I have been silent these past four days. I know…me…silent? I have about 50 blogs to read tonight because I have spent the last four days up nort’ in Michigan at our annual family Ski Trip.
Now, I don’t ski. Telle Tubbies don’t ski.
My hubby and I, our kids, our grandkids, my kids friends, their kids, my daughter-on-law’s parents, their kid — it’s a grand ‘ol trip we have taken every year for at least 12 years. I cook, sit around, talk, drink, sleep, walk around in the snow — all the things you’re supposed to do on vacation.
The great thing is that I did most of those activities this year with my grandkids.
Funny how life turns around and around.
I used to love doing that with my kids. Making snow angels, pulling them on the sled, watching them snowball each other. My boys started skiing around high school. I remember picking up my youngest from the closest ski hill 25 miles one way every week for 8 weeks. My oldest became a skiing whiz when he met his wife-to-be.
Then there was that big gap in time. You know — that dramatic pause in life where one life fades out and another fades in. My oldest fell in love with his skier, whose parents skied, so here we went again. They taught my oldest grandson to ski at three; the two-year-old wasn’t interested this year, but next year, watch out.
So here I am again, walking around the snow-bound block (really a country block) with my little guy, striving to remember those walks of 26 years ago.
I’ll take my memories however I can get them. And if someday I mix up a grandkid with my kid, who cares — there was love bursting out all over with both of them. My life has been one big, melty heart.
Only one lesson learned on my ski weekend, though — don’t try matching shots with your oldest. You’ll do a fourth as much in half the time and still fall asleep at 6…