A bit about the first time I went skiing
My family is a clan of skiiers. If you are a member of this clan and looked around this website, you might have caught on to this already.
As a youngin, my parents and sister would go skiing while I stayed with my grandparents.
Now, I am about 4 or 5 at the time, but I do fuzzily remember having the conversation of when Larissa would ski. It may have been a bit of reverse psychology on my parents' part, or maybe I'm imagining that, but the gist was discussing whether I was too scared. I recall disinterest, but no fear. It was mostly something like, "well, USUALLY I'd prefer to stay at Nana and Didi's, they DO have cable, but I GUESS I could humor you..." Cool as a cucumber.
The first run went well (as well as can be for a 5-year old being completely supported by mama bear) but I was afraid of the chair lift. No problem, I thought, I will simply walk up the hill from now on.
And so I did. I made myself at home on the side of the bunny hill (realistically, this was probably a meadow off the side of the chairlift loading area with an incline of about 5 degrees, but it seemed like a solid hill to me) and had myself a ball all day long.
Until my family came back. They said: all right, you've got the hang of it, but now you need to take a real run.
To the top.
The evil, windy top of the mountain.
Must.
I screamed and I ravaged in the lift line. This was a weekend and likely a long wait, but nothing like the eternity it felt like. I struggled and cried at those who had forsaken me, and my parents got filthy looks from every last person in that line. My parents, not used to getting tantrums from me, pathetically but firmly repeated, "you're going to go and you will like it." When my executioner finally arrived, they all but stopped the chair to load the melting, flailing toddler onto the lift. By this point it was nighttime and the lights were on, only adding to the horror of heading uphill into the abyss.
I should add that I was promised animal-puppet mittens from the ski store as a reward for undertaking this feat. I still have not received any puppy, elephant, or lion mittens (with googly eyes and a toungue on the thumb), but, in hindsight, I will forgive it and relinquish that twenty years of lift tickets and ever-outgrowing ski wear shall suffice as a fair trade.
Oh, and I forgot to tell you, I loved it. Absolutely, freaking loved it. I may have giggled the whole way down the trail. Upon reaching the base, I giddily demanded we go up again. The answer was no, but maybe you can go again next year.
I think I made it back a few times.
My family is a clan of skiiers. If you are a member of this clan and looked around this website, you might have caught on to this already.
As a youngin, my parents and sister would go skiing while I stayed with my grandparents.
Now, I am about 4 or 5 at the time, but I do fuzzily remember having the conversation of when Larissa would ski. It may have been a bit of reverse psychology on my parents' part, or maybe I'm imagining that, but the gist was discussing whether I was too scared. I recall disinterest, but no fear. It was mostly something like, "well, USUALLY I'd prefer to stay at Nana and Didi's, they DO have cable, but I GUESS I could humor you..." Cool as a cucumber.
The first run went well (as well as can be for a 5-year old being completely supported by mama bear) but I was afraid of the chair lift. No problem, I thought, I will simply walk up the hill from now on.
And so I did. I made myself at home on the side of the bunny hill (realistically, this was probably a meadow off the side of the chairlift loading area with an incline of about 5 degrees, but it seemed like a solid hill to me) and had myself a ball all day long.
Until my family came back. They said: all right, you've got the hang of it, but now you need to take a real run.
To the top.
The evil, windy top of the mountain.
Must.
I screamed and I ravaged in the lift line. This was a weekend and likely a long wait, but nothing like the eternity it felt like. I struggled and cried at those who had forsaken me, and my parents got filthy looks from every last person in that line. My parents, not used to getting tantrums from me, pathetically but firmly repeated, "you're going to go and you will like it." When my executioner finally arrived, they all but stopped the chair to load the melting, flailing toddler onto the lift. By this point it was nighttime and the lights were on, only adding to the horror of heading uphill into the abyss.
I should add that I was promised animal-puppet mittens from the ski store as a reward for undertaking this feat. I still have not received any puppy, elephant, or lion mittens (with googly eyes and a toungue on the thumb), but, in hindsight, I will forgive it and relinquish that twenty years of lift tickets and ever-outgrowing ski wear shall suffice as a fair trade.
Oh, and I forgot to tell you, I loved it. Absolutely, freaking loved it. I may have giggled the whole way down the trail. Upon reaching the base, I giddily demanded we go up again. The answer was no, but maybe you can go again next year.
I think I made it back a few times.
A bit about myself
You'll find me in Columbus, where I live in a pretty cool neighborhood. Older homes, some trees left, and just a neat unique feel of laid-backedness. Most weekends you will find me putzing around my apartment which overlooks a really fantastic ravine. I make feeble attempts at playing wifey: cooking, sewing, and gardening. Me and Husband are trying to jazz up the ravine with some much-needed landscaping. It's a big job, but a work in progress nonetheless!
If it is your birthday, you may be lucky enough to receive a custom made birthday card from yours truly. If you didn't get one, don't feel bad. I've been making these cards for several years and frankly, it's gotten really hard to top myself and come up with new ideas. But you never know when a clever or morbid doodle will cross my mind, so there's still hope!
On more exciting weekends, you will find me skiing, snowboarding, canoeing or camping. I travel up to Buffalo quite a bit, where I hail from. Many of my friends have moved to other parts of the country, and I hope to make my way across the great states soon. I've been as far west as the Rockies (both American and Canadian) but I'm comin for you, world!
You'll find me in Columbus, where I live in a pretty cool neighborhood. Older homes, some trees left, and just a neat unique feel of laid-backedness. Most weekends you will find me putzing around my apartment which overlooks a really fantastic ravine. I make feeble attempts at playing wifey: cooking, sewing, and gardening. Me and Husband are trying to jazz up the ravine with some much-needed landscaping. It's a big job, but a work in progress nonetheless!
If it is your birthday, you may be lucky enough to receive a custom made birthday card from yours truly. If you didn't get one, don't feel bad. I've been making these cards for several years and frankly, it's gotten really hard to top myself and come up with new ideas. But you never know when a clever or morbid doodle will cross my mind, so there's still hope!
On more exciting weekends, you will find me skiing, snowboarding, canoeing or camping. I travel up to Buffalo quite a bit, where I hail from. Many of my friends have moved to other parts of the country, and I hope to make my way across the great states soon. I've been as far west as the Rockies (both American and Canadian) but I'm comin for you, world!