksgiving centerpiece out of the air; the business end of my weapon found a tree. I waited to hear Brian’s gun echo through the valley but all I heard was silence (followed by a few profanities).

As the final shreds of shooting light faded, Brian and I watched the last bird of the season escape to the safety of the trees. Empty handed, we headed back to the cabin. On the way back we recounted the missed opportunity and began to concoct a more dramatic story to tell the rest of the hunters. At the end of the day I was okay with the turkey escaping because the spring season isn’t too far off. Besides, the grocery store sells turkeys too.

Plus One

This weekend, after a long nine months, the little bundle of joy known affectionately as “Iggy” joined the outside world. On Saturday, Scott & Ieva welcomed a son into their lives. Not only do we finally get Ieva back into the fold (and just before ski season), we all kind of get a nephew.

While I already have eight nieces and nephews that are actually related to me, Iggy will be the first child born to friends that are a major part of my life. Sure I have other friends with children, but this is different because Scott & Ieva live here in the SC so I get to see them all the time.

I don’t know yet how having a baby will affect the limits of what Scott & Ieva are able to do, but I have a feeling they won’t skip a beat and pick back up right where they left off. After all, Scott & Ieva are pretty radical people. And if things get hectic, there will be more than enough people ready to help out when they can.

I just recently found out the specifics of Iggy (weight, size, name, etc.) and I’ve only seen one picture, but I know this kid will have lots of love and no shortage of things to do or people to help raise him. I’ll eventually get a chance to see the young lad but for now, the new family will get to be, well, a family. Congratulations Scott & Ieva and welcome to parenthood.