Playing House

My boyfriend's parents treated us to a weekend of skiing and relaxation two weeks ago at their Sunriver, OR vacation house. We ate great food (my boyfriend is a fantastic cook!) and drank good wine. We stayed up late, slept in, took naps. We skiied on freshly fallen, perfectly powdery snow. We played games. We soaked in the hot tub after a little coaxing on his part (I was not about to walk outside in a bikini, where it was snowing and zero degrees!). It was peaceful and lovely, and so much fun to play house with him!

X Games, Here We Come!

So, cabin weekend 2005 was super-fun.

I had a minor bout of depression just before we left. Not because I was afraid of breaking one (or more) of my limbs into a thousand pieces. No. Because JS was dreadfully sick. So sick that he wasn't going to be able to come. All the planning. All the anticipation. All the excitement over the fun that was to be had. All the pre-paid, non-refundable reservations. I was so sad as I left my gig to drive up the mountain. By myself. With two other couples. And while I do so love being a fifth wheel, this wasn't exactly the weekend I had envisioned.

Being the only single member of the group, I got stuck with the sofa bed instead of getting one of the two rooms. I awoke Saturday morning tired and sore from a not-so-good night's sleep, and feeling less-than-enthusiastic about skiing solo with the lovely couples. Luckily, skiing turns out to be rather like riding a bike. I was sure of what I was doing after our first run, and by the end of the day, I had graduated from green circles to blue squares and I was feeling pretty confident that I'd be back to my talent of yesteryear in no time at all.

But the fact that I didn't fall even once during my first day back on the slopes wasn't the best part of the day. By the time I got out of the shower that evening, JS had arrived at the cabin.* He was still sick, but feeling much better than before. The others had decided to do a bit of late skiing, so he and I enjoyed the jacuzzi and a glass of wine for a while until they returned from a hard day's work. After dinner, we all played games and stayed up way past our bedtimes. I was still stuck with the sofa bed, but at least I had some company for the second night.

When we hit the slopes on Sunday morning, I was so happy that even a crippling fall couldn't have broken my spirit. JS is an even better skiier than I imagined. The grace and ease with which he shooshed down the hill both inspired and challenged me, and by the end of day two, I was skiing black diamonds again.

So the weekend getaway ended happily after all.** No falls. No broken bones. No broken hearts. Just some super-cute pictures and some really good times.

*To be fair, I actually knew he was coming up. We had spoken earlier in the day. But isn't the story so much better if he surprised me?
**Except for the part where my car got towed, but I chose not to include that part, on account of I think it sucks the fun out of the story.

"Break a Leg"

A pre-show phrase I've become accustomed to, working in the entertainment industry. However, I fear that I may actually do so this weekend.

In approximately three days, sixteen hours, and forty-nine minutes (approximately), I will once again brave the wintery slopes on skis after a hiatus of something like seven years. Of course, I'm terribly excited about the weekend getaway that JS and I will be taking, especially since it will include apres-ski soaks in the jacuzzi in my new Brazilian bikini, game night in front of a toasty fire with Em and M (cute, huh?), and far too much alcohol. But I can't help but feel a tiny pang of apprehension about the whole skiing part of the weekend.

With my ex, J (seriously, what is it with me and men whose names start with this letter?!), I took up snowboarding. So it's not like I've been completely absent from the slopes for the last seven years. But I haven't donned skis and the requisite torturous ski boots in what seems like an eternity. Freezing my cold feet further, JS is an incredible skier. And I used to be, too. So now I feel pressure to jump right back onto the black diamonds of my youth. But I fear I may be stuck on green circles all day. Or end up gliding gracefully down the hill on the toboggan attached to the helpful ski patrollers' snowmobile, broken limb braced for the bumpy ride.

I can hardly wait!