Lisa in backstage of school's Variety Show.

Northstar seemed overcrowded to us.

February has rushed through with the intensity of an express train, leaving us somewhat gasping for breath. Literally so with me, as I was ill for most of the month, specifically with a recurring suffocating cough. Thus, during the days, I dealt with February events, and during nights I sat with a book — as soon as I lay down, my suffocation commenced.

Right at the beginning of the month, school held a Variety Show. Any child could have signed up and perform an entertaining piece. A Broadway Revue at the level of grammar school. During previous few years, we had succeeded in hiding this slapstick from Lisa; this year we weren't so lucky. She got in cahoots with her friend, Gabi, and devised a sketch. Well, they are both comedians. They both are also rather resourceful, and my contribution to this effort eventually consisted of providing them with room for a rehearsal on one afternoon. The rest — script, costumes, props — the girls did and made on their own.

Performances for the school audience took place in the morning, and evening was reserved for parents. I'm awfully grateful to the organizers for splitting the show up into younger and older students, and we could partake in the latter half. Even so, we were a bit anxious how we'd survive numerous lengthy piano preludes, yet again organizer's sanity prevailed — individual performances were limited to two minutes. Another positive was Gabi's mom, who asked me carefully before the show, whether we had prepared flowers for Lisa — I assured her that it was not so, as we did not consider our daughter to be a theatre diva who deserves to be flooded with bouquets and champagne after her performance. In the end we stayed together in the same row with Gabi's family, which was a relief — that way we were in the company of like souls, who would not surrender us to the mob for lynching, despite our urges to roll on the floor laughing during some student pieces.

Thanks to Zuzka, we had snowshoes for Tom as well.

We had finally found winter landscape in the Mt. Rose Pass.

There was a bearable number of piano recitals, including one causing severe dropping of our jaws. Music numbers alternated with dancing in the revue, and our girls' pantomime became a welcome diversion from the otherwise repeating template. Also, due to the soundless nature of the sketch, falling out of rhythm or singing out of tune just could not happen.

Hippo had celebrated his fiftieth birthday in February. We generally don't dwell much on partying, and Hippo had said, upon my asking how he would like to celebrate, that he'd choose a beer with friends. In our circumstances, when visiting a proper pub (serving something better than deer piss Budweiser) means we have to drive, such occasion is actually quite something special. Eventually we had managed to organize our friends, leave the children at home, and sit down at a table in front of a beer house (one of California's benefits — one can sit outdoors more or less all year) with a two-pint of Staropramen.

Another big February event concerned Lisa. She came home from school sometimes after Christmas, saying that she could not focus on the blackboard. After many years, she happened to be seated in the back of the class — and suddenly it all explained her recent troubles. Unspecific headaches and tiredness was apparently not rooted in her general aversion to math homework. Sid and I had concluded that she was most likely short-sighted; Sid estimated about one diopter — and was proven right. An optometrist issued Lisa a prescription for three quarters on each eye.

Until the moment I held the prescription in my hand, the topic of children's glasses did not cross my mind, which turned out to be an omission. And thus we found ourselves, Lisa and I, standing at a kids' frames counter, despairing over the selection. Two thirds of the available frames had been adorned with either Hello Kitty, Thomas the Tank Engine, or plastic hearts. Of the remaining third, two thirds again were a square type, in which Lisa looks like an aging teacher. We also had to eliminate all black, generally dark, or massive frames — our blonde looks in those like a failing attempt of a Harry Potter Halloween costume. In the end we had found one frame that more or less meets all our requirements, and ordered one set of glasses for Lisa to be made during our vacations.

Defenders of the fortress.

It's true, there are no gondolas at Kirkwood.

In last few years, we have been spending our February vacations skiing. This time we had reserved a cottage in Kings Beach on the northern Lake Tahoe shore, five minutes drive from Northstar ski resort. We booked it in the fall, deeply convinced that there's always snow in February. Alas, since a storm in December, no new snow had come, except for maybe an inch or so, but most importantly — nighttime temperature had not been dropping below freezing, so even the resort don't get a chance to make artificial snow. It began to be apparent that we would have to focus on other benefits of staying in a cottage — there would be friends with us, and the cottage included a hot tub, offering at least that as an attraction.

On Sunday we stuffed our bus and set out with both cars toward Zuzka, who lives about an hour away in the direction of mountains. We left our wagon there, so that Hippo had something to drive back home when he would return on Tuesday night with Zuzka to the Valley. Then we slowly, with a stopover for lunch, advanced to Tahoe. The mood was merry at the cottage in the evening; the kids did not get dissuaded from getting into the hot tub by its low temperature, and everything ran according to the plan, that is, completely chaotically and unplanned.

On Monday, Brehs and we headed for Northstar. I was curious; I had actually never skied anywhere else but Kirkwood, and many of our associates praise Northstar. Bára was our guide, which comes very handy in a giant resort such as this — that someone knows where to go, where to find good skiing, what to avoid, etc. Under her command we parked, loaded into the shuttle bus, unloaded at the village, stumbled through the whole center to the first lift, then to the second, third — and eventually found ourselves on the back side, with finally fewer other people there. Meanwhile Bára said how wonderfully empty the place was, lift lines minimal, which was true, but as only a minimum subset of slopes was open, and those, too, restricted in various ways and full of rocks, our skiing reminded of a very challenging slalom. Not to mention the fact that we moved on a frozen base covered by irregular heaps of wet, sloshy snow, so one would either skid on ice or hopelessly stick into a cotton wad.

