(I’m listening to “Leave or Be Yours” by The Helio Sequence)

Tiny,

You are the happiest baby I know.  A lot of parents might say that about their kids, but I think you’ve literally been smiling since the day you were born.  You should be, considering what your mom had to go through to have you.  Your mom and I wondered if you’d ever cry, and I actually took a picture of you crying just to have proof of it.  Your mom thought it was weird I did that, but that’s just because you were always smiling.

I must admit, it took me a while to get to know you.  Those first weeks are really strange.  A new baby in the house means no sleep, routines change, and life is just turned upside down for a while.  It’s tough, and it takes time to get used to something new.  The transition from 1 to 2 kids was tougher on me than 0 to 1.  A lot of people say they’re in love with their kids from the moment they’re born, but I’m not like that; I wasn’t with your sister either.  It takes time for me to get to know you and for the first little while, there’s not really much to know.  You just eat, poop, and sleep.  I make bottles, change your diapers, and hopefully get you to sleep.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  It’s a ton of work, and selfishly, there’s not a lot of reward.  The days are long, and I was just trying to get through them.

That doesn’t mean I didn’t love you.  I did.  You are my baby, after all.  It just wasn’t the gushy, “Oh, I’m so in love with you and I’ll do anything for you” type of love.  It was very conditional and it was usually based on the amount of sleep you gave me.  I’m just being honest.

But then, something happened.  You smiled.  And you smiled again.  And you kept on smiling.  You gave me something to fall in love with.  You showed me that my hard work and sleepless nights were paying off.  You had a reaction to me, and it was always a smile.  (Sleeping through the night at 8 weeks didn’t hurt your cause either.)

 I know it sounds strange, but your reaction meant the world to me.  It flipped a switch in me.  It let me know that you at least recognized me and maybe even knew who I was.  You were at least acknowledging my presence, and that was enough for me to start falling in love.  And, you kept on smiling…

and smiling…

and smiling.

And our bond began to form.

Now, I can’t imagine life without you and your sister.  You can light up a room with that smile.  You can’t contain yourself when I come home from work.  You immediately crawl, and now hobble up to me, arms outstretched, imploring me to pick you up.  For good measure you’ll even throw in a “dadda” for some extra melting of my heart.  You have me completely wrapped around your little finger and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.  And, I know it will be that way for the rest of my life.  My little ladies are my life, and I am forever grateful God trusted me with you and your sister.

Today, you’re 1.  Someone once told me, “Long days, short years.”  That couldn’t be more true.  It’s hard to believe a year has gone by.  It seems like yesterday your mom and I took you home from the hospital, but at the same time, it seems like this year has taken forever.  I hope it stays that way, but it won’t.  I know some day, you and your sister will both be grown, ready to leave for college, ready to begin your own lives, and I’ll wonder where all the time went.  That’s just a fact of life and it will happen in the blink of an eye.

Knowing that, here’s my promise to you.  I will love you forever and I will always be your daddy.  No matter what happens, I will always be there for you and love you.  I am going to give you so much love and affection that you won’t need to go anywhere else to get it; but when you do, it will be because it’s time for you to do so, not because you have to.  I will always pray for you, guide you, and teach you. We’re just starting this journey together and we have so much fun ahead of us.  Just know, you’ll always be my little girl, and I’ll always try my best to give you a reason to keep smiling.

Happy 1st birthday, Tiny.

Love,

Daddy

(I’m listening to “Nutshell” by Alice In Chains)

Sometimes being a dad and being a human really clash.  What I mean by “human” is: if I was just responsible for me, with nobody else to consider.  As a dad, I would make a decision, but as a human, that decision could be very different.  Sure, that could be true of a lot of decisions, but I’m not talking about, “Oh man, if I were single” type stuff.  I’m just talking about normal decisions, if that makes any sense.  Let me explain.

Tomorrow, I will be selling my Jeep, so that means for the first time in about 8 years, I won’t be a Jeep owner.  I’m wrestling with this decision, but I can’t really put my finger on why.  I’m hoping that by writing about it, I’ll run into an answer.  If I think practically, I rarely drive it, I never take it off-road, I don’t take it snowboarding since we got our Pilot, I don’t take the top off, my kids don’t really fit in it, I’m selling it for the same amount I paid for it 4 years ago, and we already have two other SUV’s.  With all that said, it’s a good-looking Jeep and I’m still unsure about selling it.

