mad in pursuit journal



Yesterday I took a break from philosophizing about the avant-garde and went skiing.

It was great to air out my musty brain on the crusty ski slopes of Bristol Mountain. Four women -- Karen, Maria, Amy and me -- age range 40 to 59 -- decided to brave the breezes of evening skiing.

We arrived at the same time as the school buses, delivering a horde of energetic kids with the latest gear and the latest fashions in hiphop snow togs. Even bundled up, there is no way to blend in. We are old-timers -- and not even cool old-timers, like the old guys who go telemarking downhill in cross-country skis. No, not with my skinny 1980s skis and Maria's dogged snowplow style.

We are the Hillaries vs the Obamas. Sigh.

It was about 20 degrees. The four of us glided down a few bunny slopes. My legs felt good, but my feet were too cold. Where are hot flashes when you need them? I browbeat Maria into tackling some tougher slopes. The three of us coached her down the broad expanses of Upper Galaxy and Lower Rocket. Success. Time to retire from the cold and hit the coziness of the bar. Ahhhhhh.....


Drop me a line!