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Mary Had A Little Fridge...
December 6 - 28, 2014
Christmas tree - Refrigerator - last skiing of the year - catching up with Christmas Eve
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This year, besides classic shapes, our Christmas tree features a sea otter.
This year, besides classic shapes, our Christmas tree features a sea otter.
The beginning of December means for us a trip to get a Christmas tree. We did not do anything fancy this year; from a sunny valley we drove up into a cloud hugging the mountains, and a light but persistent drizzle. I had a great idea to wear jeans, thus once I brushed on the first tree, I was soaked. Tom wanted to roam around the farm and take time choosing a tree — we had quite a challenge convincing him that the one on the edge close to us was good enough.

The tree went into a bucket in the back yard and we delved into making Vizovice (dough) decorations. Lisa was working with me on classic shapes, while Tom had decided to sculpt a sea otter. He showed admirable patience, and thus indeed one of our decorations is very non-traditional this year.

Morning round of a monopoly game.
Morning round of a monopoly game.
One can notice Christmas approaching at school by the fact that kids don't get to learn much anymore; instead, they participate in pageants, parties and trips. I had joined Lisa field trip to a mission — which would have been fine except for the horrible cold. Somehow I had never thought of weather in a nearby town getting so horribly English — and riding in a car without a heater did not help — so I spent the rest of a day under a blanket. Strangely enough, I did not get sick, but that may be because I rode in a car, and not inside a crowded school bus.

On the last weekend before the holidays, we executed a blitz action, "Fridge." We had bought our house almost thirteen years earlier including a refrigerator, which had lately been evoking the acoustics of a fighter jet taking off, and besides that, had been gradually falling apart. Hippo had declared that a fridge was an important cultural object — which I can only confirm; he routinely gazes into it, and so now he can gaze into a new one. I had no idea that a purchase of a new refrigerator would also mean cleaning out the back yard — neither the old nor the new fridge would fit through the kitchen door, and the only passage leads through the patio door into our back yard and through the gap around the house out. Normally, garbage bins park in the gap, and our winterized patio furniture takes up space at our patio door, and thus we had to move them all.

On top of Kirkwood.
On top of Kirkwood.
They brought our new fridge on Wednesday before the holiday break, and thus all the moving around was the proverbial cherry on the cake of all the Christmas confusion. Kids were finishing up with some school parties, there was still a need to get some last-moment presents, and small things for their school; further more complete and close down our skiing equipment — we had finalized our skis, but details like gloves, poles and similar things also took their time. And then we had to pack for our approaching Saturday departure to Kirkwood. We did not take a season rental this year, where we could store all our skis, helmets, jackets, bedding, spare clothing, food, games and everything else. We had rented this condo for only five days, and we had to bring and take back home absolutely EVERYTHING. In a subaru, too, for we would not dare to take our minivan to the mountains, now that snowing was forecast. And I don't emphasize the fact that we had planned returning on Christmas Eve, and presents had to be packed and ready, awaiting us at home.

On Saturday, we slid into our car — literally so in mine and Tom's case, for my cross country skis were tugged along the right side doors — and we headed for the mountains shortly before eight. At exactly eleven o'clock, we entered the door at Giant Burger, whose staff had just opened. The dudes did not look too awake, but no one balked at my order of cheeseburger without the bun. I wondered how I was going to eat the burger; it's practically kiosk vending, and you get your sandwich wrapped in paper — eventually I had found a knife in my purse. Unnecessarily, it turned out, for the chap at the grill handily packed meat layered with mayo, cheese and veggies, inside a lettuce leaf. As far a table manners and degree of mess goes, I did not fare any worse than the rest of our family with their buns.

Alas, the ice sheet pushed us to lower elevations and easier slopes.
Alas, the ice sheet pushed us to lower elevations and easier slopes.
Refreshed, we finished the rest of the journey to the top of the mountains without greater difficulties, in a slight rain intermixed with snow. Apparently we represented a sample of the very few lunatics, for we grabbed a parking spot right under the first lift. Our accommodation was available as of four o'clock, so we put our ski clothing and helmets on — and went skiing. I tried to run our favorite Drain with Tom, but the storm (which had this year made it to international news) did not manage to cover the creek in the ravine. An adventurous switch back slide among rock sticking out of the snow and treacherous pits (often leading into the aforementioned creek) did not impress us much, and we docilely returned to groomed slopes. Kids soon began to whimper that they were cold in all that wind, snowfall and rain, and Hippo took them soon to a kiosk for hot chocolate. I tried to go around a few more times, but my legs hurt me like crazy in this fresh heavy snow, and I soon traded downhill for cross-country, and as the four o'clock mark approached, a decision came that Sid would drive with the kids down to the condo and I would catch up with them on my skis across the meadow.

Because of a snafu with an electronic lock (actually, THREE different locks, so it wasn't clear, which one of them we were supposed to use), I failed to dodge the unpacking and carrying of stuff upstairs. Important thing was, we were finally inside, in the comfort and warmth of the apartment. We picked our bedrooms, cooked dinner, and holidays could begin.