Call me selfish, call it unnecessary to have three vehicles, call it nostalgia, but I really do love this Jeep.  We bought it right before we had our first daughter, Littles.  I upgraded from another Jeep because I loved owning a Jeep, I was becoming a dad, I was staring more responsibility right in the face, the new Jeep had airbags, and I guess I wanted to have something that didn’t seem so “dad-ish.”   We had already purchased the typical suburban family car, a Honda CR-V, so we needed something that was more fun than functional, right?  I mean, this is the Jeep we replaced:

That was an awesome Jeep.  Doors off, top down, we drove that all over.  We took it everywhere from the drive-in movies to the Black Hills in South Dakota.  It was one of our “get out of debt” cars.  I sold my Audi and bought this Jeep, and the wife sold her Volkswagen Rabbit and got an old Honda Civic.  This Jeep got us through some tough times, and never missed a beat.  It was tough selling that one too; it represented a lot of sacrifices made, but when Littles came along, the old Jeep just wasn’t going to cut it.  So, we got the current Jeep.  Due to it having airbags it was going to be a bit safer for me to drive, and we would still have a “fun” vehicle.

So, here’s why am I unsure about selling our current Jeep. One of the reasons is Littles loves to ride in “daddy’s Jeep.”

Riding in daddy’s Jeep is kind of our thing we do together.  I’m going to miss her asking for a ride.  I’m going to miss her asking, “Are we going in your Jeep?” when we’re walking out the door.  I’m going to miss her giggling when she bounces around because of a bump in the road.  I’m going to miss that time together, even though those rides have been few and far between since the arrival of her little sister.

Another reason it’s hard to sell is it’s really handy to have a 3rd car.  I know, that sounds like a really “American” thing to say, but the wife and I are both transplants in Colorado, so we have a lot of family and friends come visit.  It’s nice to have a car for them to use. It’s also nice to have when one of our other cars is in the shop.

The Jeep is also really fun to drive.  I can’t explain it, but there’s just something about driving a Jeep Wrangler.  It’s rugged.  No frills, no backup cameras, no bluetooth, no heated seats, no luxuries.  It’s just me and the Jeep.  I could be heading to the grocery store or to the mountains, and it feels the same; like I’m on an excursion to sleep under the stars next to a campfire. 

Are those good enough reasons to keep it though?

Like I said leading off, if I’m being a “human,” I definitely keep the Jeep, but, I’m also a dad, and the dad part of me says, “sell it.”  And maybe that’s why I’m having a hard time selling it.  Maybe it does represent me being a human instead of a dad; a different time in life, a time of more freedom, a time when we didn’t have kids, a time where we could do what we wanted, when we wanted to do it.  Maybe I should be saying “I” instead of “we.”  Maybe it represents a time where I had more freedom, a time when I could do what I wanted; not that I would change a thing.  Raising a family is one of the most wonderful and fulfilling things I’ve done in my life, but it does influence my decisions.  As selfish as it sounds, maybe the Jeep allows me to balance being a dad and a human, if only for a few miles at a time.  Maybe it’s a reminder that even though my time and my life isn’t my own anymore, I can still do a couple of things for myself.

Maybe I think the Jeep makes me feel like I’m not like everyone else in suburbia.  A wife, a mortgage, two cars, one being an SUV the other a sedan, or maybe both cars are SUV’s.  Either way, that just seems so practical and predictable.  Don’t get me wrong, I love my life and I am fortunate beyond measure, I’ve just never been the practical or predictable type, heck, I met the wife on a plane.  Maybe the Jeep provides just enough impracticality to counterbalance a life that’s becoming more and more practical.

Are those good enough reasons to keep it though?

I really don’t have that answer.  If I did, I would feel confident one way or the other, but I don’t.   The practical side of me says sell it…and get a Harley.  Crap, I’m right back where I started.

So long, Jeep.  Happy trails and thanks for the memories.

