Hubster and I headed over to the local ski area on Monday with the boys. The Princess had decided ahead of time that she would be cold outside in the snow so she'd be better off at a friend's house. She's got a good angle on how to get what she wants. She definately takes after me.
The drive to Super Besse follows a small river back up to it's origins in the mountains. The road winds along side past craggy rock outcropppings, through small villages built straight into the rock, and finally out at the town of Besse. It is one of our favourite places in the Auvergne.
Something in my being begins gets anxious as we approach the town. Perhaps it's the snow. Perhaps it's all the slate covered houses, dark and strong, stark in contrast to the whiteness of the ground. Perhaps it's just that I have this 'thing' for winter.
As we arrived at the actual ski area, I was struggling to control my urge to jump out of the car and start making snow angels in front of the lifts. After living 7 years in the Rockies, you can take the girl out of the mountains, but you can't take the mountains out of the girl.
Hubster and I decided to divide and conquer with the boys. He headed off for sledding with the little guy while Mini-Husband and I tackled the rope tow. Mini-Husband wants to know how to ski NOW. He wants to be fast NOW. He wants to know how to turn left and right NOW. I stuck with my mantra that falling is learning and we weaved our way across the bunny slope without serious damage to him, someone else, or me.
Hubster arrived and we traded off the little Coors Lite can. Bubba Love's ski suit is yet another of our Patton Originals, handed down from my nephews. This said ski suit is silver and resembles a mini-beer can. I have vivid memories of nephew being in it in the Tetons. He's now almost 8 but the suit is still going strong.
As I stood there watching my boys playing in the snow, I became horribly depressed. I miss living in the mountains. I miss being able to walk in the snow everyday. I miss the sound of snow crunching under my boots. I miss seeing the silhouettes of the trees frozen in white. I miss dealing with the chaos of skiing and dog sledding on a daily basis. I miss the mountains.
It's hard for me to think that I will never live that way again. Finding a way of combining my past, which created me, with my present and future, which completes me, is a task I need to tackle.
I think Hubster picked up on my mood as we were packing up the car to head home. It must be very hard for him to deal with my obsession of all things mountain.
But bless him. At his suggestion, we've made plans to head back to Besse on Sunday. He really is good to me.