Ski in the Storm

Hello and welcome to a subzero, mid-January-already Saturday here at the Wannaskan Alamanc. Today is January 17th.

Week #2 of post-holiday Ordinary Time went more smoothly than Week #1, as we eased into more of our regular habits and routines. In addition to work and school, kids resumed Lego League practices, I attended the first Toastmasters meeting of the year, and the hubs commenced robotics mentoring. The morning routine got easier, and we all headed out the door feeling a bit more joyful and a little less resigned to our lot in life. (Which is actually a pretty good lot.)

The week was also punctuated with a few adventures, making for an all-around lovely week. On Sunday, we went cross-country skiing. This was my first attempt in 15 years, and the last time before that attempt was when I was actually 15 years old. Friends took us out into Beltrami on a nice, powdery trail they maintain themselves. The forest was breathtaking, peaceful, and gorgeous with the contrast of clean, bright snow against the deep pine greens. The silence blissfully relaxed my mind, like a hot bubble bath does a body, in between the spaces when my husband wasn't talking. We always debate about who's the chattier one - me or him. Well, I present evidence of that ski loop that he is far chattier than I am.

I fell once, but it was okay. I experienced the same bizarre calm as when I biffed it at Giant's Ridge over the holidays. I knew I was going down, I knew it was okay, I went with it. I attribute this new sense of Zen to the practice of meditation I learned how to do in 2025. Really. My body's cool with losing its balance because it knows it will upright itself. Like I said, a bizarre sense of detachment, yet somehow a whole body experience.

My favorite part of skiing was the physicality of it. The push-glide-swish pattern, opposite leg and arm synchronizing, then repeating on the other side. I played a mental game with myself: How to ski as smoothly as possible without stopping.

Our friend demonstrated how to do the 180-degree "flip" to turn around. The muscle memory of my teen years all came back. Yes. I remember this. The more I skied, the more I remembered. As I got better, I let myself look up more, taking in the nature, pleasantly remembering my first ski lessons with my mom at Chester Bowl in Duluth. Grateful that our forest path was flat and fluffy instead of hilly and icy. It's a funny thing how you can remember a difficult experience with fondness.

Mid-week, we got a break from the routine re-acclimation with church bingo instead of religious education. I sat with friends I hadn't seen in a while and caught up on the family news. I admit, I'm just competitive enough to feel frustrated when I don't win. About 10 years ago, we were on a winning streak with church bingo. It was thrilling. These years, not so much. I realized that it wasn't about the winning; it was about feeling like I'd wasted my time. To test the theory, the last time we had church bingo, I brought some knitting. Sure enough, I didn't win a thing, but I got almost an entire dishcloth knit. So, I brought my knitting again and cast on. This time, the Youngest won one time - $10! - and the family I sat with won not once, not twice, but four times! I felt glad for them and pleased that it was a genuine sentiment instead of a bitter one.

Thursday night was the last night home for College Kid 2.0. To make it special, we splurged with Godfather's Pizza from the new Circle K (one Humble Pie and one Hawaiian, both party cut). And gathered in the living room to watch The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. It's PG and spoke to all of us in different ways due to our differing generations. "I'm still trying to figure out what his secret life was," said the Youngest. We parents had to explain what photo negatives were. We left the explanation of the spirit and mission of LIFE magazine to the movie. With College Kid 2.0 anticipating a graduation in May, taking the next steps in his own life, and still jonesing on pontification with his philosophy minor, I thought this film would be good grist for his mill.

On this Saturday, I'm thrilled to be cleaning, pitching, and purging the house while looking forward to some snowshoeing in the afternoon. At the same time, I can't help but note the paradox of peace in my home and relative quiet in my community, to the chaos and precariousness of homes and communities only 6 hours south of Wannaska.