 

(I’m listening to “Lucky Man” by The Verve)

Tiny said, “Hi!”  It was clear as day.  The wife, Tiny, and myself were sitting in the sun room.  Littles walked in and Tiny waved to her and said, “Hi!” with a huge smile on her face. It was like watching a spaceman making contact with a martian for the first time.  All of our jaws dropped.  We got excited!  Communication has begun!  Tiny has been saying “Momma” and “Dadda” for a little while now, but for some reason, “Hi” seems different.  Tiny’s 1st birthday is next week and now she can say “Hi” to all of the guests at her party.  I can’t wait to hear Littles and Tiny jabbering away to each other.

Tiny also had milk today.  Straight milk.  She’s been a formula baby since graduating from the boob, but today we decided to see how she handled milk.  Here’s the result:

I’d say she likes it.  Her first taste was great.  She kind of looked at it and took a sip from the straw.  She paused, her eyes lit up, she got this amazed look on her face and said, “OH! Mmmmmm,” then quickly put the straw back in her mouth to take another drink like it was going to disappear.  It was like me taking a drink of something that I thought was water, only to find out it was Diet Coke or something else that’s awesome.  It was a priceless moment.

The switch from formula to milk will also a game changer…oh man!  No more mixing bottles; just pour some milk into a sippy cup and we’re good to go.  Also, I might be able to buy a whole cow for the price of a container of formula.  When I go to Costco to get formula, I feel like I should buy stock in the company so I can at least reap the dividend.  The biggest bonus though, is to my sense of smell.  Old formula bottles just smell awful.  Uncorking the smell from a formula bottle that’s been in a diaper bag all day is the equivalent of shoving a dirty diaper up your nose.  It kind of smells like when I have to open the dishwasher mid-cycle to put in a forgotten plate, only if you mixed that with a faint whiff of someone else’s fart.  It’s just awful.  It’s worse when I go to put some dirty dishes in the dishwasher and there are 8 dirty formula bottles that have been stewing in their own stench all day.  Ugh.  If we get to straight milk, that all goes out the window!

So, with those two magical moments, seasons are changing at our house.  Much to my dismay, the season is also changing outside.  Today was the last day of the ski season at Loveland Pass, and that means I don’t get to use this anymore.

The transition from Winter to Summer is always a rough for me.  The wife jokes that I have Reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder, which actually could be true.  I do get a bit grumpy and depressed during the summer, but I’ll get by.  I’ve told myself I’m going to do more hiking and biking this summer.  It has been a great season, and when I can get up to the mountain 30+ times while having a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old, I have no complaints.  Here are some highlights of my ski season:

It’s sad to see another season come and go, but I’m always grateful.  I have my health, a supportive wife who helps make time for me to go, a new riding partner, and I only have to wait 146 more days until another season begins!  Like the song I’m listening to says, “I’m a lucky man.”  I might go have some milk with Tiny to celebrate.

 

(Listening to “Can You Stand The Rain” by New Edition)

After a great family vacation in Pagosa Springs, we had one final obstacle…the 5 hour drive home.  GPS said it was 5 hours, but what GPS doesn’t know is we’re traveling with a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old.  I haven’t figured out a tried and true formula yet,  but I’m pretty confident it’s something like: for every 3 hours driven, add 30 minutes per child to the GPS estimate.  That will equal the total drive time.  Yeah, that sounds about right.  Anyway, the drive home went as smooth as possible.  Here are the pictures.

I must admit, I wasn’t sure how this whole deal would turn out.  Taking a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old on a thousand mile road trip could have been a recipe for disaster, but the kids passed with flying colors.  We could have stayed home for 5 days and just relaxed, but what fun is that?  We swam in hot springs, saw Native American ruins, visited old friends, had picnics, saw some gorgeous scenery, and spent a lot of quality time together.  No technology, no work, no deadlines, just us.  And that’s what it’s all about…spending time together and experiencing different things. Years from now, when the girls are grown, we won’t be wishing we’d spent more time at home, we’ll be wishing we did more of this.  The girls probably won’t remember this trip, but the wife and I definitely will.  This was our first road trip, we made it, and we had a blast.  I can’t wait for the next one.

(I’m listening to “The Funeral” by Band of Horses)

Day 4 of our Pagosa Springs vacation was very special to me.  I saw some amazing people I hadn’t seen in a while.  People that helped me become who I am.  I’ll get to that in a bit, but first, here are some pictures of the day.

