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A ski trip to fill the well

This is where I am this week.

Mont Sainte Anne, QC, Canada

This is what I’m doing this week.

Riding the chair lift

This is what my family is doing this week. Not me, I don’t like maple syrup. Yuck.

Maple Taffy in the snow at Mont-Sainte-Anne, QC.

This is what I will eat this week. I don’t like maple syrup, but I do love St. Hubert chicken.

A ski trip—and some St. Hubert chicken—to refill the well.


In-AccuWeather and “Be Here Now”

Lake-LouiseWhen you can’t plan, you must accept.

This is the lesson from our week in the Rocky Mountains.

Weather forecasting here, we have to assume, comes with challenges. We’ve never experienced such changeable and unpredictable weather forecasts. We live in Ontario, Canada where we see weather systems moving in from a long way off, undisturbed by geological formations or mountain ranges. Here? Every weather forecast should read: “Honestly, we have no idea what’s going to happen.”

More than once we checked the weather in the evenings and made plans for the next day. The next morning, we awoke to a completely different forecast, exactly the opposite of what was said only 12 hours before. In the evenings, as gentle snow fell outside our window, we visited AccuWeather sites that told us it was currently sunny. We started called them In-AccuWeather sites.

We had to give up planning our outings and just wake up in the mornings and accept.

It returned us all to the ancient meditative practice of living in the present moment, which just might be the most valuable gift we received out of our vacation time.


Heaven, or not, in Whistler/Blackcomb

This is the view of Blackcomb Mountain, British Columbia, from our rental unit.

If you are having trouble seeing a mountain in there, don’t worry. Do not adjust your eyes. It is snowing so much here that we can’t see the mountain.

My husband is in heaven: Look at all that fresh powder!

I am not: Oh, no. Look at all that fresh powder.

I learned to ski as an adult, and I am eastern skier.

Machine-groomed corduroy is my friend. This powder? Hard work. Every run looks like something I have to ski, not something I want to ski.

I groan at every new inch of snowfall. Gleeful skiers exclaim with delight over the foot of fresh powder that greets them every morning.

Interesting how the same thing has two opposite different meanings, depending on perspective.

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