All Downhill From Here

From the “When in Rome” files, we took the boys skiing for the first time on Saturday. The Blues Hills Ski Area is only 25 minutes away so we really had no excuse. We got there pretty early which was smart because, between the last weekend of school vacation and everyone wanting to be the next Lindsay Vonn or Bode Miller, the place really started to fill up. 

Bryna and I hadn’t been skiing in 16 years (and I’ve only been a handful of times in my life) so we signed up for a beginner class that ran concurrently with the boys’ class. The major difference between skiing in the old days and skiing now is the invention of the snow board. They simply didn’t exist the last time I went skiing (and I use that term loosely). Oh, and helmets. A lot of kids, including ours, were grudgingly wearing them. Adults, of course, are immune to head injuries.

Plus, I preached a sermon last week about mountaintop experiences (it was based on the Transfiguration of Jesus) so it felt appropriate. My new esoteric question is “Can you have a mountaintop experience on a bunny hill?” I’m not sure but — and I’m not making this up — our instructor was a native Spanish-speaker named Jesus. I kept having the urge to build three booths at the top of the bunny hill as he demonstrated the proper snow plow technique.

The boys took to it and hope to try it again soon. Perhaps we’ll all graduate to an actual mountain at some point. But for now the Schencks are the kings of the bunny hill. I think we’ll need another lesson or two and a trust fund — between the lift tickets, ski rental, and lessons this stuff adds up!

I’m not sure if anyone ever broke a leg on a bunny hill but I was just glad to emerge in one piece. Starting Lent with a cast would have been a bit too penititial even for me.


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