 

The Van Ry’s are very special people to me.  I really can’t say enough about them and the impact they had on me during high school and beyond.  Some teachers you never forget.  For me, Mr. Van Ry was the one.  Mr. Van Ry (to this day I can’t bring myself to call him Jim, it will always be Mr. Van Ry) always challenged and encouraged me to be my best when it came to music; and that lesson I learned from music, I still apply to my life today.  I think teachers get into teaching because they want to have an impact on kids’ lives, and if that’s true, I want Mr. Van Ry to know he definitely impacted mine.

I first remember meeting Mr. Van Ry and Jenny, when I was in 7th grade.  He needed a kid to play Winthrop in the high school’s production of “The Music Man.”  I was a very musical kid from an early age and I vaguely remember my 7th grade choir director telling Mr. Van Ry that she had just the kid for the part.  I can’t remember if I auditioned or not, but I got the part.  Little did he know that meeting that young and cocky (when it came to music) kid was just the beginning of a relationship that has lasted 26 years.

In high school, I sang in all of his choirs: Freshman Chorus, Concert Choir, and a select group called Chamber Choir.  Mr. Van Ry also directed the musicals.  My sophomore year I was Edmund in “Narnia,” my junior year I was Sir Joseph Porter in “H.M.S. Pinafore,” and my senior year I was Will Parker in “Oklahoma!”  Needless to say, Mr. Van Ry and I worked together a lot and most of my best memories from high school were because of him.  He was so passionate about music and that passion rubbed off on me.  He just kept on challenging and encouraging me.

His encouragement led me to audition for All-Northwest Choir which was a 200 person choir made up of kids from 8 states.  It was held every two years. He helped me practice all of the vocal drills and make an audition tape.  I had no idea what my chances were of making this choir, but I did!  I remember him driving me to Spokane in his white Ford Explorer to participate.  He did the same for me the next year, when I made the All-State Chorus in Tacoma.  There were no limits to what this man would do for me when it came to music.

Then, my senior year, Mr. Van Ry took our Chamber Choir on tour.  He and his dad drove 16 high school students in two 15 passenger vans through Utah, New Mexico, and Colorado.  Jenny also came along.  It was the best moment of high school for me and also introduced me to the Southwest, a place I love to visit.  We saw so many places: the Mormon Tabernacle, Arches National Park, Four Corners Monument, Mesa Verde National Park, Rehoboth, New Mexico, Creede, Colorado, the Air Force Academy, and Denver, Colorado.  That trip would shape where I would live as an adult.  I can still name all those kids that were in that group, and I still keep in touch with many of them.  It was a very special time with a lot of special people, and great memories were made.  At the time, I don’t think I knew the impact that trip and those people would have on my life.  I do now.

Looking back, I must admit I wasn’t always the easiest kid to work with, especially early on in high school.  Music kind of came easy to me.  I could always just do it and I knew it.  I caught on fast.  I could hear something and sing it back.  Pitch was never a problem.  I just had an ear for music.  But, I was an immature and insecure kid, just trying to find myself and where I fit in.  Because of that, my musical talent could take on different shades of arrogance at times.  I wanted to impress people.  I cared too much about what people thought.  I wanted to prove myself.  I grew up in a sports town and I felt like if I didn’t play ball I didn’t matter as much.  I felt like my talent sort of made me a second class citizen.  I don’t know if I was right or wrong to feel that way, but I did.

Music was the one thing I was really good at and Mr. Van Ry taught me not to shy away from that.  He taught me to embrace music because that’s the talent I had been given.  He taught me to be proud of that talent and be the absolute best that I could.  Through music, Mr. Van Ry taught me how to be myself and how to be confident in who I was.  I can’t think of a better lesson for a teacher to teach a student.

Thank you Mr. Van Ry, for everything.  I am so glad my wife and kids got to meet the man who helped shape who I am.  I hope to see you again soon.

