One of the favorite local breakfast places, Rise and Shine, is also home to excellent baked goods. Who'd have thunk, in one of the tiniest towns I've seen?
Today was my second foray into this gas station strip mall gem. Last time, grabbing a take out breakfast sandwich (on an East Coast-worthy bagel), I noticed the plethora of house made breakfast goodies in addition to the ski bum diet offerings of eggs, meat, and cheese. Muffins, giant cinnamon rolls, doughnuts, and croissants all obviously home made by their imperfections yet irresistibly enticing. Not much of one for heavy sweets in the morning, I decided that a croissant would showcase their skill as a patisserie and satisfy my craving for real food.
I went in this morning with my eyes on the croissants. In addition to my delicious three-egg, veggie-stuffed omelette and potato-chunky hashbrowns, I opted to pay a little extra and add a croissant instead of the offered toast or bagel. Now, I know I am spoiled by Standard and having almost unlimited access to croissants that have been lauded as better than those of Paris. But rather than turning up my nose, I used that as a measure by which to judge this new, unknown croissant quantity. As expected, these mountain croissants were not as good as Standard's. But it was a pretty damn good croissant. Puffy, flaky, crumbly in all the right ways, and distinctly buttery, the croissant could certainly hold its own in a croissant-off. It's a keeper, and only encourages me to keep returning to Rise and Shine until I have blown all my money and tasted their entire menu.
12.27.2009
12.26.2009
Like A Fish Out of Water
So I just went for my first 9,000 ft. run. It was a cloudy 20˚, so nothing out of the ordinary temperature-wise after nine years in Maine, and there is a 2.29 mile loop right out my front door. But the altitude. My goodness. Either I am way more out of shape than I should be, or there is zero oxygen up here. Running on flat ground is like trucking up a hill at sea level, and running uphill...well, let's just say I came way closer to throwing up than I ever have going SO SLOWLY. It's all you can do to keep putting one foot in front of the other, breathe, and not pass out.
But I made it! Maybe next time it'll be easier. If there is a next time.
But I made it! Maybe next time it'll be easier. If there is a next time.
'Tis A Season
Christmas is now officially over and done with, the extent of celebratory festivities being "family" dinner, team gift opening, and a soak in the hot tub. Although the latter happens more often than not, it occurred on Christmas, thenceforth will be considered a "festivity." I worked all day yesterday, and although 80% of customers wished us a Merry Christmas, none of us could figure out what they were talking about. Christmas? What's Christmas? We don't have holidays. We don't have weekends. We don't even know what day, let alone what month it is.
As a gesture towards the holiday we all assume has passed though none of us have experienced it, I currently have a batch of the family heirloom cinnamon rolls set to rise in the oven. (The warmest place I could find in our -100000˚ temperatures out here. No kidding - windchills yesterday were down to -55˚F, the wind at the base was blowing directly sideways. I felt like I was in an Antarctica scene out of Plant Earth.) Yes, I know I baked a fresh loaf of bread and a dozen muffins the other day, but no harm in even more homemade goodies, right? It's a holiday after all...kind of.
As a gesture towards the holiday we all assume has passed though none of us have experienced it, I currently have a batch of the family heirloom cinnamon rolls set to rise in the oven. (The warmest place I could find in our -100000˚ temperatures out here. No kidding - windchills yesterday were down to -55˚F, the wind at the base was blowing directly sideways. I felt like I was in an Antarctica scene out of Plant Earth.) Yes, I know I baked a fresh loaf of bread and a dozen muffins the other day, but no harm in even more homemade goodies, right? It's a holiday after all...kind of.
12.24.2009
Miss Manners Would Hang Her Head
Now that it's getting into busy season (aka Christmas break), we've all been working crazy hours, including a 10.5 hour day for me this past week. Fun! Not particularly, but hopefully the paycheck will be worth it. (Yeah, right. It's not like we get holiday bonuses.)
Not only are we slammed almost every day, but the customers are for the most part some of the most obnoxious, worst mannered people I have ever encountered. I don't know who their mother (or father) is, but I was taught to clean up after myself. When I unwrap a straw, I throw the wrapper away. When I'm done with a drink, I get rid of my cup. That does not mean I leave it on the table. I throw away my napkins. I wipe up spills. I bus my own table. I always think about a sign I saw once at an eating establishment, years and years ago.
"Your mother does not work here."
Subtle, but succint. I am not your mother. I don't want to clean up after you like you are a one year old who cannot be held accountable for your mess. Because chances are, you are not one year old. Not if you're reading this, not if you're drinking Starbucks coffee.
You are not entitled. I'm not here to clean up your mess; your mother isn't writing me a check.
Not only are we slammed almost every day, but the customers are for the most part some of the most obnoxious, worst mannered people I have ever encountered. I don't know who their mother (or father) is, but I was taught to clean up after myself. When I unwrap a straw, I throw the wrapper away. When I'm done with a drink, I get rid of my cup. That does not mean I leave it on the table. I throw away my napkins. I wipe up spills. I bus my own table. I always think about a sign I saw once at an eating establishment, years and years ago.
"Your mother does not work here."
