Vendulka was the most preferred ski partner.

Lisa started to cough on New Year, I joined her on Tuesday. On Thursday my daughter looked quite unwell, and I ordered a relaxing day with school off. She was probably feeling quite bad, for she said that she'd rather be home although it meant that she would not be able to have a play date with Raphael and his new guinea pig.

Raphael is Tom's school mate and given the fact that his parents are German, I find much in common with his family. For example, when I came to pick Tom up from the play date, they offered me real Christmas cookies including vanilla rolls and coconut puffs. And Raphael's mom and I agreed that the boys would walk to their home from school. Maybe it seems like a small thing for you, but we happen to live so inconveniently far from school that we have to commute by car. My kids therefore don't get an opportunity to try a bit of self-reliance and responsibility that one needs to muster for such a banal thing as a walk to school and from school. Naturally, the boys handled it without a problem and I'm sure they'd be just as fine with Lisa — she, however, has to wait for next time.

Lisa with men.

Lisa responded well to the one day at home; she was jumping merrily again in the evening, and I declared her cured and sent her back to school on Friday. And I could go to my Friday noon yard duty — I still felt miserable, but had no temperature. The progress of Lisa's version of the virosis gave me hope that I'd be recovering soon. In the middle of my duty shift I suddenly discovered that for the rest of the day I'd be relying on my whistle and hand gestures — I had brutally lost my voice. I could only emit a kind of croaking, and it hurt incredibly.

On Saturday morning I dawdled a bit, but in the afternoon it was necessary to prune our tree. January is typically dry and warm, only by the end of the month, rains come back and work in the yard is out of question for several long weeks. This winter has been strange: after a moist and cold summer, there were no fall storms, and mountains carry much less snow in January than usual (or more precisely, none); they had more in July. Still we did not want to rely on a dry spring — moreover, we have been praying for a proper snow present for months now — we had pre-paid our "cottage" at Kirkwood, and although the resort is trying to cover the slopes with artificial snow, it's still desperately not enough.

Skiing (marching) band.

To not get distracted — I simply climbed up our tree with a scarf on my neck, to get going. Pruning the tree takes about five hours, depending on how many people participate in the actual work, and how many fairies just dance around and sing, and how many train engines keep stalling while pulling away the twigs. This year we promoted Tom, in the context of fostering self-reliance, responsibility and usefulness, from twig cleaner to branch pruner, sat him up on the tree, gave him a small saw and let him practice. Lisa, of course, also wanted to be put up in the branches, but then she was afraid of the heights, and we had to take her down again.

I had made a mistake when I estimated that since I felt so unwell on Friday, it could improve — I did not feel any better on Saturday, and on Sunday I collapsed in my bed, totally incapable of any function. On Monday I was still looking for my lost voice, and my small aches were still all with me, and I had no other choice than visiting my doctor and got issued antibiotics — a three-day weekend was ahead of us, and I needed to get at least partially fit.

Concert at the lift.

On Friday noon I picked up my kids from school, made their lunch, and we went for Vendula; after three hours and twenty minutes we were entering our "cottage". Working men, Pavel and Hippo, came shortly before midnight. Their departure was, however, complicated by a drama about trousers. I have been writing about the fact that we co-habitate with a certain German (Herr Professor Doktor Alzheimer), who maliciously hides merchandise receipts when we need to return it, places hard liquor in the fridge and milk among pots, disappears car keys and the garage door opener, and otherwise terrorizes our lives. This time he had hidden Hippo's skiing trousers (still dirty after holiday trip) into a duffel bag in our closet. Fortunately, my Hippo has thwarted him and found them — but it meant that after arriving at 8,000 feet elevation, he had to wash them, for they were really used.

The rest of the weekend continued rather quietly in the sign of skiing. I must praise our kids — they had made considerable progress and Hippo with me can barely keep up with them on the slope. Which is good, for it means that our skiing with children is no stationary boredom, but we are quite busy instead. Vendula announced a new goal for everybody: learn to ski on one leg. It would seem that only Tom, of all the family, masters this feat.

Our weekend was made more colorful by Cal Marching Band. It's a band quite different from those we knew in Europe; here, approximately two hundred students play with verve and dedication (and WELL!) all kinds of songs, including modern stuff — even while skiing or snowboarding downhill. At noon and toward lift closure, they also played on a lodge plaza and next to the lifts, and we could listen to them playing properly. Lisa was completely fascinated, but Tom did not find it much fun for long.

There was a sprinkling on the hill in the morning.

