Snow Bunny

Allie in Tahoe. 

After a four-year hiatus I tried skiing again. I had retired from the sport with a pronounced flourish about eight years ago. The time- money-effort-fun ratio was not computing for me. I was skiing at Heavenly with my stepfather and it was one of those very cold days that was so foggy I couldn't see four feet in front of me. I had the epiphany. This is NOT fun! I made my way down the mountain, turned in the ski boots and decided I would never put them on again. Ever.

Pleased with my choice, I went to the outdoor pool and swam while big, fat flakes fell down on me. I realized it wasn't that I didn't enjoy being in snow country. I loved it in limited doses.  I just didn't like the hassle of skiing. The few minutes of thrill or peace or whatever one can find in the sport was not worth the effort of getting to those few moments. Also, at that time I was really addicted to tennis and didn't want to get hurt. Blowing out your knee on the slopes will really kill your tennis game.

After I met Eric I went back on my vow and did ski a couple times with him, but it wasn't a priority for either of us. The years went by while we did other things. We recently took a long weekend in Tahoe and stayed in a hotel with a melt your heart view of Lake Tahoe.

The first day Eric went skiing and I took a "me" day. I started out walking through a neighborhood but then I came upon a charming graveyard named "Trail's End Cemetery". Although the headstones were mostly covered in snow, you could see how much humor and thought had been put into the memorials. There was a post with two bears and someone's headstone was a pair of ski tips pointing up out of the snow.

Beyond the groovy graveyard was a large, open field. Trudging across that field in the snow brought me back to when I was ten or eleven and would scrabble around by myself in winter. I was such a nature girl and where we lived in New York was so remote and safe that I could go on my own adventures. Most of the homes were only used in summer. I could traipse all over with abandon.

On my Tahoe day I felt like I did when I was a kid. It was so peaceful channeling my youthful self. The only difference was that I was also channeling Pandora through the ear buds attached to my iPhone. I also started channeling memories of other trips to Tahoe when the kids were little. Some of them were sweet - others more traumatic.

Once we went to Tahoe when Lana was five months old and in a body cast. We had this wonderful baby bag that we could stick her in. It was like a sleeping bag with two legs and kept her really warm. One of the challenges of the body cast (which was to correct a congenital hip problem) was to keep the diaper area as dry as possible so the cast wouldn't get wet which would then degrade the skin. We ended up at the lodge at Northstar at lunchtime and it was packed. It was snowing so everyone was taking a ski break all at once. There was no way to get to the restroom and no place to change her inside. I had to put Lana on a blanket, outside on the picnic table for a quick change. A woman walked by and said very loudly, "First they broke her legs and now look what they're doing to her!"

Even without a body cast to contend with, skiing with the children could be very challenging. In retrospect we probably should have availed ourselves more fully of the ski school option. There must have been reasons at the time; such as they refused to attend. It was also very pricey for three kids. So they went with their parents, which mostly meant me. Their father seemed to have a gift for slipping off to ski while I was dealing with the children. I'd get everyone cinched up in her snow gear and inevitably there would be a need for a pee break or a demand for hot chocolate. Why even bother trying to ski?

Allie just adored the snow when she was little and would cry when we had to leave the mountains. One time we had some weather going over the summit and it was slow going in the traffic on the way home. It was quite cold when we left the lake so Allie was buckled into her car seat wearing her snow clothes. After we'd been driving for a while I turned around and checked the back seat. All three girls were sleeping including Allie who was still strapped in her car seat without a stitch of clothing on. She must have gotten too warm and somehow peeled it all off while we drove. Lucky for her, it was a time before Instagram.

Another snowy trip home became a very exciting adventure. The travel was so slow and before we even got over the summit the girls needed a bathroom break. We pulled off and went to a restaurant/lodge at one of the exits. We all hustled into the restroom. Robert was waiting for us in the lobby. I joined him and then came Allie and Lucy. Allie, who was around four years old, announced that she'd found a hundred dollar bill on the floor of the bathroom. Then came Lana (7 or 8) who said she found a BUNCH of hundred dollar bills on the floor.

