Cross Your Skis and Dot Your Tries.

I did not grow up skiing. I am not a pedigreed, savvy, fancy-familied skiing person.

I skied once or twice in middle school on youth group trips to Gatlinburg, but I’ve since learned from true skiers that Gatlinburg doesn’t count. (Those who will remain unnameless were horrified at the notion of skiing in a place like Gatlinburg.) So like I said, I did not grow up skiing.

 // Copper Mountain //

A few years ago I married this precious athletic maniac who plays every sport under the sun. And this man loves to ski. He’s a natural. His skis go shoop, shoop, shoop down the mountain. Unfortunately, he voiced his dream of us zipping down the slopes together, and in his mind, we were probably dodging in between moguls on fear-inducing black diamond runs. Most likely cackling at the ease of our gait. High-fiving as we passed each other on the powdery, slippery slopes. Yuck, doesn’t that sound like a friggin’ all-American Neutrogena ad? He had plans for me. I happen to be rebellious in nature, so I loudly fought such expectations.

My plans included holding my ground, claiming my independence from his dream and fighting for my right to settle cozily in my non-skiing ability. You ski, I’ll just go to the spa, I told him. But alas, my plan was thwarted. Not only did I fall in love that athletic hunk, but I fell in love with his sport.

I love it. I love to ski.

Yes, I’ve experienced moments of panic at the top of a slope, shivering (not just from the cold) at the sight of the impending drop-off. I’ve cried in the middle of a blue run, while a ski school class of 4-year olds easily sashayed their way down the mountain with ease. Like a family of swans. How are these children so fearless? I know what to fear. I know the imminent doom that awaits if I attempt to turn my skis and FAIL. You can break your face doing such things. I know. I’ve done it before. Remember the above-mentioned Gatlinburg trip? I took a nice beating to the face (and the pride) on my first trip down the slopes. There were medics involved. Face stitches. It’s the way I lost my last baby tooth and declared my retirement from skiing for-ev-er. Alas.

I skied at Breckenridge and Copper Mountain this past President’s Day weekend. I felt the icy wind on my face, the powder beneath my skis and the beating of my anticipating heart. I looked fearfully at my love, unsure if I could really make it down such a pass. It’s too steep, I said, I don’t think I’ll make it. He just looked at me and laughed, You always do! Of course he’s right. I have to find some way down this mountain, and it’s either in a mad rush of adrenaline or in a body bag. I looked down, down, down the black diamond peak, speckled with moguls the size of Volkswagens. And I decided that he was right. I cut hard to the right, hard to the left, back and forth, back and forth, realized this is really fun, back and forth, shoop, shoop, shoop and - there! I am gliding, I am down the peak, I am a victor of my own worst-case scenario fear. I see how this sport can become addicting. His smile was wider than the sunshine. My heart was racing like a girl who just won the mountain. Because I sort of did.

Friends // Happy Donut Sign // Snowboarding Cousin Reunion

I’m still scared of those black diamond peaks. But I’ve done it once, twice, half a dozen times now. So the next time I come to the edge of an icy-slick slope, I will have a bit more confidence that I can make it down this mountain. I can have victory over this intimidating phantom, I can triumphantly sashay like a fearless 4-year old. Just maybe, I can be a rebel AND a swan.

Reflections: "I Feel Bad About My Neck"

// Via //

Nora Ephron was an accidental genius. I so wish I could have sat down to coffee with her. We would both wear cozy oversize sweaters and order lattes at a hip city café and we would laugh and laugh all afternoon. And it would be raining. And it would be perfect.

I just finished her book, “I Feel Bad About My Neck” while on a plane to D.C. I could hear her voice the entire time I read, ranting about face creams and parenting and her beloved New York City apartment. Her life was peppered with amusing stories and heartbreaking truths. And everyone she ever knew was a character in a story, including herself. She was a character in her own life, and after reading her quirky life diatribes, I see that little bits of her were in every character she ever wrote. She was Sally Albright in “When Harry Met Sally”. She was Sam Baldwin in “Sleepless in Seattle”. She was both Julie and Julia. She secretly (or not-so-secretly) inserted her funny, sad truths into everything she ever wrote. She was unapologetic. She was unrelenting. She was regretful. And she shared her legend with her world, which happens to be the world we all live in.

She died this past summer. I was living in a house in Southwest Atlanta with a gaggle of beauties when I heard the news: Nora Ephron has died. I was sad, mostly because I wish I were a part of her generation; most 25-year olds don’t know who Nora is. But her voice sort of transcended time, at least to me. I was given the book, “I Feel Bad About My Neck” by those lovely ladies that I lived with for the summer. (God bless them, they had me in their home so I could finish up my degree, since I no longer actually lived in the same state as my university, but that’s a mouthful-of-a-story for another time.) I love them, those sweet girls who were guardians of my summer. I’ll really have to tell you that story some time. But I lived in their home when I heard about Nora’s death and they mailed me the book for my birthday this past September, so there is something about them that connects me to Nora.