Subtle, but succint. I am not your mother. I don't want to clean up after you like you are a one year old who cannot be held accountable for your mess. Because chances are, you are not one year old. Not if you're reading this, not if you're drinking Starbucks coffee.
You are not entitled. I'm not here to clean up your mess; your mother isn't writing me a check.
12.18.2009
When Worlds Collide
I went into the little gourmet food store around the corner from my house just to see what they had, and to my amazement a dazzling array of Stonewall Kitchen goods met my eyes. Jams, sauces, jellies, mixes, and mustards were scattered throughout a collection of delicacies originating all over the world and the country, but it was the Stonewall Kitchen products which threw me for a loop. I associate Stonewall with the Old Port, with free snacking while wandering downtown, in a word, with home. To see a jar of Wild Maine Blueberry Jam tucked onto a bottom shelf alongside apple and pumpkin butters from Colorado and Italian fruit sauces seemed supremely out of place. Wild Maine Blueberry Jam (personal feelings on wild Maine blueberries aside, DAD) is a hallmark of summers in Maine. Our blueberries are like our lobster and our moose; world famous, probably overrated, but the underlying reasons for many Mainers' livelihoods nonetheless. While it is an honor (and a feat of Stonewall's marketing, I'm sure) to Maine that its blueberries are so well renowned, it is an affront to my own philosophies on eating and to my escape from Maine to see jars of Maine jam on a shelf in a tiny gourmet food shop in the middle of nowhere in Colorado in December. It just seems absurd to me to buy Maine blueberry jam out here. Colorado should have their own fruit to make a jam out of. Leave the blueberries to us Mainers, and let me live my new life in peace without such interjections from the old.
On the brighter side, I did buy my first cookbook out here: The Bread Bible. (There are two of them...this now means I'll have to get the other also.) I'm psyched - if only I hadn't just used the last of my flour on the loaf I made earlier.
On the brighter side, I did buy my first cookbook out here: The Bread Bible. (There are two of them...this now means I'll have to get the other also.) I'm psyched - if only I hadn't just used the last of my flour on the loaf I made earlier.
From Ice to Ice
Since my latest ski incident (Tuesday), I have forced myself to again take a few days off from the slopes. Needing a replacement activity, I went ice skating on the "skating pond" in the Village at the resort yesterday morning. Skating through falling snow as it accumulated on the ice was tranquil enough, although it felt a little weird to be skating on a powder day. People walking by were giving me weird looks which could be instead attributable to my lack of coat or gnarly skating skills. Speaking of which, it took a few laps of the miniature ice (I'd say approximately the size of one zone; blue line to goal line for the uninitiated) to get my legs back under me - although I'm still waiting for the lungs (darned altitude). It definitely made me miss playing. As small and oftentimes crappy as the ice is, it would be a fun spot for a little 2v2 pick up. Now, if only I had my stick and some lung capacity we'd be all set.
12.17.2009
Channuwhat?
This whole holiday thing is very bizarre when you're on your own. Night four I got my hands on some birthday candles, stuck them in an old egg carton, and when they burned down after 10 minutes the egg carton itself caught fire. I guess there's something to be said for having a real menorah. Maybe I should just give up on Channukah like I have on the rest of Judaism; my Yom Kippur fast only lasted until 4 pm because I decided fasting for spirituality's sake was pointless and futile. I'm not sure how this happened, but I'm becoming very skeptical of organized religion. Or maybe I always was, I've just always had family or friends around to participate in all the traditions with. I know of only one other Jew here, and from what I hear, he's very annoying. So I'm going it alone...not to mention the next free church dinner is this Friday, the last night of Channukah. There goes that holiday.
12.14.2009
12.12.2009
A Midwinter Night's Dream
It's the kind of eerie darkness outside that smacks of alternate realities. The true night sky is pitch black. Stars are scarce and the moon nothing more than a slender curve. I know intuitively that it should be blindingly dark outside and yet it's not. Clouds carry spare rays of sunlight from somewhere far to the west, casting a dismal glow over the snow and trees. It's not enough, though. I want to see better than I can. My mind is playing tricks on me. My eyes see the light from the gray clouds, but my brain processes only the deep ebony of a moonless night. I feel as though I am in another place, far away from anywhere I've ever been. Night isn't night but isn't day. It isn't cold but the air pierces my lungs. I am exhausted but in the darkness-non-darkness I am alert and I feel alive. It is meditative, it is ethereal. I'm somewhere in limbo, in the purgatory of winter nights.
Put on Your Yamikah...Smoke Some Marijuanakah
(Warning: Illicit substance use, please read at your own discretion, i.e. don't show to children.)
Thanks to Leah for texting me to let me know it was the first night of Channukah last night. Clearly I am very on top of my game out here. I guess that's what happens when you don't know any other Jews. Lacking a menorah and even a potato of any substantive size, I pretty much neglected the holiday altogether. I did have french fries with dinner, which I suppose can be substituted for latkes if the situation necessitates, as did last night. I told a rough version of the Channukah story by way of explanation to a friend who didn't know what the (non) holiday is all about:
"Once upon a time when the Romans or someone occupied Jerusalem, they desecrated the temple, so Judah Maccabee and his Maccabee fighter guys fought back. And then they won the temple back and they had to light the eternal light thing, but they only had enough oil for one night, but it lasted for eight nights, and that's the miracle of Channukah. That's why it's eight nights and we light candles." (And someone let me teach Hebrew School...might have been a mistake.)