A dose of cross-country before going to the mountain.
A dose of cross-country before going to the mountain.
When on Sunday morning, our expedition had finally stumbled out to ski, the kids lasted only till noon, asking to be left digging in the snow afterward. They were issued a cell phone and instructions how to re-enter the condo; adults went skiing again. The stronger ones (Mirek and myself) endured till closing time, but by then I had the feeling that my legs would buckle anytime. Cowardly, I opted out of cross-country; instead I had a snack and slowly began to fix dinner. Soon, Hippo said good-bye and drove back home, as he was going to work on Monday and Tuesday.

Having learned my lesson, on Monday morning I set out to the cross-country meadow before the majority of holidaymakers even rolled out of their beds. I reckoned that kids, equipped with breakfast, could manage to lounge in their pajamas, and we would still get to gear up for regular skiing in good time. And I was right. My other plan, i.e., that we would start actually skiing before other skiers and snowboarders transform groomed slopes into irregular heaps of heavy snow, was considerably thwarted by weather. It had apparently been freezing at night, and when we merrily reached our favorite Sentinel, which was supposed to be groomed, we had found ourselves on the edge of an ice sheet, flat as a mirror, yet very tilted. Somehow we scraped it down to a spot where the slope makes a right turn. Straight down goes a ravine, in this case naturally impassable. We were waiting for the rest of our group, when a snowboarder had lost his control in the middle of the slope. He rushed down with horror in his eyes; we managed to make room for him in time, and watched him stop right at the end of the clearing, missing a fall into the ravine, his eyes bulging. That was when we discontinued our attempts to ski harder terrains — the risk of losing a child in one of the ravines, either by falling or being dragged in by someone else, did not seem negligible to us anymore. And so we ground the medium lifts, around and around, till our heads spun. When the children began mumbling about playing outside after lunch again, we did not object — it really did not make much sense to urge them into athletics in these conditions.

We tried to convince the kids that Christmas had already happened.
We tried to convince the kids that Christmas had already happened.
Mirek and I were again closing down the lifts, but to my surprise I found Tom back home, already done being outdoors, and quite wet, with no Lisa in sight; she stayed with a buddy. I had eventually found her, and she told me that she was invited to see Alex at home. I asked her, where Alex's home was — and it turned out to be the apartment next door. And they had invited Lisa to a dinner (at a local bar). Well, as she is just nine, it's a pretty good accomplishment. I did not feel right about the dinner, but since he is a rather nice boy, I had an idea: would Alex like to join us next day skiing, so that they could spend so more time together?

Alex was willing, but it did not work out, as he appeared not to know how to ski at all. I had a very hard time getting him up on the lift, off the lift, and down the slope; then I had to have a talk with his mom, recommending a ski class. I would have never thought that somebody who lives and works in the mountains permanently, could not ski, although I understand that while both parents work throughout the day, they can't spend the time on the slopes. I felt sorry for the boy; fortunately, skiing mishap did not damage his further friendship with Lisa.

On Tuesday, Kovars stopped by for a chat, and later that evening, Hippo arrived. We were bound to repeat our Saturday action backwards on Wednesday — i.e. first pack all our stuff, then put on our skis and go to the slopes for a while, and then depart back home. We had thought we would pack some lunch and have a break on Backside lounge chairs, but already during our first trip up, a crazy wind was blowing snow into our faces, and we soon gave up. Skiing in wind and snowstorm is nothing pleasant, and we were afraid that some worse weather may rush in, cutting our escape route off, depriving us of our home, Christmas tree and presents.

There were presents under the tree as well.
There were presents under the tree as well.
The storm had eventually been canceled, and no snow fell till the end of the year, so this season would most likely be worst of all so far. Another drama awaited us on the way home — when we were practically reaching the Valley, Mirek called that their car had broken down and they were stuck in Livermore. Mind, this was December 24, about five in the afternoon. We had promised that when we'd get home, Hippo would take a shower, jump into our bus and get going back for rescue. The tow truck had eventually taken them all home — it was a regular working day BEFORE the holidays, and freeways to Livermore were completely jammed with cars leaving for the break — Hippo would have reached Švajda's after several hours. Inbound traffic was bearable, and this way they eventually had their Christmas Eve. They said it was exciting, if not too lucky.

We managed to make potato salad, we all had a shower, unpacked, even grilled our fish in the end, and took the obligatory Santa-spotting walk around the block. Upon our return, we tried to tell the children that Santa Claus had been to our home before, having delivered the fridge, and so we would take a family snapshot in front of the new appliance instead with the tree, and Christmas was over. I don't think they believed us, as they look rather merry even on the fridge picture. Naturally, there were presents under the tree, and everybody found happiness.

It was our early plan to drive out on a trip right after Christmas, with New Year's Eve finding us in the mountains again. Yet the forecast remained miserable, and we felt tired from all the skiing and driving, and so we stayed at home till Monday, when the right road-tripping spirit finally returned to us.


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