Part of me just wanted to take the money and run, but I realized I was setting a moral example. I suggested we go to the car and talk it over. It was six hundred bucks and we knew that if we just turned it in we'd never see it again. We also knew we'd feel terrible if it was someone's life savings that had fallen out of their pocket in the restroom. We agreed to leave our name and number in case someone came looking for missing money.

The girls were out of their minds. Lana and Allie sat in the car clutching the hundred dollar bills as we drove home. We talked about it for hours and planned how to use the money if it wasn't claimed. Since the ski weekend had been expensive we all agreed that half of it would go to help defray the cost and each of the girls would get a hundred dollars to put in their bank accounts. Nobody ever claimed the money. We were up six hundred bucks and had a great story to tell.

One trip brought near disaster. It was one of those years with record snowfall. We were staying in a condo that looked like all the others and the snow was so high you couldn't easily distinguish one from the other. In late afternoon I took Lana and Allie out to play in the snow for a little while before dinner.

Lana, as was her habit, wandered away while my back was turned. I started to look for her and got disoriented. Fear shot through me and I raced to the condo to get help. We all fanned out to look for her, calling and searching as the light faded. The icicles were three feet long and menacing. I imagined her being smothered by snow drifting off the roof. I have no accurate recollection of the elapsed time, but in mother years it was a lifetime. At some point we found her with one of the neighbors who was trying to return her. Phew.

Another family outing also did not end well. A major lack of communication ended up with me being left at the resort after a day of skiing. I had no money, no phone and it was getting dark and quite cold. Robert assumed that I'd gone home with my stepfather and Lana and Allie. I never said I was going home with them, but you know what they say about assumptions.  It was near the end of the twenty-year marriage and did not bode well for the future. I was fuming about it for days. Perhaps I still am.

I never skied enough to justify owning equipment so I always rented. At one point in the eighties one of my sisters offered to sell me a pair of her old boots for fifteen dollars. I told her I wanted to try them out before I paid her. Fair enough. I wore them for half a day when a crisis ensued. At the top of the mountain one of the ski boots broke apart. My sock was exposed and it was impossible to ski.

The lift operators chuckled and mentioned something about the Exploding Nordicas. Said it happened all the time. Do you know how one gets down the mountain when one can't ski? On a rescue gurney sled, strapped in, head facing down the mountain. The world is whizzing by, onlookers are gawking and the sled is thumping and bumping along for an eternity.

By contrast, our latest trip was uneventful after the hairy voyage over the mountain in a snowstorm. Eric's solo ski day was uncrowded. He could ski unimpeded by waiting in the lift lines. He was wishing he had a child to take for hot chocolate so he could rest. By two-thirty he'd had enough.

The next day I skied and we met up with Lucy and Greg. Lucy has become quite the boarder and Greg is a wild man. He views the runs as mere suggestions. Boot packing up hills and rough terrain make it that much more fun. For me the conditions weren't great. Dust on crust isn't my favorite, but it was fun to be out there. Maybe I can be a snow bunny for a little longer.

Lana in her body cast in the snow.

Lucy in Tahoe. 

The Hallmark Holiday

In late January a certain someone and I were in a lovely town with a pleasant atmosphere and charming shops. One of the shops had pink and red hearts stuck to the window. A woman on the street commented with a shudder that the store was already promoting Valentines Day. A certain someone jumped right in with a snort, "Yeah. The Hallmark holiday."

Since I am the sweetie of the certain someone with the cynical attitude, my feathers were a little ruffled. The more I thought about it, the more ruffled they got. I remembered last year when it seemed all the women close to me were with men who felt put upon and aggrieved by this dangerous day. It was so threatening to them and they were anxious about screwing it up.

