Yesterday, my son (home from college) talks me into going skiing with him (well, he snowboards). What he really wanted me to do is drive him up to meet his friends three and a half hours away at The Wisp. I vetoed that one and we ended up going by ourselves to a much closer ski area. Idealistically, I thought to myself, “this will be great; we’ll talk while driving up and back and have a great time skiing together.”
Of course, no sooner than we got into the car, he was in the iPod zone and I reluctantly tuned into National Public Radio (NPR). When we got to our destination and bought our lift tickets, we agreed to take one run together and then split up for a bit. That’s when I discovered that I lost my lift ticket (my VERY expensive lift ticket) and that’s when he dumped me to hit the terrain park. So much for “together time.”
Since I just bought the ticket, I knew the woman would remember me so I clomped back to the ticket window and told her what happened. She didn’t remember me.
I went to Guest Services on the off chance that some good soul would turn in a brand new lift ticket instead of selling it. Guess what? Some one did and my faith in humanity was restored. Of course, I still had to ski alone.
I had a good first run, but my right foot and leg felt oddly out of control. I looked down to find out that my archaic ski boots finally bit the dust. There was a large crack going up the middle…great. Long story; short – duct tape.
Then I get a text message: “Mom, meet me at the dining area.” I meet him and find that he wiped out and got a little rattled. We had lunch and then had a nice afternoon of skiing/snowboarding together. Of course, the whole way home, he went back to iPod land and I listened to NPR. All in all, a good day -- great snow, a tiny bit of bonding time with my son and soon…new ski boots!