Finally some snow.

Back side chair lift.

Finally we got some snow. One cannot compare it with last year, but at least the three feet of snow has covered rocks and stumps on barren clearings, turning them into SKI SLOPES. We all were quite excited, and so I took the kids out of school on Friday noon already, to be ready and well rested for the kick-off. Again we took Vendulka along, and Pavel came later in the night with Hippo and Martin.

The "cottage" is always chilly at the beginning, and we usually kick the children out — they run in the snow instead of shivering in their dawn jackets indoor. Alas, Tommy has this time experienced another practical experiment in physics, namely test of ice strength on the creek. We know that the juniors go check out the creek behind the cottage. When Tom after coming back noted humbly that he go a bit wet, did not move me much — if the kids get some snow in their boots during their first eager jumping, it's no big deal. Only a bit later Tom admitted that he got no snow in his boot, but water. I still did not realize his boot was FULL of water, while he himself was soaked up to his knee. At least he's now advised; I did not even talk sharply to him, I only prayed that the boot and his clothes would dry till the next day (and to my surprise, they did; it's rather dry in the cottage and our fireplace roars like crazy).

Even after dinner Tom's snow boot was wet enough that he had to take his sneakers out for a walk. Getting out of the house in the evening was quite necessary — having sat in our car all afternoon, juniors did not have time to properly run, thanks to Tom's involuntary bathing.

We extend skiing to this next winter sport — ice skating.

Lisa the figure skater.

Apparently we were not alone, having the idea to get out to the mountain — unfortunately it meant standing in a line for lift tickets for almost an hour in the morning (as the kids don't have season passes) — while season pass holders were being issued daily tickets in front of the office, for they could not cope with the demand. A season pass requires you to fill out a million of waivers, which puts a freeze of the queue. We had asked the young lady at the counter to issue us a two-day ticket. Kids (of paying parents) ski free on Sundays, and it seemed logical to pay for Saturday and get tickets with a Sunday date, to avoid standing in the same line on Sunday again. Besides, we used to do it EXACTLY this way during the previous season. The empowered clerk announced that it's absolutely impossible to do, they had never done it before, and no way in hell. We tried to escalate it through various supervisors, but they all insisted that it was NEVER possible and that there were no such tickets (by the way, examples of those were still dangling off kids' jackets). Simply like in a mental asylum run by the patients.

Appropriately foaming and sweating, we got to actually ski only by almost eleven o'clock. We promised the kids that we would take them to totally different slopes, on the Backside. In Kirkwood, you can ski on hills surrounding the resort, but you can also cross a ridge into the adjacent valley and ski on runs WITHOUT the view of the housing units, and there are usually fewer people there than in the main valley. Well, it seemed that most skiers that day had the same idea (I don't blame them; the back side had been closed until that day on account of absence of snow), and a rather unpleasant queue awaited us at the lift. We took the kids to our favorite spot, with an un-groomed slope. It took us all by surprise somehow, and we stumbled for a moment in the deep snow, until we caught up with a different skiing technique than the one we used hitherto on groomed, icy surfaces. Lisa skied with much squealing and both she and Tom declared that they did not like it. So we went around once more time on groomed runs — and soon it was time to start returning over the hill, home for lunch.

Tom creatively built a robot mask.

Lisa (not less creatively) painted up her schoolmate.

On the way up Lisa (again) scored, for she deals with getting on the lift — which she, by the way, handles quite expertly — by typically squealing and waiting for a manly lift operator to lift her up and sit her down, or slow down the whole lift. This time she made some mistake, for she fell off the seat, while Hippo remained seated. The lift operator placed her without much ado on the next seat and thus Lisa went for the first time alone on a ski lift. Naturally she did not forget to boast at the top how well she has done. We took an obscure run through the woods called Whiskey Slide, which the juniors liked very much.

After lunch Hippo announced that he was having a cold and Lisa joined him whimpering that she had had enough of skiing. Given the fact that kids usually ski rather enthusiastically, we reckoned that Lisa perhaps still did not feel well, and she was allowed to lazy around the cottage. I had decided to challenge Tom with local pseudo-black runs. Since the beginning of this season Tom had been fascinated by Cornice Express, the longest lift that goes all the way to the top of the ridge. We warned him that only black diamond runs lead down from the summit; Tom said he'd go — so great was his desire to go on the largest and mightiest chair. While there was no snow, Kirkwood sprayed only one run there (Zachary), which therefore became the focal point of more experienced skiers and subsequently turned into a relatively ugly icy sheet sprinkled with many wayward tiny rocks. I had refused to take my little second-season skier out on something like this. However, now the situation had changed and a whole array of lifts was operating; I began to wonder if Tom would master my favorite Sentinel. Still I wanted him to check out something less demanding, some shorter black diamond runs. Honestly — in my opinion they are not as difficult as to qualify to a regular black level, but still I thought it reasonable to apply such an intermediate level than exposing my son to an eighteen hundred feet drop-off.