I was then informed that Judah Maccabee sounded like a Scottish name, and we all went on a diatribe about how the winter holidays (Channukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa...?) used to have legitimate significance but have in modern times become so commercialized the only point is to compare gifts with your friends.
In the end it was decided that my Channukah celebration fit all the general requirements. I ate french fries, which are like latkes, I lit two bowls, which is like lighting two candles (hopefully I'll figure out a non-mind-altering alternative for nights higher than four or five), and I kind of told the Channukah story. I did not say the Channukah blessings, as it felt a little bizarre to say brachot over weed. Although I'm sure one exists...I'll have to seek out my local Chabad rabbi and ask him.
Thanks to Leah for texting me to let me know it was the first night of Channukah last night. Clearly I am very on top of my game out here. I guess that's what happens when you don't know any other Jews. Lacking a menorah and even a potato of any substantive size, I pretty much neglected the holiday altogether. I did have french fries with dinner, which I suppose can be substituted for latkes if the situation necessitates, as did last night. I told a rough version of the Channukah story by way of explanation to a friend who didn't know what the (non) holiday is all about:
"Once upon a time when the Romans or someone occupied Jerusalem, they desecrated the temple, so Judah Maccabee and his Maccabee fighter guys fought back. And then they won the temple back and they had to light the eternal light thing, but they only had enough oil for one night, but it lasted for eight nights, and that's the miracle of Channukah. That's why it's eight nights and we light candles." (And someone let me teach Hebrew School...might have been a mistake.)
I was then informed that Judah Maccabee sounded like a Scottish name, and we all went on a diatribe about how the winter holidays (Channukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa...?) used to have legitimate significance but have in modern times become so commercialized the only point is to compare gifts with your friends.
In the end it was decided that my Channukah celebration fit all the general requirements. I ate french fries, which are like latkes, I lit two bowls, which is like lighting two candles (hopefully I'll figure out a non-mind-altering alternative for nights higher than four or five), and I kind of told the Channukah story. I did not say the Channukah blessings, as it felt a little bizarre to say brachot over weed. Although I'm sure one exists...I'll have to seek out my local Chabad rabbi and ask him.
12.08.2009
Musings
I walked home from yoga through the snow this morning. It was beautiful. It's finally starting to feel like winter, rather than just bitter cold with nothing but dry skin to show for it. It might have been the zen-like trance that settles over you after practicing yoga, but I really think it is the serenity and the silence of fat fluffy flakes landing on your hat, on your mittens, and in your eyelashes. It feels like it's been a long time since I've really been somewhere with snow. This is definitely the first time since high school I've spent a whole, real winter somewhere. The slush and freezing rain of Philadelphia never fulfilled my yen for real snow, and winter breaks in Maine never seemed to be enough.
Snow is somehow utterly nostalgic and yet always new, always fresh. You never see the same snow twice, but it's like an old friend you haven't seen in months or years. Comforting, yet approached with trepidation, until you've made your peace with it and arrived back at your infinite and unchanging relationship with the snow; a snowball fight, a snow angel, a donut in a parking lot, standing outside with your mouth open wide, curled up by the fire with a mug of hot chocolate listening to the blizzard, or not until the day after when fresh powder covers the mountain and your patience has finally paid off.
This is the excitement in the air when the snow comes. Snow is the ghost of winters past, present, and future. Always different, yet always the same.
Snow is somehow utterly nostalgic and yet always new, always fresh. You never see the same snow twice, but it's like an old friend you haven't seen in months or years. Comforting, yet approached with trepidation, until you've made your peace with it and arrived back at your infinite and unchanging relationship with the snow; a snowball fight, a snow angel, a donut in a parking lot, standing outside with your mouth open wide, curled up by the fire with a mug of hot chocolate listening to the blizzard, or not until the day after when fresh powder covers the mountain and your patience has finally paid off.
This is the excitement in the air when the snow comes. Snow is the ghost of winters past, present, and future. Always different, yet always the same.
12.07.2009
If All The Snowflakes
It finally started snowing yesterday evening, and it's about time. I made the questionable decision to ski on Saturday, when the mountain was packed with Denver-ites and turning into a giant ice rink. I fell on every run I took, was scolded by ski patrol to slow down, and even crashed into a control fence at the bottom of an icy blue. Then yesterday's windchill was -40 at the top, and I decided to stash the skis until my bruised legs have healed and we get some fresh, natural snow. Finger's crossed this storm keeps up.
12.03.2009
Frost Bites
I woke up at 8:30 in the morning yesterday, sat up, and Katelynn (roommate) informed me that it was snowing. I jumped out of bed: "LET'S GO SKIING!" Not realizing that the warmth of the last few weeks was completely dependent on the sun, I was totally unprepared for the bone-chillingness of the snowy morning. Overcast and with a windchill below zero thanks to 20 mph gusts at the top of the mountain, even the snow flurries were devastatingly unpleasant. I took three runs and couldn't take it. Once I got inside I ran my freezing hands under warm water, which burned, and I wanted to cry. I got to work at 12 and drank probably 20 ounces of hot chocolate and 20 ounces of hot tea, and it took an hour or two to stop shivering. Basically, skiing is NOT highly recommended unless performed safely in a cocoon of electric blankets, or at least millions of layers.