 

 

 

 

(I’m listening to “Posters” by Jack Johnson)

More pictures!  Day 3 of vacation was a huge success, but before I get to the photos, I just want to jot down what happened on day 2.  I forgot a camera so here’s the 2 minute recap.  The girls didn’t sleep well the night before.  Maybe it was new surroundings, maybe it was being cooped up in a car the day before, but they didn’t want to sleep, so we didn’t sleep.  Here’s the sunrise I saw to prove it:

 So, we started the day like zombies.  The wife wanted to go to a hot springs, but when we looked them up online, they all charged an arm and a leg to go.  I can be a little cheap, but the wife and I both agreed that $50 to $80 for 4 people to go sit in a pool filled with hot springs water was too much.  The wife is very resourceful at finding alternatives for stuff like this, so she asks the front desk.  The woman tells us about “hippie dips.”  Hippie dips are little pools that are built out of rocks on the shore of the river.  The pools, which are made by the locals, catch the hot springs water from the resort pipes before it goes into the cold river.  You can sit in these hippie dips and get the same tubbing experience and it doesn’t cost a thing.  So that’s what we did and it was a blast.  At first, we had trouble finding a hippie dip, but a local steered us in the right direction.

Smelling like sulfur, we headed for home, cleaned up, and went “hunting for treasures,” which means we checked out the thrift and antique stores.  We purchased three items out of the of the three stores in which we stopped: A Care Bears DVD, a purse for Littles’ sunglasses, and a Spice Girls CD.  I’m not making that up.  We went home, had dinner, rearranged the sleeping arrangement for Littles, and we all got a good night sleep!

So here’s day 3 and our adventure to Mesa Verde National Park!

Today was a great success.  The girls were troopers and I highly recommend Mesa Verde National Park.  We’ll definitely go back when the girls are older and spend more time there.  It was the wife’s first time and she loved it.  I had been there once before, while on a high school choir tour.  Coincidentally, we’re going to visit my high school choir director tomorrow in Creede, CO.  I can’t wait to see him and his family and have him meet my family.

 

 

 

 

(I’m listening to “In The Absence of Sun” by Duncan Sheik)

We made it safe and sound to Pagosa Springs, CO!  It was the first road trip for the kids, and they did great, for the most part.  They spent 360 miles on the road, and due to a couple of stops, it took about 7 hours.  I’d write about it, but words won’t do it justice, so here are the pictures!

Overall, the first road trip was a success!  The girls were troopers and we’re very happy to be here!  It’s going to be great to look back on these pictures and the memories we made.

(I’m listening to Alanis Morissette)

Sometimes, I think I’m going to have an awesome day with my kid and it’s just a complete 180.  Today was that day.

This all started last Friday.  I got to enjoy a powder day, but it came at a cost.  The cost was a sad, pouting, little kid who was watching her daddy pack up his gear.  She didn’t want me to go without her.  “Can I go wif you, daddy?” she said, with a pouting look on her face.  That pouting look breaks my heart, so I promised Littles that I would take her “towboarding” (that’s what she calls it) the next time.  Today was the next time.

She was a bit under the weather the past weekend, so the wife and I made sure Littles got to bed on time so she’d have plenty of sleep and have “all of the energy” (as she would say) to go snowboarding.  She was excited when she went to sleep.

We got up this morning and everything seemed fine except for one little warning sign.  Littles wouldn’t let the wife put her hair in braids.  This might seem like something insignificant, but it’s not.  Whether or not Littles lets us do her hair can be a preview on how the day will go.  If she lets us do her hair without a fight, that means she’s in a good mood.  The day will go smooth.  If she whines, complains, and refuses to let us do it, well…it’s kind of like a low stakes game of Russian roulette.  You never know what you’re going to get.

The wife finally got Littles’ hair done, we packed up our gear, and Littles and I took off for the mountain.  The ride was nice, but Littles did seem a bit tired.  She didn’t say much on the way up, but she did have a fruit snack and a McDonald’s hash brown, so I thought we were in good shape.

When we arrived at the mountain, we changed into our gear with no fuss. I grabbed our snowboards, we walked to the ticket booth, got her ticket, and went to strap on our snowboards.  Things were rolling along great!  Littles said she wanted to go on the chair lift and I said, “Well, let’s do a couple of practice runs on the bunny slope first.  I’ll pull you around for a little while and then we’ll do the chair.” She agreed.  (Her snowboard has a retractable cable on each end so you can pull her around.  It’s very handy and lets me make sure she won’t become a kamikaze.)