Another shock came, when I tried to buy one beer and two sodas to go with out packed sandwiches, using only twenty dollars — $20 WAS NOT ENOUGH. My eyes were bulging to the extent that the lady at the register took pity on me and gave us one fountain soda for free. In the end, our lunch became the highpoint of the day — kids went outdoors to play in the snow, Bára and I caught some warmth from the sun, and I sipped on my beer (excellent one, although having paid ten bucks for it made it rather bitter on the palate).

We have no carts at Kirkwood either - for there's no huge shopping center that you have to stumble across in your ski boots.

We found naturally snow-covered slopes on Mt. Rose.

Afternoon was spent by our sliding around, and then came time to return — in the case of Northstar this means a huge downhill trek, with one added disadvantage — at some point one must converge into beginners' slopes, and that's where Tom encountered an uncoordinated girl. They both cried, and I collected a point in missing the event; Bára had to collect our Tom. Eventually, everybody had arrived at the bottom, all that was left was gathering our skis, and begin a march through all those shops and restaurants of the giant center. Again we were bound to drag our gear though the village (the size of a massive shopping mall); fortunately Hippo had finished earlier and came to pick us up, sparing us the need to use the shuttle bus.

On Tuesday we came to a conclusion that skiing wasn't worth it, and set out with Zuzka to the Mt. Rose Pass, which reaches nine thousand feet elevation and where snow was still holding on. Zuzka had lent us two pairs of snowshoes and brought along two more pairs — and so we could include Tom in our snowshoe trek. Lisa is an elf, who can walk on snow cover surface (and honestly, in those few inches, many times frozen over, even Hippo would not likely sink in), and so she trotted along, dragging a plastic toboggan on a line. We had shuffled up the first hill, where the kids discovered an unfinished snow fort — so we left them there and continued up on a small ridge. Hippo returned from there back to the kids, while Zuzka and I circled around another part of the scenery.

Snowshoes made a great impression on me. After the madness at a ski resort it felt very pleasant to be somewhere without crowds of people, with the additional freedom to set out in any direction, without passes, fees — and with no need of maintained tracks. As I had written here, the snow was refrozen, and in such a mountainous terrain, one could easily break something here on cross-country skis. While returning with Zuzka, we met a youngster with a snowboard. I asked him whether he, too, was shunning crowds, and he agreed — saying he worked at Mt. Rose, where because it was on the other side of the mountain, they caught some more snow, and on Thursday they held a Ladies' Day.

In the afternoon we left the kids at home, and took Zuzka and Břeh out shooting. We know best the area around Prosser Lake, where we camp with balloonists — while chasing an aerostat, one necessarily gets familiar with dirt and forest roads, wherever the balloon lands, and thus we had a decent idea what leads where. Right on the first turn-off, behind a bend, we ran into an improvised shooting range — a few parked cars, about ten people shooting into steep land-slid bank. We wanted to be on our own, and drove a bit farther out. As there was absolutely no snow to be found at these lower elevations, there was not problem with access and we had soon found a suitable spot.

A lunch break at Mt. Rose (notice the density of skiers on the slope!).

Bonanza is marked as a medium difficulty and became our favorite run.

Hippo drove away with Zuzka in the evening, to get back to his work, and I remained on my own with the kids. And I tested out how hard it still is. Would you think that they have gotten big enough that, after begin reminded three times to pack along their ski pass, they would manage not to forget? Well I would have thought so too, until we found ourselves at the lift and the gatekeeper claimed that Tom's pass does not beep. Why should it beep, being left behind at the cottage eight miles back? Bára had added Lisa to her kids and departed to the slopes, hoping to get together once we'd be done dealing with Tom's missing pass. Of course they just printed him a replacement, but we had to stumble back through the whole huge village, full of steps and other extras for ski-booted fools. Yet after I finished talking severely to Tom, I myself found that my phone was missing, the one I had planned to contact Bára with. Another round ensued, of stumbling through the whole resort in ski boots, with regular stops at lost & found; perhaps my phone just fell out of my pocket and someone had turned it in. Well, it could not have fallen out, being at the cottage together with Tom's pass. At least I had Tom's phone, but without Bára's number (and Lisa gone somewhere with her), which Hippo had to ask Mirek about (both at work on the other side of California). I guess it just was my turn to feel like an idiot.

Skiing carried on in a spirit similar to Monday. Lots of folks everywhere, ice on top of every slope, running water at the bottom; this way at least I did not have to feel bad for having wasted one and half hour thanks to Tom's and my incompetence. Nevertheless I granted the children a rare treat — we rode in a gondola. We had a perfectly adequate excuse — skiing down the last, lowest, and most melted section was not something to look forward to. The kids got fascinated by the little cabin being loaded and unloaded while in motion — operators take your gear and stove it in a rack by the door, then the skiers squeeze into the bubble. Yet despite this obvious success, I started getting the kids ready for checking out Mt. Rose on Thursday. They did not like the plan much, as we would separate from others. Unfortunately, none of our friends was ready to pay extra, while we all held the season passes to Northstar.