Here's the weather forecast for the next few days:
Here's the weather forecast for the next few days:
12.01.2009
A Hitchhiker's Guide to Colorado
We passed a hitchhiker thumbing his way to Denver the other morning on the way to work. He was standing on the curb with his coffee and a cardboard sign reading "Denver."
"He's standing in a terrible spot - no on can pull over to pick him up right there. He should be standing just down here, where cars can pull over safely. No one's going to pick him up there. He should move. At least he's got a sign though, that makes it easier."
Only in Colorado...
"He's standing in a terrible spot - no on can pull over to pick him up right there. He should be standing just down here, where cars can pull over safely. No one's going to pick him up there. He should move. At least he's got a sign though, that makes it easier."
Only in Colorado...
Bruce
Today I met a man name Bruce. Bruce was standing against a stop sign, long wooden walking stick in hand, in bright orange snow pants, a winter coat, yellow-lens sunglasses, and a lavender knit hat with a giant pompom on top which covered his long white hair falling out of its ponytail. His face was wrinkled, his mouth crooked, and his words were slurred with the speech of a survivor.
I asked Bruce if this was where the shuttle picked up. "It certainly is, it should be here directly." I set down my bag of groceries and prepared to wait.
"You're a beautiful young lady." I thanked Bruce. "I like to give compliments when I can," Bruce told me. "There's a quote that goes something like, you should always do good where you can because you never know when you'll pass that way again."
"Another beautiful day in paradise," Bruce commented. I looked around at the nearly cloudless skies accenting the sharp mountain peaks in the distance and agreed. "This is why I live out here." It's why we all live out here, isn't it? "It sure is. Came out here and never left. I'm living the dream out here." We all are, everyone who lives here. We're all living the dream. "That is true. We're living the dream. We are the dream. Let me rephrase that: We are the dream. All of us out here - we be. We are the be people, we have that be attitude. We live in the now. We are the dream."
"You know, I'm fifty-five now, and I'm gonna live till I'm one hundred and twenty." (Could've fooled me; I would have guessed at least seventy.) You're not even halfway there. "Got sixty-five years left." That's a lot of years. "Well if they go as fast as the last fifty five, that's not so many. I love my life. I have fun." That's all that matters. "Sure is. I can't complain." That's good. "You know, I never complain. When you complain, you ruin someone's day." That's true. "I always speak the truth. I haven't told you one thing that's a lie."
"You know, I love my life. I tried to commit suicide a bunch of times, but I'm glad I didn't die. I love my life." (Speechless.) "Last time I did it, I ate thirty Xanax and forty Aricept." I wouldn't just gotten sick of swallowing all those pills. "Well I chewed 'em up. Ended up in the hospital, killed my liver. I was on the transplant list for a new liver - they had my name on that list. Then they gave me something to drink and it fixed my liver right up. I'm glad I lived."
"You know what I really want to do?" What's that? "I want to give meals to the homeless." That's a good thing to do. "You know, when you do things like that, you get back more than you give. Believe me. It doesn't seem like it, but you do. Not enough people give anymore. It's all 'gimme gimme gimme.' That's no way to live. That's why this world is going to hell in a hand basket." It sure is.
"I'm sorry I'm lecturing you." No problem, gives me something to think about while I'm standing here. "It's important to do something, think about things, keep the mental garden growing. Whatever the human mind can conceive it can perceive - no, whatever the human mind can perceive, it can conceive. You know what I mean? You should never be bored. I always say, do something constructive. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as you're doing something. Never be bored."
The bus came, and Bruce and I got on. "I enjoyed talking to you." Yes, it was interesting, thank you. "Thank you. I don't know if our paths will cross again, but I hope they do, I did enjoy meeting you." It's a small town. "Sure is, this town is a small town."
I asked Bruce if this was where the shuttle picked up. "It certainly is, it should be here directly." I set down my bag of groceries and prepared to wait.
"You're a beautiful young lady." I thanked Bruce. "I like to give compliments when I can," Bruce told me. "There's a quote that goes something like, you should always do good where you can because you never know when you'll pass that way again."
"Another beautiful day in paradise," Bruce commented. I looked around at the nearly cloudless skies accenting the sharp mountain peaks in the distance and agreed. "This is why I live out here." It's why we all live out here, isn't it? "It sure is. Came out here and never left. I'm living the dream out here." We all are, everyone who lives here. We're all living the dream. "That is true. We're living the dream. We are the dream. Let me rephrase that: We are the dream. All of us out here - we be. We are the be people, we have that be attitude. We live in the now. We are the dream."
"You know, I'm fifty-five now, and I'm gonna live till I'm one hundred and twenty." (Could've fooled me; I would have guessed at least seventy.) You're not even halfway there. "Got sixty-five years left." That's a lot of years. "Well if they go as fast as the last fifty five, that's not so many. I love my life. I have fun." That's all that matters. "Sure is. I can't complain." That's good. "You know, I never complain. When you complain, you ruin someone's day." That's true. "I always speak the truth. I haven't told you one thing that's a lie."
