hey jud

You may already know how I used to be a regular skier, the kind that went every weekend, constantly praying I'd get snowed in and have to stay an extra day. Then I moved to California and while you could ski, it wasn't the same when you could just as easily enjoy the beach with no drive or chains required. Now that I'm back skiing again, the bug has bitten even harder. Why, I wonder, did I wait so long and deprive myself of so much pleasure, when Mad River Glen was there unchanged since the 60's? Sitting and shivering on the single chair with my eyes closed, I can be the petrified beginner who learned to ski there forty years ago, or the Mom enjoying a momentary break, failing to hear the teenagers calling from behind or ahead twenty years ago. I've got the new high-tech clothes, but the wind still cuts through and I wish for the old Army blanket ponchos they used to hand out for protection on the ride. I'm unsure what music is blaring at mid-station, but I appreciate the spirit it provides for the rest of my ride to the top, swinging as it does above the Chute moguls. And then I'm off for another run, the lucky ski partner of Megnut, who's pushed me to greater challenges and satisfactions at sixty than I ever anticipated. And all the while it's still "Mad River Glen, Ski it if you Can!"

Since I first saw this ad on the back of a taxi shortly after we moved back to Boston from California, I've been waiting for the right moment, with camera at hand, to get a shot. Stopped at a red light, I finally squeaked this out just before the car behind started beeping in true Boston fashion. In case it's a bit hard to read, the ad says "It's like a spa for your cah!" Tee, hee, hee.

How long do you suppose this 'open' sign in Coolidge Corner has been in use? It's so old-timey sounding but just so wonderful. It makes me want to grab a bunch of clothes and get them fitted by whoever the wonderful, perhaps equally old-timey tailor is. I'm sure I'd be all the grander looking and feeling for it.

We spent a terrific last two days of skiing up at Mad River this past Easter weekend. Enjoy the photos!

This was a morning for patience, when I got stuck on a narrow, one-way street behind a giant trash truck after dropping Peter at the office. With no way to get around the truck for at least a block, I settled in to be annoyed. But then I started watching the two guys as they simultaneously picked up trash bags from either side of the street. Their strength and mastery of a basically crappy job led to a delicate duet of strong lifts, graceful spins and perfect timing as they pitched bags of trash from all angles and distances, never hitting each other or missing the dumpster. Instinctively they discerned the weight of a bag, dragging the heavy ones close or tossing light ones two or three at a time from the distant curb, propelled with a spin like a shot putter would use. The more I watched, the more I became an appreciative audience for these trash dancers, and when a clearing opened, I gave them a big, stupid smile as I passed.