We set out on our own in the morning; I was tense about not getting lost in an unknown resort. In the end it was all rather quite simple; Mt. Rose is tiny. We parked, walked across the lot to a booth, bought tickets. They accepted Lisa to be a lady, and so I only had to pay full (kids') price for Tom. We gazed on a map, chose a lift, and went. Mt. Rose offers fast, six-seat lifts, and it went rather fast. I had asked people on the lift where to begin. They recommended blue Ramsey's, and that's where we started.

Lots of our friends came to Northstar.

A pathetic view from a Deathstar lift — half of the hill is bare.

Lots of snow, kids ecstatic, we kept skiing like crazy, thoroughly covering the mountain's front side, especially on their black slopes that are fantastic. By noon we crossed the ridge to reach a rear lodge for lunch, hoping for fewer people. And so it was, no pressure at the base, I bought my beer for half the Northstar price, and my daily allotment of twenty dollars (which I was willing to spend) lasted not only for two sodas, but another snack for later. Even on Mt. Rose, the back side turned slushy, as it's directly sun-lit, and thus we had returned to the front, went to back for a snack, and front again, where we lasted practically till closing time. I was ecstatic; finally skiing for a person, who wishes to ride at ease, without throngs of beginners, without having to wade through melted snow, and without a resort surcharge proportional to the elevation of Mt. Everest. The children had declared that we would come back to Mt. Rose on Friday, re-christening Northstar to Deathstar.

When I attempted to wiggle out of my ski boots and leaned on my car seat at the parking lot, I had experienced a slight shock — the seat had tilted. I had realized that it had been actually poorly positioned in the morning, and I began to explore what could the problem be, whether it had jumped out of its sliding grooves or something like that. I was surprised to find a broken-off bracket. The seat thus remained infirm, especially in turns, and it tilted toward the left rear corner, making me sit askance. Sid helped me find a dealership in Reno, so I crawled down from Mt. Rose to Reno, Nevada, which one can actually see from the ski resort.

My naive idea that they would tell me at the Toyota dealership, "it's nothing, we will swap the bracket", soon dissipated. They'd be happy to keep the car, and happy to rent me another vehicle (upon seeing my trunk full of skis and boots they said, perhaps something bigger), and they would contact me. We got rescued by Břeh, who came for us to Reno, so that we would not have to pay for some (expensive) monster.

In the end, Břeh played our taxi cab driver on Friday as well. He took his own family to Northstar first thing in the morning, then me and my kids to Mt. Rose. We were kind of hoping that in the afternoon our car would be fixed and he would take us down to Reno. Mt. Rose was great again. From the previous day, we had a discount coupon for one ticket, but they did not bat an eye and applied it for all of us. We had worked out the maze of local slopes, and the children would choose on their own, what to ride. Naturally their plans included frequent refreshment stop-overs at the lodge, during which I tried to call the shop. I also decreed that for training purposes, we would ski an un-groomed section with big moguls. It resulted in Tom and Lisa rushing through moguls and waiting for me at the bottom with bored expressions. Now they understood, they said, what is up with the training — and that I could really use some more of it. I've been impossible.

Thanks to Bára, we had found some less worn-out slopes.

Lisa got her glasses.

Responses from the shop were much unlike the fun skiing. They would be willing to replace the seat for mere twelve hundred dollars, and it would take at least a week. Hippo therefore called around to other nearby dealerships, whether they would have the seat right away instead ordering one, so that we would not have to be for a week without a car, and eventually we gave it up altogether. Hippo arrived on Friday night in our subaru, we picked up our bus in Reno on Saturday, affixed the broken seat to another, folded seat of the second row, and Hippo drove the whole thing carefully back to the Valley, where Tony subsequently welded the bracket together for a tenth of the aforementioned price. I don't really know why, after our experience with various stealerships, we still bother with them at all.

Kids and I drove out to Northstar again on Saturday, before noon. I would have preferred skiing on Mt. Rose, but we would have had to pay full price, and with our detour through Reno it was clear that we couldn't be there for the whole day anyway. Also, Švajda family had arrived to Northstar, plus Klárka — a girl of Lisa's age, whom we had met recently. As we held season passes for Northstar, this seemed the simplest solution — and we had spent yet another day together with friends. I'd rather not mention our skiing; hills were half-bare, snow had melted, simply horrid.

On Sunday morning we packed and cleaned up the cottage, Švajdas went back again to Northstar, but we did not feel like it. Were the kids showing any signs of excitement, I would have born it, but given the miserable conditions, I did not push it. I felt better focusing on getting back home before the biggest traffic jams would form, hoping we'd still have enough time to bathe, unpack, perhaps even do some laundry. And so eventually we even managed to pick up Lisa's new glasses, and she could look forward to go back to school.