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The artful "lodger"
January 15, 2011 - Kathleen Palumbo
Writing to you live from the winter wonderland of Peak-N-Peak, where the snow is falling faster than the beginners.
In all fairness, I should admit that I am in fact not a skier. I am a “lodger.” Following three genuine attempts at skiing which can only be referred to as epic failures, I decided it was best to leave the slopes to those capable of gracefully adorning them.
I had tried it all; I accompanied seasoned skiers, I stuck to the bunny slopes, following a face plant from the lift, I reduced myself to the level of “magic carpet” rider, and who could forget ski lessons with the uber patient “Ranger Rick,” who probably hangs photos of his most difficult studies, myself included, near his locker and uses them for dart practice.
There really aren’t words to describe the level of humiliation felt when as an adult you watch as fearless toddlers whiz by, leaving you in a trail of fluffy white embarrassment, or as you find upon reaching the bottom of the bunny slope, that it has taken you nearly 30 minutes to accomplish what your fellow ski school students managed approximately 25 minutes earlier.
Does it bother me? Not at all. I thoroughly enjoy the whole ski experience from the perspective of a “lodger.” Near the fire I’ll read, write, sip hot cocoa, people watch and perhaps even strike up a conversation with a few total strangers. But will I ski? For the safety and well being of us all, certainly not.
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