We know men love the chase. It's their biological imperative.  They are so good at wooing a woman. When that woman is wooed and wowed with sufficient energy the deal is usually sealed. I love the image of the caveman dragging a woman back to his lair, by the hair. Once she's firmly installed by the hearth many men can get a little lazy. Or maybe a lot lazy. To put it in the kindest terms, once he's bagged her, he's on to focusing on other things.

Not so fast, mister. Like I always say, I'm low maintenance- not no maintenance. Women like hearts and flowers. Especially Stargazer Lilies and Tulips. Actually, we love them. Women like gestures on an ongoing basis. Sometimes guys aren't so great with that.  Okay, we probably forgive the lack of gifts or flowers, but don't also trash our day!

It's like Mother's Day for relationships. On Mother's Day we appreciate the special person who gives every day all year.  The same is true for Valentine's Day. I'm sure there are some guys who don't slow down on the sweet gestures as the years go by, but I personally have never been married to one.

Men are so stressed about getting it right they decide it's a stupid occasion. Guys, this could not be simpler. You know those little gestures you should be doing once in a while? Do them now! Flowers, chocolate or a card. Even a panty bouquet from Victoria Secret.  Stop grumping about it and be thankful for all the reminders! They're impossible to ignore.

I've decided to do my own boycott of romantic Valentine's Day this year. I'm going to celebrate with people who really care about this special day- massage therapists and manicurists. No. Not really. I'm going to celebrate with kindergartners. This day is their high holiday and the more hearts and flowers and sweets and treats the better.  I heart twenty-three five and six year olds and they heart me back.

"Hearts and Flowers" card by Jessica Vaughan, Bonny Doon, CA.

Hot Attack

Lately I've done some thinking about problems. Everyone has them but how bad are they? It’s a hierarchy that's constantly changing. Am I lucky or unlucky? What is the difference? It's a recurring theme in the conversations I have in my head. It's all relative. We know that.

If I start to feel sorry for myself I try to catch myself. Someone always has it worse - all too frequently someone I know. That can help, but you still feel what you feel even if it's not as bad as it could be. I've had the strange experience of feeling simultaneously grateful and resentful which is a bit confusing.

I've been going through some stuff- much of it unpleasant and physical, but I am basically healthy. That said, for a while there it was not very much fun to be me.

After four years of avoiding and deflecting I finally agreed to the dreaded routine colonoscopy. It was a little less than routine because I have a history of bleeding problems. Prior surgeries led to potentially fatal complications. Decades of heavy periods and battles with anemia were ongoing challenges. I have a daughter who has Von Willebrand's disease, which is a bleeding disorder in the Hemophilia family. The condition is hereditary. You get it from your children. Not really, but I think of it that way since Allie was the first to be diagnosed.

Due to my medical history and the fact that Allie has VWD, we assumed that I also have it, but there had been no official diagnosis. The colonoscopy would not take place until blood tests could confirm it. Special precautions could then be made before and after the procedure.

Menopause became a complicating factor. I had heard the expression that the weather in San Francisco is like menopause. You're always either too hot or too cold. I didn't really know what that meant until I started having what I call "hot attacks". My thermostat broke and my body betrayed me. I was waking up every hour or two drenched in sweat. More exhausted than I've been since Lucy was a newborn, I could barely get through the day. Enter hormone replacement therapy. I took it for a few months to stabilize my sanity or some semblance of it.

Unfortunately, hormones can disrupt the results of the blood tests for VWD. Reluctantly I tossed out the pills and decided to tough it out so we could get the answers we needed. Theoretically, it would be for a short time and if I was miserable I could go back on the hormones.

It was not a short time. I was beyond miserable. I could not sleep. The fourth quarter of 2012 is a blur. The lab kept screwing up the tests. The first draw was twelve vials of blood, but they managed to not do the required tests. After several weeks of waiting and hounding the hematologist, I got the news. The test was done improperly and they needed to draw again. Seven more vials. When we went through this with Allie we learned that diagnosis is difficult and it can take multiple blood draws and complicated lab tests to get definitive answers.  It's especially difficult when the tests are not run properly.

