In my last blog post , I was talking about that we were going to Montana. But, no. Instead, the Montana train kept getting canceled. So, instead, we went to Grand Marais to ski at Lutsen. The first time I went skiing, I broke my leg. So, this is how it happened: I fell two times. The first time, I fell on purpose because I wasn't ready yet. My brother Luke helped me up. The second time, I was going like super fast. I fell. When I fell, my ski flipped to the side. And then I was in major pain. My brother Luke at least got me all the way to the side. He called my mom. She wouldn't answer. He called my dad. He didn't answer. He called my sister Tereza. She answered. We told her what happened. She told my mom right away. The rest of my whole family went up on the chairlift and met me where I was just laying to the side. Then my mom took off her skis and sat down next to me and felt my leg. It was hurting a lot. Then my dad went down the mountain and got the ski patrol. A pers
At the end of the game, the king and the pawn both go back in the same box.—Italian proverb