Snowboarding

Mother Nature unexpectedly dropped three inches of snow on southern Connecticut yesterday afternoon. Not enough to consider plowing, at least on a Sunday, but enough to make driving hazardous and my dad's front yard a winter playground for the young-at-heart. Since I rarely encounter these white blanket opportunities in California, at least not right in my front yard, and since my nieces were coming over to bake an apple pie with me, I thought it was a prime opportunity for me to try my "luck" at snowboarding. When you are 56, it is definitely luck if you don't break any bones on your first snowboarding outing, even if that experience is just being dragged across the front yard by two teenagers. Across the flat part of the front yard. Supported on both sides by a young person, so you don't fall over, which eventually I did anyway. I cannot imagine going down a HILL, even a small one. The older one yelled at me "BEND your knees!!!!" Uhhh.....yeah, right. I WAS bending them, or at least I thought I was. I am not as flexible as I was in my youth. I can't do deep knee bends anymore; that kind of "bending" disappeared when I broke my femur at the ripe old age of 29. And so, after 20 minutes of piling on layers of clothing (it was 16 degrees outside) and having the younger teenager stuff my feet into solid unbendable plastic blocks called "snowboarding boots" and having her lace them up for me, this Pillsbury dough-boy hobbled robot-like to the door and stumbled out onto the front lawn. I then spent a whole five minutes weaving back and forth across the front lawn as I attempted to "turn" right and left, supported physically by my nieces, one in front and one behind me. I felt like the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy and the Scare Crow first lubricate his joints, as his body sways from side to side like old fashioned windshield wipers, both of his feet firmly planted right next to each other. After five minutes of trying to break both legs at the same time, I gave up my new found sport and resorted to the time honored pasttime of sledding down the hill instead. Much easier to master (four year olds can do this), far less equipment needed (a cheap plastic saucer will do), and no squeezing feet into unbending hardened plastic blocks (happy feet!). The simple joys of winter!

So, all three of us sledded for a bit, and then the college student and I shoveled the few inches of snow from my dad's driveway, lest the day-trip be turned into an overnight due to rubber tires sliding uncontrollably into the garage at the bottom of the driveway.

After about 15 minutes of shoveling, I finally headed inside, where the young people were eyeing the cooling but still hot apple pie on the stove top. So what if it was dinnertime; we all dove into the hot apple pie with gusto. It was fabulous. Our faces reddened and warm, the smell of hot apple pie on the plate in front of us, with a cold glass of milk...aahhhh...almost makes me want to stay in Connecticut rather than return to California. Almost.

And my gluten-free new year's resolution? That starts tomorrow.