Found myself in a very odd position today. Bent at a 90 degree angle around the trunk of a sizable pine sapling, my stomach playing pin-cushion for needles and small branches. Guess I misjudged my last turn at the base of East Rim, a steep powder bowl at Whitefish Ski Resort. I laughed it off, but my ribs are a tad sore and I've discovered the beginnings of a saucer-sized bruise near my stomach, a few inches left-of-center. Damn, playing horseshoes sucks when you're the horseshoe.
The first weekend of spring break has, so far, been as refreshing as I could have hoped and more. Skiing, family time (which I only seem to get in five-day installments six times a year), and a river of free beer. Great when the folks pick up the tab.
Forgive me a random interjection, but kid-siblings should be banned from prom. Em told me earlier last week that she found a date for the BHS prom, a sad state of affairs for a brother whose sole purpose in life is defending his baby sister. Now how am I supposed to screen this kid from afar? Trust the parents to the job? Ha, not good enough. And watching her shop for prom dresses online breaks my heart. This time next year, she'll be the one spending a college spring break skiing with the family. Who gave us all permission to grow up?
Lots on the docket for the upcoming week. (A reminder to myself) Two freelance stories, two research papers, 15 pages of original non-fiction writing, at least three books. Throw in fishing, skiing, drinking and I have no idea how the Hell I'll survive. Spring break? Psh-a. Try spring overload. What happened to dreams of Fort Lauderdale, or skiing in Alaska? Gone and gone.
Oh well. I guess my biggest concern right now should be that I miss Al, the tap-man at the Kettle House taproom, more than I've missed my own mother at times. Symptom of a disease? (Mad ellipses)
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