Workers (Vendula, Pavel and Hippo) departed on Sunday evening and I stayed with the kids till Monday; they had vacations. No one was willing to spend any time off, since the snow was so poor. It had not snowed since November, and even elevations of eight thousand feet hold only what snow cannons can produce, otherwise naked hills and rock stick up to the sky, and valleys are wearing flat yellow grass.

The children don't mind; skiing on the few operational runs is sufficient by far for them. On Monday, the juniors woke shortly after seven a.m., and thus started by nine thirty with their tickets (only Hippo and I have season passes) on their first lift. The sun was shining, but the air was cracking with frost — and a crazy wind was blowing. Some snow cannon were still operating on one slope and it seemed to me that a few hills in the distance were sprinkled, too. The lift guy claimed that it was a blown away artificial snow, but one could see some on the other side of the valley, and I think it might have snowed a little bit during the night.

It was nice to think about that, but after half hour Lisa began howling that her feet were freezing. I had my dawn jacket on (which I normally don't use for skiing), a cap and a buff under my helmet, and felt cold as well. Only Tom did not complain. We lasted four more runs, but it kept getting worse — both sitting on a lift chair, where you gradually cool off, or speeding downhill against the wind, after which you look forward to sitting down on the chair and get warmer in the sunshine with the wind in your back.

Snow cannon at full blast.

At eleven o'clock I had to call for retreat, announcing lunch — we desperately needed to soak up some warmth and nutrition. After lunch we tried skiing again, with a similar result. Despite it being rather pleasant in the sunny front of the cottage, sheltered from the wind, on the slopes we lasted only one and half hour. Then Lisa has collided with a stranger — the chap was decent enough to look adequately sorry, waiting for me to disentangle Lisa, get her on her feet and check for damage. They were probably equally at fault — they crashed in a place where two runs merge — Lisa was most likely not looking and the guy was glad to be upright on his skis, and thus they intersected — not completely, but enough to bring each other out of balance.

Lisa thereafter skied down one easier run (I wanted to be sure she was non injured), but she refused to take the last, harder route, and we let her wait at the foot of the lift. I hope she would manage; I have been trying to teach them to be self-sufficient a bit, and I cannot simply be in two places, and Tom and I wanted to catch one more run (besides, I would not have left Tom to ski alone). Lisa coped, and soon we all headed for the cottage. We had to pack and clean up. Naturally, most of those chores were my problem, but I still tried to split the work a little, and kids must pack their own stuff and help with everything they can handle — e.g. vacuuming.

When I went to fetch my car, I noticed it was still twenty five degrees outside — and it was close to 3 p.m., usually the warmest moment of the day. I don't dare to estimate what it must have been at 9:30 a.m., but obviously quite a chill. I still had to drive those hundred and ninety two miles home; fortunately only some people had a holiday Monday (schools and other government institution observe Martin Luther King Day, but private companies frequently don't), and a portion of people had to leave on Sunday, and the traffic was not so frightening.

Kids enjoy skiing on artificial snow so far.

On Wednesday, kids started attending soccer. It isn't that I would not wish my son (and daughter, as this sport is regarded here mostly as girl's version of the more manly football) to participate in team sports, but for years I could not get over the local system. It is based on having a child signed up according to residence to a league. The league cycle lasts three months, most games being played in the fall and spring. Trainings are once or twice a week, which would be great. However, these are typically couched by volunteers from the pool of parents, accommodating those with daytime jobs, hence the trainings start easily by six, six thirty in the evening. I consider this to be quite idiotic with pre-schoolers and early-graders. When should such a child get to his/her bed when (s)he still hangs out in the field by seven thirty??? Another problem incompatible with our family life are weekend games, for they are more or less mandatory. Naturally nobody would approach me with a machine gun if my kid would not show up, but it's said that they "make faces". So, being in a league would mean three months of no weekend trips whatsoever, plus likely hassle with nightly trainings — or is it that my kids are weird, if they need to be in beds at eight or so?

Simply put, for years we never reached the point of signing the children up for any league. Now either somebody upstairs heard my pleading (or could no longer suffer my endless whining and complaining), and YMCA started organizing a soccer team at school. One hour weekly, piggybacking school schedule in early afternoon hours, no dresses, stresses or weekend matches. I don't have to haul the kids anywhere; they move to the school field all TOGETHER, so I don't have to deal with one bored junior roaming a parking lot while the other participates. So far, I'm enticed. Whether my kids would like it, we shall see. I take it as a chance to TRY and decide if it's something they would like to do.

And there's no end to the miracles, for it had been raining since Thursday — and SNOWING in the mountains. Wish us luck, we may finally get to ski properly!!!