I pull her up the hill about 50 feet, turn her around, and let her slide back down to me.  She has a smile on her face and is yelling, “Weeeeeeeeeee!”  I pull her back up the hill, and do the same thing.  Pulling her up the hill for our third “run,” she loses her balance, and falls back on her butt, and she just lays in the snow.  As I’m encouraging her to get up, I see the look on her face.  I know that look.  She doesn’t even need to say the words, but she does.  She whimpers, “Daddy, I’m tired, I want to go home.”  We’ve been on the mountain for a half hour.  It took us an hour to get there.  I ask her if she’s sure and she confirms her earlier proclamation.  She’s tired.  She says she wants to put her princess dress on and take a nap.  There’s no fighting this.  My three-year-old’s attitude turned on a dime.  I try to persevere.  I say, “Don’t you want to snowboard with daddy anymore?”  She replies, “I don’t want to towboard anymore.  I want to go home.”

I pick her up off of the snow.  I ask her if she wants to take a break.  She nods.  I pull her over to some picnic tables and we sit down.  I’m trying to think of any idea that will energize my little girl.  I suggest taking some pictures to send to momma.  This is what I got:  (These pictures were all taken within 30 seconds and they define what it’s like to have a three-year-old)

The pictures don’t work.  I text the wife.  I write, “Ugh, We’ve been here for a half an hour and now she wants to go home.  She says she’s tired.”  She replies, “Maybe she need a snack.  Try hot chocolate!”

Hot chocolate!  Why didn’t I think of that?  I ask Littles if she wants some hot chocolate and she perks right up.  I reach into my pocket for my wallet and I realize it’s in the car.  Now, a smart dad would have just said that we’d get some on the way home.  In this moment, I was not smart.  I told her we’d walk down to the car to get my wallet and walk back up to the lodge to get some hot chocolate.  Big mistake.  The car was fairly close by, but it wasn’t “three-year-old” close.  As we walked back to the car you’d have thought I was making her hike all the way back home.  Of course, she tripped and fell.  Tears flowed.  I brushed her off.  Hugs followed.  Somehow, we made it back to the lodge and we got our hot chocolate.  

The world made sense again, for about 3 minutes.  I’m thinking, “Okay.  We’ll just sit here, share some time together, have some hot chocolate and salvage the trip.”  She had other plans.  She takes a few sips and says she didn’t want it anymore.  Trying my best not to be irritated, I said, “That’s fine. Let’s just go potty and head home.”  Now, if there’s one thing I don’t want to ask my daughter to do when she’s tired and cranky, it’s go potty.  I don’t know why, but it’s like asking her to share her favorite toy.  I could ask my daughter to do 754 things that are significantly worse, and she would do them in a heart beat if it meant she didn’t have to go potty.   Then she pulls the ultimate three-year-old routine.  She says, “I don’t want to go potty, I want to drink my hot chocolate.”  I say, “But you just said you didn’t want your hot chocolate anymore.”  She just stares at me.  I say, “Fine, drink your hot chocolate then.”  She says, “No.”  There’s no explanation, no suggestion of what she’d rather do.  She just wants to sit there and contradict herself.  Awesome.

Finally, I tell her that we can’t leave unless she goes potty first.  She miraculously relents.  We go potty.  I carry her back to the car.  I might as well be carrying a bag of lead.  She’s wiped.  She’s three.  It isn’t her fault.  I strap her into her seat and she says, “I’m sorry daddy.  I want to go towboarding again.  I’m just tired.”  I tell her it’s okay and we will try again another day.  She reaches out for hug.  I give her one, and a kiss.

We head for home.  She’s so tired that she can’t even sleep in the car.  She just sucks her thumb and twirls her hair with her finger.

When we get home, the day continues like this.  It’s a struggle.  Nothing really makes sense.  Everything is a battle or a negotiation.  There’s frustration.  She’s tired.  At bedtime, the wife and I are putting her down.  We read books.  We do our prayers.  We snuggle her into bed.  The last thing Littles says is, “I had a rough day.”  We chuckle.  We give her hugs.  We tell her we love her.  We say goodnight.

She had a rough day.  Don’t we all?

(I’m listening to Tripping Daisy – High)

I enjoy talking to older people.  They’re interesting.  They have so much knowledge and so much life experience.  They have a simple way about them.  They never seem preoccupied with the future.  They live in the present and they love to talk about the past.  It’s like talking to a living history book.  I’m always fascinated.