The book, just like my band of endearing friends, is just lovely.

The truth is, I’ve actually been a little concerned about my neck. Apparently it’s the first thing to “go” when you start aging, according to Nora. You’re supposed to use face cream on your neck. Women want to preserve their skin, so they lather on the face cream, and the neck always goes unnoticed. This is a grave female mistake, because your neck will give you away. I started using face cream last year, at age 24, because apparently I need to start turning back the clock. Which is funny, because in so many ways I feel like my life’s clock hasn’t really gotten going. How much time has passed? Yes, I’ve grown into a whimsical character in my own mind, and yes I’ve married a fabulous handsome man who encourages my dreams, but I don’t know that I’ve actually done much of merit yet. Is the bar set too high? I don’t say that to mean that everything I’ve done up to this point isn’t important. I’m continuing to become me, and everything I’ve done so far has shaped my odd little life. But as a child, you believe that you’re going to BE something. Preferably something big. It feels strange to use face cream at this stage, because I feel like so much of my life hasn’t really happened. And yet, I should already be trying to preserve my rapidly-decreasing youth. Is this odd to anyone else? In case you’re wondering, I’ve begun using a bevy of Origins products. I’m such a sucker. But I feel sort of justified, because at least Nora felt the same way.

(Late) Morning Musings

Today I'm recovering from a weekend of skiing in Colorado. My limbs are soar, my eyes are tired but my heart is full as I anticipate this week's activities.

Noshing

// Komodo Dragon roast coffee, English muffin slathered in this coconut oil. Delish.

Reading

// Rosewater + Video by Roost. Adding "Make my own rosewater" to the to-list.

Musing

// I stumbled across Nothing But Delicious, a Nashville-based blogger and food stylist. How does one become a food stylist? Figuring out a way to become that. It sounds so nice.

Wanting

// One of these fine portraits from Rebekka Seale. I can't get over how lovely her work it. I like to taste my coffee, lean back in my chair, and become transformed to Alice in Wonderland-tranquil-like place when I simply look at her enticing paintings.

Planning

// Euro trip. Gotta purchase tickets this week. More to come on this impending adventure.

Celebrating

// My friend Savannah as she is featured on Minnetonka's Blogger Spotlight. I applaud your bravery and your insanely cool style.

Enjoy this wintery February day, my friends.

TASTE: Bacon-Nutmeg Quiche

Yum yum yum.

Happy Saturday! I hope you're enjoying this lovely weekend. Brunch is a weekend staple, so I thought I would share one of my favorite recipes. No matter what season, quiche is always an appropriate go-to. I got this particular recipe from my dazzling mother. Once you get the hang of quiche, you can pretty much whip anything together with eggs and a pie crust and it will turn out hot and delicious. Mmm I love brunch. Especially when my mom makes it. I sit at her kitchen bar and drink coffee and she scolds me for putting my feet up on the counter. It's a marvelous tradition.

Ingredients:

- A 9-inch unbaked pie crust

- 1 tsp. unsalted butter or olive oil

- 1 small yellow onion, chopped

- 2 cups shredded swiss cheese

- 6 slices lean bacon, cooked, crumbled

- 2 tbsp. all-purpose flour

- 3 large eggs

- 1 cup low-fat milk

- 1/4 tsp. salt, to taste

- 1/8 tsp. ground nutmeg

Directions:

1. Heat oven to 400 degrees.

2. In a 6-inch non-stick skillet melt the butter (or olive oil) over moderately high heat. Add onion* and saute for 5 minutes or until soft, then transfer to a medium bowl.

3. Toss onion with cheese, bacon and flour. Spread this mixture in pie crust.

4. In the medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, salt and nutmeg.

5. Pour mixture over the cheese, bacon and flour in the pie crust.

6. Bake uncovered for 35 minutes or until center is set.

*Sometimes I add mushrooms and green pepper. The more veggies, the more fun!

Bon Appetit! My husband tends to scarf this down within a day. Hopefully you will be equally as endeared to the tastiness of it. Let me know how yours turns out! Happy brunching!

Be Mine: My Funny Valentine

Photo Credit: Ale Palma

February 14.

You are my sweetheart. After 5 1/2 years of marriage, you are still the kindest man I know. The most outrageous dreamer I've ever met. More optimistic than a cartoon. And my favorite brain to pick. I admire you. And I miss you every day when you ride away on your bicycle, headed off to school. Helmet, book bag, headlamp and all. Thanks for making me laugh. Thanks for being my dear-hearted best friend.

I look forward to dozens of decades more of late-night cookies, non-stop episodes of Burn Notice and international flights. Let's keep laughing, dreaming and making plans.