Weekending in Whistler

On a red eye ferry with a truck packed
with ski bunnies
and tiny skis and stuffed bunnies
we drove
endured too many 
are we there yet? and are we there…yet?!
through British Columbia’s blizzard
with our friends
and our children’s friends
to Whistler Blackcomb
so we knew
it’d be the best sort of getaway
in a condo by a gondola.
The very first day
we were the very last family
out of the condo
with so much
fleece and zippers and buckles and snaps
and potty breaks and
no please I don’t want mittens and no! helmet! and
carry me and four pairs of skis, please!
it quickly becomes clear
with the whines and the ticket prices
why so many don’t ski with three little ones
one look out the gondola
one look on our smiling faces
it quickly becomes clear
why a morning like that
and fifteen fresh inches of snow
make it all worthwhile
to watch our firstborn
in confident giggles
ski for hours
fall in moguls
wipe a tear, straighten a goggle
get back up
all french fries and pizza turns
to watch our firstborn
there once were runs like these:
where the two year old
falls limp, flails in hysteria
begs for blankie, snackie, up-up-up (to be held)
allthewhile kicking my sore thigh with mini ski boots
Olive June
likes snacks at run’s end
rides on Whistler’s Mid-Station Magic Carpet
if you hold hand, Mama
but no matter how I tried
singing silly songs
skiing with, beside, in front
Olive said,
Mama, too scary all done!
in short,
she’s not yet ready to ski
she totally flips out
leaves me sweaty
just then
the sort of friend who senses
frustration, deep breaths
steps in and takes her back to the condo
leaves me in fresh snow
with a middle girl
who’s got it
a Daddy proud to see

two daughters on skis
and me
in fresh snow
the seven year olds
having the time of their lives

a day on the mountain
makes for the right sort of tired
like, Lucy May
asking for hot chocolate
coat unzipped
ski bibs on,
slips sideways on sofa
falls fast asleep,
all snowflake dreams.
A day on Whistler Blackcomb
makes for the right sort of hot tub
rooftop with mountain views
funny views, too:
yup.  we saw a streaker
in white sneakers, white stocking cap
and nothing else
running through the villiage
yup.  six kids aged seven and under
think running naked is really, really funny.
The second day
all sunshine, blue sky
cold, cold air of winter
forgotten in life on our tiny island
far south of where we stood
at high peaks
in stiff boots
I conquered an irrational fear
riding a chairlift with a daughter
while Betty joked, laughed
when I asked her to hold on tight
Mama, if it wasn’t safe
we wouldn’t be able to ride it
just then, at that moment
she sounded just like Luke
so right, confident
so like she skis
hour after hour after hour
my heart swells,
cold cheeks beam under goggles.
On this very last day of skiing
I was thankful for running
for saying good-bye to telemark skiing
for returning to alpine
cranking tunes at Blackcomb’s peak
shuffle’s gift to start the mix: Ice, Ice Baby
Oh yeah,
Luke and I and a friend
in late afternoon’s chill
glaciers and
trees in snow’s magic shell
Blackcomb’s longest run
seven miles
all moguls and yesterday’s snow
in day’s last light
Vanilla Ice’s line about
burnin’ like a pound of bacon
ringing through my head
my thighs about to explode
loving every minute of it:
I have such a crush on Whistler Blackcomb.
It was a great weekend
And that was last weekend.
This weekend’s fever
me, on the couch
navigating a grumpy two year old
and a Kindle
although I love a dogeared page
Five Little Monkeys never looked so good
then, naps
a fundraiser
for a little sweetheart baby
born early
to the best sort of family
with the best sort of name:  Atlas Story
and my heart might explode
when I think of how this island comes together
time after time after time
and this time,
in great music, good company
folding 1,000 paper cranes
amid an auction
and smiles and smiles and smiles.
This morning’s run
by the sea
a part called False Bay
with sneakers atop seaweed
and miles and miles
past farmland, Olympic Peninsula views
had me realize it’s all about the song
that leaves you air drumming
flying Paper Planes
on a roadside.
How was your weekend?
Joining Amanda


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  1. […] It’s a journey we took some time ago [HERE] and [HERE] and last year [HERE]. […]

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