Mountain Music

I was going to work. He was going to school. We really were!

Plentiful snow had fallen around Burlington, but I awoke with the best of intentions to continue on my weary search for work. When the report from the Mountain came in at 21”, my son did not have to twist my arm very hard to convince me. I mustered a lecture about the impropriety of regularly playing hookie, then allowed that this could be a special day.

I still remember the wonder turned to thrill the morning my Mom announced she was taking me and a few friends skiing instead of to school. Such a surprise, it was one of the best feelings of a holiday ever.

My son has been working hard at school and successfully raised his grades. He has adapted stoically to a life in two homes. He works to cheer his mother and entertain his Dad. Life has been hard and will get tougher again soon enough. He has missed all the snowy days so far. He deserved to enjoy this one.

Whoops and hollers cascaded like yodels all over the Mountain as skiers raced to find their favorite patches of untracked fluff. Smiles were broad and vast. Hearts soared. A bond connected all on the slopes and in the woods, sharing the exhilaration and glory of deep snow.
By the time we stopped for breath, the snow was sliced and settled, but still soft powder that whispered and sprayed with each turn. We floated down the trails like a lazy day in summer. We stopped long enough to capture some of the sweetness on a little camera. At home, my son spliced the clips together and added raucous music to commemorate the day, too much memory, I guess to be supported here, so just a couple of clips will have to do.

On the chairlift rides we alternately were giddy with satisfaction or deep as the snow. At one point, he exclaimed that skiing was IT for him, the ultimate moment. It was completely his own, this time that was all for himself, his place of pure passion where problems disappeared and assignments did not exist. He could just ski.

On a different ride, he confided that maintaining the balance between separated parents is a burdensome task. No matter how we decide between ourselves, he still works hard to ensure equal time with each, quality and quantity. I assured him I am not counting, and I know he is. He divides his attention day to day, night to night, dinner after dinner.

Grown up so fast, I was glad to help him get his day of snow.

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