I really enjoy talking to older people on the chairlift.  They have what I want; the secret of being able to keep doing what they love to do.  They haven’t let life take that from them.  If I have the opportunity to talk to an older person on the chair, I’m taking advantage.  I want to know, “the secret.”  Today, I got that chance.

I had the privilege of talking to an older gentleman today.  His name is John.  We were on Chair 8 at Loveland Basin.  John had a full white beard and he wore glasses under his goggles.  He wore a stocking cap and his gear looked like it was old, but trusty, and full of stories.  He reminded me of a skiing Willie Nelson.  Normally, I’d soak up my introvert time, ride the chair in silence, or listen to music; but when John and I got on the same chair, I knew I wanted to talk to him.  We started making small talk about the weather, about where we had been on the mountain and asking each other “if it was good.” The truth was, everywhere was good thanks to the 10 inches of snow that had fallen during the previous night, but he knew a spot that was great, so I asked if I could tag along with him on the next run and he said he’d like the company.

Now, I’m no Jeremy Jones or Travis Rice on the mountain, but I can hold my own on a snowboard.  I like to ride fast, steep lines, especially in the pow.  John took us to a spot that was a bit more mellow, a run I had never taken before.  We got about 10 yards off of the groomed cat track, and I just felt the bottom give out.  We were floating and crisscrossing each other’s tracks with smiles on our faces that only powder can provide.  I felt weightless.  Zero effort was needed to make turns.  I was gliding through the snow and he was keeping up just fine.  Age couldn’t keep this man down.  He still had it and he still loved it.

We got back down to the lift and got back on the chair together.  I told him I had never been on that run before and he said it was one of his favorites.  I thanked him for showing it to me and then I said, “I’m Jevin.”  He replied with an outstretched hand and said, “Nice to meet you Jevin, I’m John.”  That’s when the questions started to flow.  I asked him where he was from.  He said, “Denver.”  I told him I lived in Denver too.  I asked him how long he’s been skiing at Loveland.  He thought for a second, then with a hint of pride in his voice, he said, “Oh let’s see.  I think about 64 years.  I’ve been coming here since…since I was about 6 or so.  1953 or 1954 was my first season I think.”  He said things looked a little different up here then, but they were still pretty much the same.  He talked about how the freeway wasn’t built yet and it was just a two lane road up to the mountain.  “You got pretty good as passing,” he said.  “They had passing lines on the road, and you really had to know what you were doing.  We didn’t have all of these 4 wheel drive vehicles they have today, but we did have some Jeeps.”

We continued to talk and he told me all about how he used to ski at Loveland, Arapahoe Basin, and Winter Park.  Since I’m familiar with all three of those areas and worked at Winter Park for a season, I asked him which area was his favorite. He said, “Back then? Winter Park.  There were so many girls at Winter Park!”  Then, with a devious chuckle, he said,  “Loveland has always been the place I loved to ski though.”  We shared a hearty laugh and started talking about the next run.

We took a few more runs together.  In between, on the lift rides up, we talked about everything from long lift lines at A-Basin’s Pali Chair, to how there used to be no bumps on the Jane (Mary Jane) at Winter Park.  “It used to be smooth,” he said.  “You could use GS (giant slalom) skis.  It’s not that way anymore.  I love to ski there still, but the knees aren’t what they used to be.”  He told me how he would hike up and ski Loveland Pass, but now, “Nobody goes in the right spot anymore.  You gotta go past the last tracks and around the slide area (making a motion with his hand like it was going around something).  That’s the ticket.”

The weather was deteriorating quickly.  It was getting really blustery and cold.  Snow was pelting our faces.  At the top of the lift, John said, “Well, I think I’m going to head back over to the other side.  It was a pleasure skiing with you today.”  I replied, “Sounds good.  The pleasure is all mine.  But hey, before you go, what’s your secret?”  “Secret?”  He said.  I said, “Yeah, your secret to skiing so long.”  He said with a smile, “I don’t have a secret,  I just keep on goin’.”  I shook his hand again and I told him to take care.  He told me to do the same then took off into the wind whipped snow.  I took a few more runs and called it a day.

On the drive home, I kept thinking about what John had said.  I thought to myself, “Just keep on goin’.”  Sounds like a plan.  Thanks, John.

 John and I on Chair 8.

 

 

(I’m listening to “Into You” by Fabolous.)

