What are we *Doing*?

Day 98 is in the books.

This morning, as I went over to the Cascade exercise room for my 7 mile joggle, I looked up from the parking garage at Engineer, looking lovely as always:

engineerthismorningYes, there’s a lot of rock showing – it IS late March in the San Juan Mountains – But there’s an awful lot of just plain pretty whiteness up there.

It’s the same at the ski hill – there are some patches that need more snow, but there is plenty to ski on, and for the last two days conditions have been nice indeed.

SO WHY ARE WE GOING HOME?I?I

Well, we’re going home because we have family down there, and for some reason our family units in Phoenix have no chosen to move to snow country. We don’t know why this is the case – Floyd is a natural skier, and Silas grew up napping on chairlifts.

But it is the situation, as it is today. A case could be made that, by going back to Phoenix, we are enabling Floyd and Silas to stay stuck in their non-skiing lifestyles, and thus – in a way – ruining their lives. They will no doubt curse us for this later. But Ethel is more worried about now than later – she’s funny that way.

In addition,¬† we have a wedding to go to this weekend – some friends are getting married. Now, I’ve told Ethel that they could get married without us. They won’t remember, a year from now, whether the Pucketts were at their wedding or not. In fact, they might not remember next week – in fact, they probably won’t even be aware on Saturday whether we are there or not.

But Ethel says that we have to go. She’s funny that way.

So today I skied my 98th day, and tomorrow will be day 99. (No doubt, all day long tomorrow, I will have Toto in my head – the band, not the yappy dog. I’ve never been able to figure out what the Toto song “99″ is about, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not catchy). On Wednesday, I will NOT ski – Ethel will ski by herself that day – so that we can hit Day 100 together on Thursday, after which we will pack up and go home. (“home”, again, being Phoenix, where all of those non-skiing Pucketts live).

I’m in my last few days in Colorado, then, once again, at the end of ski season. In May of 2005, I decided that I was pretty much through skiing – that I would never get any better, and I might as well move on with my life. As a result of that decision, I left Fidelity and Park City.

My brain actually has scar tissue from that decision – a big chunk of slightly-darker gray matter, right acxross the top of my right cerebral lobe (it has to be the right lobe – there’s no way that my left brain could do anything that stupid). And, so, whenever ski season ends and I get ready to head to Arizona, that bit of scar tissue puckers up and starts sending out distress signals – “don’t do that! don’t do that! don’t leave snow country for the desert!” The scar tissue isn’t bright enough to know that we’ll be be back – or maybe, just maybe, the scar tissue remembers what the rest of my brain has forgotten; that a decision to return does not guarantee return.

The condo across the parking lot, that we bought over three years ago, was owned by some folks from Florida who probably went home after one of their vacations, and then decided while they were home that they had to sell the place. The condo that we are living in now was owned by some Louisianans for many years; they came up here every year and then they¬† went home every year, and then one year they just didn’t come back.

My cerebral scar tissue knows that this can happen to me. it doesn’t want to let me forget it.

But Ethel is not hooked up to my cerebrum, and she’s the one who needs reminding the most, I’ll wager.

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