Sunday afternoon, Easter: Our mobility-converted Honda Odyssey is climbing into the Tahoe area, and we can see snow flying off of the windshields of cars coming down the mountain on the other side of the road. We keep climbing and suddenly we are in the snow, light flakes falling, but enough to inspire Scarlett to launch into Let It Go. It really doesn’t take much to get her to sing that song. “Snow glows white on the mountain tonight!” she crows, and when she has finished the song, she starts it again. And again. Also again. I blame jelly beans.

Monday: We’ve come to the snow for our spring break, although I’ve discovered via Facebook that everyone else we know seems to be in Hawaii this week. After a tough season in Tahoe with barely any snow, there are now “two feet of fresh powder at the summit.” Those words are in quotes because I heard someone else say them. I don’t talk like that. I was always a reluctant skier; once I got going, it was fun, but I never loved it. You can read about my last ski experience here. It will clue you into why skiing is not something I miss very much. But having written that, I feel it necessary to add that there were times, skiing down a simple blue run, when I felt so graceful and so peaceful that I could see why people obsess over the sport. That doesn’t change the fact that chair lifts are scary.

In the afternoon, we teach Scarlett how to play Old Maid. She wins two games, and Rob has a talk with her about sportsmanship. Read More>