"You know, I love my life. I tried to commit suicide a bunch of times, but I'm glad I didn't die. I love my life." (Speechless.) "Last time I did it, I ate thirty Xanax and forty Aricept." I wouldn't just gotten sick of swallowing all those pills. "Well I chewed 'em up. Ended up in the hospital, killed my liver. I was on the transplant list for a new liver - they had my name on that list. Then they gave me something to drink and it fixed my liver right up. I'm glad I lived."
"You know what I really want to do?" What's that? "I want to give meals to the homeless." That's a good thing to do. "You know, when you do things like that, you get back more than you give. Believe me. It doesn't seem like it, but you do. Not enough people give anymore. It's all 'gimme gimme gimme.' That's no way to live. That's why this world is going to hell in a hand basket." It sure is.
"I'm sorry I'm lecturing you." No problem, gives me something to think about while I'm standing here. "It's important to do something, think about things, keep the mental garden growing. Whatever the human mind can conceive it can perceive - no, whatever the human mind can perceive, it can conceive. You know what I mean? You should never be bored. I always say, do something constructive. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as you're doing something. Never be bored."
The bus came, and Bruce and I got on. "I enjoyed talking to you." Yes, it was interesting, thank you. "Thank you. I don't know if our paths will cross again, but I hope they do, I did enjoy meeting you." It's a small town. "Sure is, this town is a small town."
11.28.2009
Swinging Things
Although it's still early in the season, I feel like I'm getting a handle on how the flow of life goes. I have today off after three days in a row of actually working at Starbucks. Working the espresso bar is really fun - it's a huge adrenaline rush, which sounds kind of bizarre but it's true. Other than that, I am convinced Starbucks is nothing but glorified fast food/airplane food. According to the corporation, each customer should spend no more than three minutes from the time they step in line until they get their drink. Yeah. Right.
So what am I doing on my day off? Skiing, you may ask? I most certainly am not. "You can afford to be picky now that you actually live here," my boss said yesterday, and she is one hundred percent right. Why deal with tons of tourists and crowded icy slopes when I can hang out in my warm apartment and wait for the real snow to come?
Although in all reality I'll be outside loading wood into the tarp-pulley system Jeff rigged up to get all our beetle kill from the haphazard pile where we were chopping it up to our apartment. So not looking forward to this day off - yesterday I got a huge, triangular splinter in my finger which took me 45 minutes of poking and prodding to get out. I tried two different pairs of tweezers, the big blade on Jeff's pocket knife, and finally used a safety pin (unsanitized: we couldn't find the lighter) to rip my skin open cell by cell until I could wrench the darned thing out of there.
Today I'll wear gloves.
So what am I doing on my day off? Skiing, you may ask? I most certainly am not. "You can afford to be picky now that you actually live here," my boss said yesterday, and she is one hundred percent right. Why deal with tons of tourists and crowded icy slopes when I can hang out in my warm apartment and wait for the real snow to come?
Although in all reality I'll be outside loading wood into the tarp-pulley system Jeff rigged up to get all our beetle kill from the haphazard pile where we were chopping it up to our apartment. So not looking forward to this day off - yesterday I got a huge, triangular splinter in my finger which took me 45 minutes of poking and prodding to get out. I tried two different pairs of tweezers, the big blade on Jeff's pocket knife, and finally used a safety pin (unsanitized: we couldn't find the lighter) to rip my skin open cell by cell until I could wrench the darned thing out of there.
Today I'll wear gloves.
11.27.2009
A Thanksgiving Miracle
Thanksgiving away from family is always an utterly depressing experience. I have had the grave misfortune to be in such a predicament now for two years in a row. Last year was spent in the company of fabulous friends, all of us pitching in to create an America-worthy feast in the heart of the Middle East.
This year, I found myself in a completely different situation. Holidays are, of course, the busy season, so naturally I was working most of the day. One of my roommates was with family friends in Denver, and the other with a friend around here. So there I was, hypothetically all alone, until a friend came along and suggested I join them at a local church that provides a free Thanksgiving meal (and, incidentally, free dinner every other Friday). But when I got out of work, I found they had already gotten hungry and gone to the church without me (some friends, right?). Quite disappointed, I headed home to a lonely night with rice and frozen (homemade) cookie dough. To my surprise, en route home, I got a call from that same friend, offering to bring me a to-go church Thanksgiving dinner. Relieved I wouldn't starve, now all I needed was some company.
Lo and behold, about twenty minutes later, I got another call. My friend and his roommate (who was driving, apparently thinking he was on a racetrack) had ended up in a ditch* about half a mile away from my apartment, and my friend was now walking the rest of the way to bring me my dinner.
After a while he arrived, styrofoam to-go box in hand chock full of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and green beans. I threw it in the microwave and he stayed, and I had a Thanksgiving dinner replete with the necessary full tummy and good company.
Holiday: Saved!
*Remember, it's winter in Colorado - this isn't such a big deal. Think puffy white clouds of snow.
