Other Winters

Now that we have gotten through the holidays, I feel up to blogging again. I found it to be a very sad time not having my dad with us for Christmas Eve, Christmas, and New Years for the first time. I keep wanting to know where he is, is he okay, to know I haven't forgotten him.

When we were younger, we would spend the entire week between Christmas and New Years up in Northern New Hampshire skiing (as well as every winter weekend!) My dad (and mom) learned to ski when they were in their thirties which is much harder to do than when you are young. I hated skiing when I first tried learning, the cold fingers and toes, falling down and not being able to get up, the damn rope toe kept slipping through my fingers. Through the tears, my dad grabbed onto my poles and pulled me up the little hill over and over and over until I managed to make it down without falling. Once I got stronger, skiing got really fun. How did we manage to spend entire winter days falling through snow storms, ice clinging to eyelashes, crashing down slippery icy slopes? I made skiing friends, grew bold, hungered for more wintry mountain adventures. Skiing was a good antidote to manufactured girl helplessness, Seventeen Magazine, voicelessness.