Ruminations on Philadelphia

The peaks of Center City plunge deep into the raincloud.

I hustle-bustle through the busy city puddles in my drug-induced stupor with a soundtrack of Nouvelle Vague. Leggings and chucks: I am the (spitting) *image* of hipster. Damn.

Airport to 30th Street: Coming in from the southwest. Urban wasteland, cloudy skies, trash and tires glowing by the railroad tracks. Beautiful. Where is my camera when I need it? Why did I see the city like this before? Is this my city? It's so natural, it's as though I never left.

My life always comes and goes in circles; a classmate neighbor from four lives ago boards the train "all aboard to Trenton" with me. Not even a double take. Completely natural. I can even remember his name, no hesitation.

Has the demise of Philadelphia progressed, or have I become spoiled and accustomed tot he *pristine* (untouched) wilderness of Colorado? Twelve hours ago I was crossing a mountain pass - marvelous feat of engineering. East Coast rainy spring green grass humidity trains trash Trenton Makes the World Takes - marvelous feat of engineering.

Lonely traveler alone with the thoughts of a life gone by that isn't yet over. Coming home to a home that isn't quite home but is one of many. Nothing. Ever. Changes. She finds comfort in that thought. Same café, same pretzel, same SEPTA conductors. One, two, three, four, five years running. R1 to 30th. R7 to Trenton. This place is dynamic and unchanging. I can come and go as I please, beginning and ending new lives, but here I will always find a part of me.

The Air Here is Heavy

"He's never missed a seder. He's 88 years old and he's never missed a seder."

Funnily enough, things change. My aunt pointed out to me earlier today that if/when I move to Israel in July, I'll miss yet another Thanksgiving. That makes three in a row. As depressing as it is, it becomes somewhat normal.

A 26-person seder has dwindled to 24...and then 23...and then 21. When the grandparents don't come, is it still a seder? We won't get matzoh brei in the morning (woe is me...). The debauchery is outrageous already, and it's only 4 o'clock in Colorado. True Farber family style.

(DAN: my dad's drink is DELICIOUS.)

Things Fall

Berthoud Pass has signs for every non-catastrophe that can possibly occur on a mountain pass:

Road May Be Icy In Areas

Avalanche Danger

Road Damage

Avalanche Area

Snow Slide Area

Rock Slide Area

And even on a beautiful, sunny, 40 degree day like today: Danger Fallen Rocks

Can't it ever just say "Beautiful Day Enjoy Your Drive"?

Then there's the perennial favorite:


(Warning Back Country Skiers Avalanche Blasting At Any Time Using Long Range Weaponry)

What Was Once

The former glory of a deserted train station, high wooden benches as long as the room are empty save for a couple of bums. Abandonment, echoes, arched windows and vaulted ceilings towering over decades of history with nothing to show for it. Underground, the doors locked or nonexistent. Trains hundreds of people must once have ridden to all points. Chicago! Los Angeles! St. Louis! Portland! All aboard! And now, nothing. St. Patty's Day revelers seem not to notice the heavy heart of the vast hall. A plaque outsides marks the historical landmark - 1881! - and inside a security guard sits a card table with his feet up reading the funny papers. Beware! Memories of the ghosts of travelers past haunt all ye who dare enter here.

From Wild Wild West

Never-Ending Flour Parade

Something about living with boys. I make two challahs, gone in 36 hours. I make four baguettes (small, to be sure, but still...), gone in 24. Due to guilt laid on me for my neglect of Pi (3.14) day, an apple pie cools on the stove. I wonder how long that's going to last. Considering the amount of anticipated alcohol consumption, I will be surprised if there's anything left for breakfast. (Don't take this seriously, parents), but if I have boys as children just shoot me.

Red Rocks

Good Day Sunshine

Waiting for the bus this morning, the product of a cloudless night, I was freezing. Six hours later when I left work (Hallelujah!) at 1:30, I could walk around in a t-shirt. The bus ride home was flooded with daydreams of the epic mason jar beverage I would consume upon arrival at my home while sitting outside soaking up some long-awaited Vitamin D.

Aviators, iPod, nail polish, bathing suit, and a mason jar filled with a delicious blend of juices, soda, frozen fruit (we are out of ice, sadly), and the rest of a bottle of Goslings accompanied me for my three and a half hours of no-atmosphere Colorado winter sun. Yes, a bathing suit. Yes, I have a sunburn. Yes, it was awesome. No Mom, I don't have any sunscreen.

Hey, if you can't ski...

What NOT To Do On a Powder Day

Catch an edge.

Catching an edge on skis, much like on ice skates, leads to outside forces pulling on your extremities in terrible ways. This is especially true when going fast, and is especially easy to do in powder. Well gosh darn it, I should have known. It is also a particular threat when old injuries are still nagging, and is rather embarrassing when the little gaggle of nice people stopped to help REALLY want to call ski patrol. Well, we all know that would never fly.

Skiing bumps on one leg is also rather precarious and inconvenient, as is trying to carry a helmet and poles while doing so. Perhaps I have learned my lesson, at least until tomorrow when I am sure to do this whole thing all over again.

That Most Decadent of Winter Treats

Hot Chocolate

2 Tbs Ghirardelli unsweetened cocoa
1 Tbs brown sugar
Milk
A splash...or two...or three...of Bailey's
Top with a dusting of ("true") cinnamon. It's spicier and accents the chocolate better.

I might need a second cup, and we all know how I can never actually finish a hot chocolate.


Inspired by skiing through falling snow and a crackling fire.

1001 Nights

Sitting on a couch, drinking a bottle of Sangiovese-Merlot-Cabernet Sauvignon (imported from Italy), listening to Surrealistic Pillow. Homemade pasta with we-don't-have-a-food-processor pesto. It's snowing outside. Or at least it was.

Complete albums are perfect. Cuddling with an empty bottle nearly so. I can still remember the day when he first won my heart, on the hillside where we lay he said we never would part. So says Grace. Empty white wall, a canvas for this story. Real life is so beyond everything else. An experience. Visionary, the future. But somehow this feels like the past. Totally retro. "Hippie drug music."

An hour and a half of flashbacks to a time I never lived. Sometimes, everything is exactly right.

My Skis!

Toys Aren't Just for Boys

Yesterday disappeared somewhere in between sixteen inches of fresh snow and demoing skis all day. It must be karma that the powder always comes in time for my days off.

I went into it with the intention to, if not buy, at least pick out the exact skis I wanted when I could find them for cheap at the end of the season. As luck would have it, a pair of 164 cm K2 MissDemeanors were hanging above the demo desk, marked down not once, twice, or three times, but four markdowns to $143. In between demos I stealthily asked what the deal was. Oh, one or two seasons old? Retails? Never been skied? I demoed the men's version and loved them; they take powder, quick turns, solid edges...exactly what I was looking for. I wouldn't have been able to find a better deal. On sale bindings and a 15% discount later, at the end of the day I walked out the proud new owner of a sweet $209 pair of skis, mounted and ready to go.

So of course, despite the paralyzing pain my muscles were in after five hours of powder, I somehow managed to make it out of bed this morning because I just HAD to ski my new skis. And they are awesome. I don't think I can wait until tomorrow morning to ski.