This year, I found myself in a completely different situation. Holidays are, of course, the busy season, so naturally I was working most of the day. One of my roommates was with family friends in Denver, and the other with a friend around here. So there I was, hypothetically all alone, until a friend came along and suggested I join them at a local church that provides a free Thanksgiving meal (and, incidentally, free dinner every other Friday). But when I got out of work, I found they had already gotten hungry and gone to the church without me (some friends, right?). Quite disappointed, I headed home to a lonely night with rice and frozen (homemade) cookie dough. To my surprise, en route home, I got a call from that same friend, offering to bring me a to-go church Thanksgiving dinner. Relieved I wouldn't starve, now all I needed was some company.
Lo and behold, about twenty minutes later, I got another call. My friend and his roommate (who was driving, apparently thinking he was on a racetrack) had ended up in a ditch* about half a mile away from my apartment, and my friend was now walking the rest of the way to bring me my dinner.
After a while he arrived, styrofoam to-go box in hand chock full of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and green beans. I threw it in the microwave and he stayed, and I had a Thanksgiving dinner replete with the necessary full tummy and good company.
Holiday: Saved!
*Remember, it's winter in Colorado - this isn't such a big deal. Think puffy white clouds of snow.
11.24.2009
There Will Always Be Another Sunset
(I apologize for the headiness of this post title.)
My four day weekend is rapidly coming to a close, as it's back to the corporate mind number (as in numb, the sensation, not number, the counting mechanism) at 8 am tomorrow. If only I had a trust fund, and could ski all day without having to work. Although I have to say, the timing is quite appropriate as I can now do these same three runs with my eyes closed and the ice is getting old and I'm seriously over dodging children and idiots on narrow icy green runs. I could use a few days with a distraction (and an income) while I wait for more snow.
As for the sunset, I was walking up from the bus stop with my hot chocolate* when I chanced to look at the sky. Always a good idea out here - I don't think I'll ever not be awed by the sheer impressiveness of the mountains. Anyway, the sky varied between vivid pink and bright blue, and these shades reflected off the whiteness of the peaks. It might sound trivial but that's the thing about sunsets. They're absolutely breathtaking yet fleeting. Knowing I wouldn't have time to find my camera and get a good shot, I comforted myself with the knowledge that there will always be another sunset.
*Hot chocolate from the Mountain Grind, a coffee shop cum cafe cum gelateria cum fudge shop where they bake all their own pastries as well as bread for their sandwiches. My heroes! Unfortunately they are not hiring.
My four day weekend is rapidly coming to a close, as it's back to the corporate mind number (as in numb, the sensation, not number, the counting mechanism) at 8 am tomorrow. If only I had a trust fund, and could ski all day without having to work. Although I have to say, the timing is quite appropriate as I can now do these same three runs with my eyes closed and the ice is getting old and I'm seriously over dodging children and idiots on narrow icy green runs. I could use a few days with a distraction (and an income) while I wait for more snow.
As for the sunset, I was walking up from the bus stop with my hot chocolate* when I chanced to look at the sky. Always a good idea out here - I don't think I'll ever not be awed by the sheer impressiveness of the mountains. Anyway, the sky varied between vivid pink and bright blue, and these shades reflected off the whiteness of the peaks. It might sound trivial but that's the thing about sunsets. They're absolutely breathtaking yet fleeting. Knowing I wouldn't have time to find my camera and get a good shot, I comforted myself with the knowledge that there will always be another sunset.
*Hot chocolate from the Mountain Grind, a coffee shop cum cafe cum gelateria cum fudge shop where they bake all their own pastries as well as bread for their sandwiches. My heroes! Unfortunately they are not hiring.
11.23.2009
Day Three
I woke up (at 11 *guilty face*) this morning to oodles of text messages informing me of the four inches of fresh powder that had fallen during the course of the night. So naturally I sprang out of bed, only to find that everyone was already at the mountain (so surprised) and I had missed the best of the powder morning. Not to be discouraged, I figured packed powder was better than ice and I made my way over to the slopes. Having mastered and been bored by the open green runs over the last couple days, and sick of almost hitting little children sitting in the middle of the narrow, icy path, it seemed the perfect time to venture over to the open blue.
On the third run of the day, third day of skiing, I found myself at the top of Larry Sales, peering down a slope a bit steeper than I had been expecting. Piles of powder and small patches of ice stared back at me. Luckily it was too late to turn around, all though my pride had already gotten the better of me and I was pumped and ready to go. On that first run I made the mistake of trying to turn in the middle of pile of powder and found myself staring the snow in the face. No worries; I got right back up and continued on my way. After briefly stopping to take off my goggles (it was pretty shady and I couldn't see very well), I looked down and realized a huge icy stretch lay ahead. Well, I couldn't very well expect to take it easy going down there - quick turns and stops were out of the question on that slick mess. "F*** it," I shouted to my friend, and went for it.
Such thrills! That was all the boost my confidence needed, and after two more blue runs sans falls my quads were ready to quit on me. It's only November and here I am, hitting the blues...I can only imagine what December will hold.
Anyway, I must now turn my full attention to my grilled cheese sitting right here (homemade bread, portobellos, spinach, and Tillamook cheddar) and dream about the days of skiing to come.
