Somehow the ski gods are conspiring against us, or should I say, against me. The weather has been terrible, and we are battling sickness and pestilence on the home front (now do you see where the kids get all their drama?). Either way, I had another brilliant plan to hit the slopes, and once again, I was shot down in flames. Last weekend me and N got to ski while A&R hit the town, which was fun. I had this grand notion of going again on Sunday, but it was hinted to me that it might not go down too well with the locals, so I did the smart and political thing and abstained. We actually spent a nice day at home, though I can't quite recall what we did. Go figure.
ANYWAY, I thought, this next week we'll get two days of skiing in. I figure we have a blessing to do a weekend ski day, and if we sneaked one in during the week, we were in business. Of course, that wasn't meant to be. While we were sick yet on the mend last week, we got sick again this week. My original scheme was to ski at Dartmouth on Thursday, then Quechee on Friday so the kids could see all their friends.
Then this crazy storm rolled in last night that brought with it what seemed like 100 mph winds. I seriously thought some trees were going to fall, and at the very least, we'd lost electricity, but neither happened. The temperature dropped, however, to below zero, and the windchill was around the negative teens.
Along with being sick, there was no way we were going to ski. Oh well, another plan up in smoke. On the bright side, at least we're not stressing about getting to the ski hill. And if we're really lucky, we just might squeak in a day this weekend, but now that I've said it, it's pretty much a given that it isn't going to happen. Me and my big mouth
Until the next time, thanks for reading, and thanks to sanja gjenero for the pic.