After skiing we had to all converge in the ticket office, for at the end of the day they were finally able and WILLING to issue us a Sunday ticket. This was certainly a good move; on Sunday there was another queue snaking across half of the plaza. Tom had been promised his glorious Cornice Express for Sunday. First I drafted all available skier for the case Tom would crash and perhaps so would I, so that there was someone else to collect loose skis and poles. The run went well, Tom followed Vendula's elegant turns and even I had to agree that in the layer of relatively fresh snow, this black diamond was not too scary. Tom wanted to go again, which I granted him. Then we caught up with Hippo and Lisa on their way to the Backside, where I handed off my son and returned on my own back to Sentinel. After lunch I took my turn in skiing with kids and we sent Hippo to go unattached. He soon sought us out and rumbled that he was probably having a cold, not feeling well, and wanted to go to the cottage. Meanwhile Lisa talked me into taking her, too, to Sentinel, and Hippo had to come along.

Our half of the quarter horse can fly.

A horse need to be walked.

Lisa squealed while skiing, but she managed everything without a problem — and wanted to go again. We sent Hippo off to rumble in the cottage and took to the black diamond slope again. We alternated it with an easy, "green" one, then I handed the kids and their skis to Hippo under the lifts and went on two solo runs. Thus, on Sunday we lasted almost to the closing time, with packing and a stop for dinner we got back home by nine thirty, the kids did not even brush their teeth, only fell over from the car to their beds.

To keep active in the winter, I organized a trip to an ice rink for kids' class mates. Besides our children, I picked up Bryce and Raphael from school, and were joined by Raphael's mother and his younger brother at the rink. Already as I was driving with the kids, I was glad that I had the idea to take the roaring junior somewhere else than our home, somewhere to release all the extra energy. Naturally just skating was not enough in the end and they all ended at our home. Later even Rumiko, who was supposed to just pick up Bryce on her way from work, ended up at our place, but since the kids played together so nicely, she stayed for dinner. Then Martin came, whom I've been trying to talk into fixing our bathtub, and Vendula, too, who was picking up Martin on their way to the mountains. The only one missing was Hippo, who was out on a business dinner.

The children really played well together — they raided Lisa's costume box; Lisa turned into a witch, Tom after about an hour of effort created a robot mask from cardboard boxes. Bryce was at first OK with just a robe and magic wand of Harry Potter, but then most likely Lisa concluded that it was not enough and painted glasses and a scar on his face with MARKERS. I was ready for a stroke in the moment these two presented their work to me. I was surprised how easy Rumiko reacted to her marked son; I relaxed as soon as it turned out that the marker was of the WASHABLE kind. And I had been thinking that our children had reached the age when "playing quietly" should not lead to an alarm.

Sergei helps us with Foxy.

Tom on Foxy.

On the following weekend we changed the topic and spent it more or less on a farm. The picnic of last Christmas Eve day in the nearby stables would most likely have consequences. Zoya, the owner of Foxy, had been looking for someone who would help her cover the cost of the horse's upkeep. And we have Lisa who has been consistently talking mostly about horses for the last two years, and is happiest if she can pet some steed or mare, and push him/her some grass. A lease of a half of a quarter horse (Foxy is a quarter horse) seems like a good test of Lisa's interest, and our capacity and endurance. Finances, time, organization, and mental health are all a factor. We would not be really permanently responsible for Foxy, and if we change our minds, we still have the option to back out of the contract, without leaving an animal abandoned.

It's a paradox that it would seem to be simple to own a horse than perhaps a dog. The horse comes with a solved problem of housing, feeding, and a basic supervision (if someone during feeding would notice the animal injured or hobbling, they'd contact the owner), while even with a hamster we must organize hamster-sitting with neighbors every time we go on a trip.

So far we have been trying to learn as much as possible about care of horses, and how the stables operate; since mid February we lease half of Foxy. I must say that I have been so far rather nervous — I feel a bit like when the day finally came at the hospital and they let Tom come home — suddenly I thought the doctors rather irresponsible to let me handle a baby all by myself. Now I would have to handle a horse. Well, we have a hamster already and we find it a good arrangement, and perhaps a half of a quarter horse will work out to everybody's satisfaction.