On the third run of the day, third day of skiing, I found myself at the top of Larry Sales, peering down a slope a bit steeper than I had been expecting. Piles of powder and small patches of ice stared back at me. Luckily it was too late to turn around, all though my pride had already gotten the better of me and I was pumped and ready to go. On that first run I made the mistake of trying to turn in the middle of pile of powder and found myself staring the snow in the face. No worries; I got right back up and continued on my way. After briefly stopping to take off my goggles (it was pretty shady and I couldn't see very well), I looked down and realized a huge icy stretch lay ahead. Well, I couldn't very well expect to take it easy going down there - quick turns and stops were out of the question on that slick mess. "F*** it," I shouted to my friend, and went for it.
Such thrills! That was all the boost my confidence needed, and after two more blue runs sans falls my quads were ready to quit on me. It's only November and here I am, hitting the blues...I can only imagine what December will hold.
Anyway, I must now turn my full attention to my grilled cheese sitting right here (homemade bread, portobellos, spinach, and Tillamook cheddar) and dream about the days of skiing to come.
11.21.2009
Here they come!
I went by the resort this morning to get my schedule for next week and to pester the guy at Goody's about a job, and I decided then and there weekend skiing is not my style. It was packed (relatively speaking), and the lifts had just barely opened for the morning. I can only imagine how dreadfully icy the two runs will be by the end of the day today. I had been thinking about doing a lesson this weekend, but on second thought, mid-week might be a bit less hectic. Understatement. I have Monday and Tuesday off so, assuming it snows which it's supposed to, I'll hit the slopes on those days. Keep me away from these weekend crowds!
On another note...
Apparently one day of renting was enough for me. I took the plunge today and invested (yes, of course this is an investment) in ski boots (and a helmet, and two pairs of socks). In classic Audrey style, I tried on four or five pairs and then went with the first ones I tried. BUT now I have my own skis and boots and helmet and goggles and I can go skiing anywhere! No more renting! My own gear! This is so exciting. Skiing world, here I come!
On another note...
Apparently one day of renting was enough for me. I took the plunge today and invested (yes, of course this is an investment) in ski boots (and a helmet, and two pairs of socks). In classic Audrey style, I tried on four or five pairs and then went with the first ones I tried. BUT now I have my own skis and boots and helmet and goggles and I can go skiing anywhere! No more renting! My own gear! This is so exciting. Skiing world, here I come!
11.20.2009
Got Free Time? Ski!
I skiied today! Third time EVER. It was pretty sweet. I mean, considering the total number of runs open was 4, 3 were green and only 2 actually reached the base, it was pretty decent. And I only fell once. And it really is JUST like ice skating, except obviously skis are longer than ice skates. We did the same run about five times, but it was a good warm up. I now realize how cool it is to be able to ski while you work (or are on break, or afterwards, or before, or whatever). Unfortunately it's all just an excuse to spend more money, as I'm going to need boots, poles, and a helmet...
11.19.2009
And It Begins
Yesterday was opening day at Winter Park. Wahoo. There were about three runs open, and at work we probably had about five customers all day. (Today we had ten. Huge improvement.) Despite the slowness of the early season, the excitement of winter was almost infectious walking around the village the last two days. It's in the air and it's in people's eyes. Ski season is here, watch out!
11.17.2009
The Grinding Grind
First day of work today.
That's all there is to it.
Oh, you want to hear more, you say?
Let me begin by saying I think Sara Deane was right when she said the corporate environment is not for me. That is not to say I don't think I'll enjoy my job - I think working in Winter Park with the people here will be awesome. It'll be a ton of fun, and I'll learn how to barista in the meantime. That said, Starbucks training is worse than MGMT100 (anyone who has ever been anywhere near Wharton knows what I'm talking about). The company actually pays someone to develop this training that involves "educational" videos, handbooks reminiscent of the Terra Nova testbooks in Elementary school, and an environment fueled by kitchy acronyms and motivational quotes. I actually spent 4 hours of my life today "learning" that if a customer has a complaint, listen to them. Be nice to customers. Be nice to coworkers. Be cheerful and energetic. Know your product. Chat.
Is it just me, or is all of this common sense? Now I know what they say, that common sense isn't so common, but you'd think a group of 20-somethings, all with previous customer service experience, could be grandfathered out of this absurd, idiot-proof training course. I mean, it has MODULES for crying out loud. I get that Starbucks has to sell their name and the "Starbucks Experience" as much as their coffee, but I'm not sure it takes a workbook and an hour of patronization to figure this out. A simple one-liner would suffice.
But it is what it is and I can't do anything about it, except resolve to try to avoid large corporations at all costs in the future.
Silver lining? At least we get paid.
That's all there is to it.
Oh, you want to hear more, you say?