More delays, more hounding. More weeks without sleeping. At a certain point lack of sleep becomes a medical issue. I was there. Working a new job with kindergartners every morning but not sleeping at night, I was also working at the shop three days a week. I was so tired I couldn't exercise and gained weight. Beside myself, I sent a frantic fax to my doctor and the hematologist. I was technically well but felt so poorly. Blood was drawn a third time at the hematologist's office. They personally walked it to the lab with the proper
instructions.

Finally the doctors were satisfied with the results. In the third month of testing it was decided my clotting factor is low normal. Call me cynical, but I don't believe the results. I don't think the gastroenterologist believed them, either. She would only do the colonoscopy in the hospital, just in case.

In the beginning of January I had the procedure. Eric took good care of me through the indignities. All is well up my butt and beyond. Just as I thought it would be. It seems like a huge ordeal for a routine test when I had no symptoms or family history. However, if they'd found something I'm sure I'd be feeling pretty damn lucky that I'd done it.

Back To School

Twenty-five years ago Lucy started as a kindergartner at Park School. Her sisters followed and I was a parent there for fourteen years in a row. When Allie graduated from fifth grade I cried because I was so sad to leave Park.  Now I'm back.

For the first time in my life I'm not a student or a parent. I'm a teacher. Well, an assistant teacher. I am  "Miss Wendy".  Selling candles is all well and good and I still do that three afternoons a week, but selling candles doesn't mean anything. It isn't twice as good to sell two candles.

A few months ago I had an ugly realization. Because I have my health benefits through marriage and my husband is seven years older, there will soon be an insurance problem. You’ve heard of Medi-Gap? I will have my own, personal Medi-Gap. Eric will have Medicare coverage in four years. I won't be eligible for eleven. How will I be insured in the interim? This concept really depressed me.

Somehow I thought that after a lifetime of caring for others, I would be cared for too. Not so. Working part time with no benefits is awesome, if you already have benefits and don't need them. It was a purely practical decision to look for work in academia. I was open to working just about any job in any local school district that would ultimately lead to a position with benefits and maybe a small pension. I didn't know I was going back home.

The fact that I am in kindergarten in my neighborhood school where my daughters had so many happy years is sweet. It’s eerie how much I feel the ghosts of their younger selves when I’m on the playground or walking through the halls. The children are SO adorable. They are engaged and imaginative and funny as hell. One of the five year olds announced that because she is Jewish she will be out for all the holidays. Then she paused and said, "Except Valentine's Day!"

So much has changed in a generation, yet much is the same. The families are larger. Gone are the days of zero population growth. Big families are now a status symbol. Three and four children are common. Parental units range from overly protective to seemingly indifferent. That has not changed. The Dads are young and cute. Some of the mothers are so skinny you just want to force a cupcake on them.

Kindergartners are still really short. Sometimes they miss their mommies and cry over the strangest things. They have trouble keeping their shoes tied. That anyone would still wear shoes with laces amazes me. That's what Velcro is for, people. When Lucy was in third grade she had a wonderful Japanese teacher who made them take their shoes off in the classroom. A couple days of that and Lucy demanded I buy her shoes with Velcro. She was not about to waste precious minutes of recess tying her shoelaces.

I am lucky to be working with a wonderful teacher. Someone described her as being like Snow White with birds fluttering around her head. It's an apt image. The program is very academic and structured. There are high expectations for behavior, which dovetail with my own philosophy. School at this level a wonderful break from technology, not just for me, but for the students as well. It's gratifying that I have yet to see a single kindergartner whip out a cell phone. They are learning to read and write the old fashioned way, through repetition and experience.

The principal is named Andy and so is the guinea pig. My first cold has come and gone. I got a flu shot. I pedal home for lunch and take a short nap before going to work at the shop. My afternoons are so peaceful compared to the frenetic mornings.

This job with the school doesn't have enough hours to qualify for benefits, so that problem is as yet unsolved. Maybe something else will come up in the district in the future. For now I get to be part of magic being created in the classroom. I am the magician's assistant.