I can’t cook or bake.  Somewhere along the line, those skills passed me by, never to be learned.  I don’t know why I didn’t learn how to do them, I just didn’t.  Maybe it was because my mom always did the cooking or baking in my house and I never took an interest in it.  I don’t have recipe books that are handed down, not that I would know how to use them if I did.  I don’t know, I just never learned how to cook or bake.

If I think about it, it is kind of strange that I never learned how to cook or bake.  I was 30 when I got married, which meant that I lived the bachelor life for about 9 years.  What did I eat?  Hungry Man only goes so far.  I can make breakfast, but it’s really hard to screw up scrambling eggs, cooking sausage, and making pancakes from a mix.  Plus, that’s only one meal of the day.  What about the other two?  I can grill, but I’m not even great at that, plus, it’s not like I’m going to fire up a grill for myself.  I don’t know.  Somehow, I survived.

I’m really surprised I even was able to get married without being able to cook or bake.  Think about it.  I’ve made exactly zero dinners for Valentine’s Day, birthdays, anniversaries, special occasions, or any day for that matter.  Seriously, ask anyone.  Ask the wife, ask any old girlfriend.  I have never cooked or baked.  That’s not to say I’ve never “helped out,” but cook a meal from start to finish?  Nope, unless you count spaghetti a few times, which I don’t really count as cooking.  Anything that requires multiple ingredients has never been done by me.  I am oh for 38 years.

With that said, I do have two great skills when it comes to meal times.  The first one is: I can do dishes like it’s my job.  No pile is too big, no messes are too gross, no pan is too dirty.  I can clean up like a pro and I actually enjoy it.  Plus, I can put everything away in relatively the right spot.  I don’t ever use a mixer, but I know where it goes in the cupboard.  I don’t use a garlic press, but I know what it’s called and I know where it goes, even though I don’t know how to actually use garlic.  Yep, I stick to what I know.  I stick to where I’ll do the least damage.  I try to pick up a few cooking skills from the wife, but if you’re counting on me to make a dinner for company, you better hope they like tortillas with cheese and pizza sauce or mac and cheese (from the box, of course).  I can’t cook, but I will do their dishes.

Doing dishes really lights the wife’s fire.  It might be a simple pleasure for her to wake up to clean dishes, but it’s an appreciated one, and I know this.  It’s like a validation of her effort to make the meals and take care of our family.  So, when the kitchen is left like this:

I try my best to make sure it looks like this:

I get home from the day job between 5:30 pm to 6 pm and when there’s a meal on the table, which is almost always, I know she did that with a crazy 3-year-old running around and a 1-year-old on her hip.  She cooks with that degree of difficulty and it rivals that of an Olympic gymnast.  I can do the dishes, and a lot of times, she helps with that too!

Our dishes are really gross.  We have a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old.  There’s few worse things for the wife than waking up, walking to the kitchen to get her coffee, and having a pile of dishes with mashed up food on them.  It kind of reminds me of a good college buddy who was hit by a car.  One of the side effects is that he lost his sense of smell for a while which really played with his sense of taste.  So, what we could do is mash-up different foods in one of our cafeteria cups and pay him to drink it.  The concoctions my friends and I made were gross, but they had nothing on what my kids leave behind at any given meal.  One of the “few worse things” for the wife is to open the dishwasher only get a nice whiff of old baby formula bottles and mashed up food. I know she gags when that happens and she might even gag while reading this.  The smell is just awful and that’s the last thing she needs to start her day.  By the way, my college buddy made a full recovery.

Doing dishes may not sound like much, but it’s the little things like this that go a long ways.  The wife’s love languages are “acts of service” and “quality time.”  If the wife wakes up to an orderly house, that’s a huge detail off of her plate (no pun intended).  I did an act of service for her, and I saved her the time of doing the dishes which creates more quality time for us.  That fills her love tank.  Happy wife, happy life.  And, when the wife’s love tank if full, she tries to fill mine.  She knows one of the best ways to do that is to free up some time for me to go snowboarding, which is my stress reliever, which makes me a better human and a better dad.  It’s a simple cycle and everyone wins.

In a nutshell, that’s why I enjoy doing the dishes.  In case you’re wondering what my second skill is when it comes to meal times?  I can suggest going out to eat.  Then, everyone really wins.