Let me begin by saying I think Sara Deane was right when she said the corporate environment is not for me. That is not to say I don't think I'll enjoy my job - I think working in Winter Park with the people here will be awesome. It'll be a ton of fun, and I'll learn how to barista in the meantime. That said, Starbucks training is worse than MGMT100 (anyone who has ever been anywhere near Wharton knows what I'm talking about). The company actually pays someone to develop this training that involves "educational" videos, handbooks reminiscent of the Terra Nova testbooks in Elementary school, and an environment fueled by kitchy acronyms and motivational quotes. I actually spent 4 hours of my life today "learning" that if a customer has a complaint, listen to them. Be nice to customers. Be nice to coworkers. Be cheerful and energetic. Know your product. Chat.
Is it just me, or is all of this common sense? Now I know what they say, that common sense isn't so common, but you'd think a group of 20-somethings, all with previous customer service experience, could be grandfathered out of this absurd, idiot-proof training course. I mean, it has MODULES for crying out loud. I get that Starbucks has to sell their name and the "Starbucks Experience" as much as their coffee, but I'm not sure it takes a workbook and an hour of patronization to figure this out. A simple one-liner would suffice.
But it is what it is and I can't do anything about it, except resolve to try to avoid large corporations at all costs in the future.
Silver lining? At least we get paid.
11.16.2009
Probably the worst view ever.
If I chose to look out my bedroom window, this is what I would see. Can't complain.
11.15.2009
High Rise
Trying to get myself off my incessant TV-watching kick, I've been doing wholesome things like reading, cleaning, and 'rithmetic. Inspired by a lack of edible bread products at the local Shop'n'Save (perhaps I was spoiled by my summer job?), my afternoon activity was to challenge the high-altitude gods and make my own bread. Having read up on some of the effects of 9,000 feet on yeasted doughs, I proceeded as usual. That is, I proceeded without a recipe and only my gut to guide me. It guided me to an uncertain combination of yeast, water, sugar, bread flour, oats, salt, and some pumpkin seeds for good measure.
Any guesses on the outcome? Well, knock me over with a feather, but it worked! My dough rose and I now have a loaf of warm, soft, chewy, fresh, home-made bread.
Over-unders are being accepted on how long the loaf will last, though.
Any guesses on the outcome? Well, knock me over with a feather, but it worked! My dough rose and I now have a loaf of warm, soft, chewy, fresh, home-made bread.
Over-unders are being accepted on how long the loaf will last, though.
All In a Day's Work
Today is my second "official" day in CO. As such, it seemed high time for some adventures.
After an accumulated five or so inches of snow over the last forty-eight hours, somehow it got into our heads that an adventurous drive up to some mountain tops was an excellent idea. I mean, we had 4-wheel drive, right?
Well. It was pretty excellent - I mean, the view was nice - until on our way up a particularly steep and icy slope we encountered a Suburban coming - or rather, sliding - down the one-lane "road" and frantically waving us back down the way we had just come. So smarties that we are, we reverse down the hill until we find a nice ditch to rest in while the Suburban slides on past and spins out into the same ditch about twenty feet further downhill. As a gaggle of men heave-ho the Suburban out of their ditch and on their way down the slippy-slidey hill, we try desperately to get our car out of its predicament. A few tire spins later we're back on the road, only to spin into a ditch again just about where the Suburban had. Now, the snow-pack was so slippery you could hardly walk on it (in fact I definitely wiped out and fell - hard - on my tush), and here we were about to go in reverse down this steep slope; ditch on one side, drop-off on the other. We fretted a few minutes until we saw another pickup truck coming on down the mountain. To avoid them hitting us, we ran up to their truck, and asked them for help. Lo and behold, they had chains on their tires, so they could do things like grip the snow and stop and maintain control of their vehicle in general. So together four of us pushed the car out of its new ditch and one of the nice men coached our driver down the steep part of the hill until we reached a spot we could turn around and thenceforth creep slowly down the rest of the way.
So. Lesson learned. Next time you want to go up into the mountains on snow-packed roads, bring chains.
After an accumulated five or so inches of snow over the last forty-eight hours, somehow it got into our heads that an adventurous drive up to some mountain tops was an excellent idea. I mean, we had 4-wheel drive, right?
Well. It was pretty excellent - I mean, the view was nice - until on our way up a particularly steep and icy slope we encountered a Suburban coming - or rather, sliding - down the one-lane "road" and frantically waving us back down the way we had just come. So smarties that we are, we reverse down the hill until we find a nice ditch to rest in while the Suburban slides on past and spins out into the same ditch about twenty feet further downhill. As a gaggle of men heave-ho the Suburban out of their ditch and on their way down the slippy-slidey hill, we try desperately to get our car out of its predicament. A few tire spins later we're back on the road, only to spin into a ditch again just about where the Suburban had. Now, the snow-pack was so slippery you could hardly walk on it (in fact I definitely wiped out and fell - hard - on my tush), and here we were about to go in reverse down this steep slope; ditch on one side, drop-off on the other. We fretted a few minutes until we saw another pickup truck coming on down the mountain. To avoid them hitting us, we ran up to their truck, and asked them for help. Lo and behold, they had chains on their tires, so they could do things like grip the snow and stop and maintain control of their vehicle in general. So together four of us pushed the car out of its new ditch and one of the nice men coached our driver down the steep part of the hill until we reached a spot we could turn around and thenceforth creep slowly down the rest of the way.
So. Lesson learned. Next time you want to go up into the mountains on snow-packed roads, bring chains.
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