As part of my job, I repeatedly visit the same places over and over again in Boston.  That might sound boring to some, but it is never boring to me.  I see the places again and again with different people and see the experience through a different set of eyes.  I also see the places at different times of year.

The Institute of Contemporary Art is one of those places.  I’ve been going there for five years.  Its another of those places in Boston that I visited before I was a teacher and thought I’d visit once, never imagining in a million years that I’d continually visit it.

I’ve seen some good art there, some great art and some utterly incomprehensible art.  One instance that comes to mind was an exhibit that consisted of a man’s boxer shorts, his jeans, t-shirt and shoes.  It looked like a pile of clothes I’d leave on the floor.  Ridiculous.  Ok I rephrase.  Unconventional and to be taken seriously as it is an a serious expression of the artist’s feelings.  Well, either way, they are all great:

People that know me describe me as a person full of energy and life and I guess I’d agree with that.  I’ve come to this energy because I spent a good many years not doing anything, sitting on the sidelines of life.

That I go skiing as much as I do and that I love the sport as deeply as I do, is an extension of that.  HOWEVER, even I have moments during ski season when I don’t want to go on my crazy schedule of trips.  I set myself a demanding schedule for my ski season, figuring that it will be over quickly and that I need to get in as much as I can.

Still, there are times when I don’t feel like going.  Saturday was one of those times.  I haven’t been sleeping too well lately, owning to the fact that my apartment is too damn hot and I guess a bit of anxiety about what my future holds.  Things are changing in my life right now and I feel a lot of trepidation about all of it.

So the alarm goes off this past Saturday and I truly do not feel like going, but I go anyway.  This ski trip was a favor from an agency we work with at my job for the immense amount of business we bring them.  Everything free has a cost and the cost for this one was taking a yellow school bus to our destination.  Traveling on a yellow school bus is just about the worst way to travel and it is the sight of multiple indignities experienced by all American school children.

We got to our destination, the Wachusett resort and I got myself ready.  As is always the case when I have the feeling that I don’t want to go on my weekend ski trip, I got there and I immediately knew I wanted to be there. I realized yesterday that I love going to Wachusett.  Its not fancy, its not Vermont but everyone there is so friendly.  I have great conversations with  people on the lifts and always share a laugh about collective skiing stories.   There is always classic rock blasting and it is always a lot of fun.

Saturday was great.  I skied some good black trails and got my speed back and my form.  A nine month lay off from skiing always involves some return to form and a place like Wachusett is perfect for that kind of thing.  As usual, I did some thinking on the slope about what is to come, but I also thought — always just go skiing.

And with those pseudo-philosophical statements, let’s get going on the photos:

 

Or I looked over and I saw this and took the photo.  It was kind of a great scene and hey, if you think you see the Renaissance here, that’s great:

Use your magnifying glass:

Now if we could just get going with that snow, that would be great:

A few Quebec postcards to go with your evening cocoa:

But if you want to get to know her, she’ll be on the super ecran jeudi at 20H:

Land of passive aggressive sarcasm.  In this region, in two languages.

First up this priceless sentiment:

I have a similar one from the Cayman Islands, with a shark expressing a similar sentiment.

The next one, well, let’s take a read and then discuss it:

The moose with the missing teeth is a thing of beauty and let’s face it, the sexual innuendo is really funny and so very, very, very Canadian.

A week and a half ago (which feels like it was about 10 years ago) I got a very warm hearted email from the guy that runs the ski club I’m in.  Mind you, I’ve never actually met this guy or anything, but he was sorry from the bottom of his heart that the two ski trips I had paid for were being cancelled due to mother nature being a heartless bitch this year.  He didn’t actually say that last part.  I just threw it in there.

As with most things these days, I took it in stride.  Hopefully, it would start snowing soon and hey I was heading north nevertheless, so I could check out some international skiing.  That sounds so glam.  Gstaad, here I come.

Well, it wasn’t quite Gstaad, but I did get to ski at an extremely nice resort called Mont Sainte Anne near Quebec.  I’ve said it many times up here.  God, do I ever love skiing.  Every year when the season starts up again I think — this year, maybe I won’t like this anymore, but low and behold I do.  More than I did the year previous.  I think about different things when I’m on the ski lift and I still can’t get over the fact that a couple of years ago, skiing was something that never crossed my mind I would even consider doing and here I am, doing it.  Yesterday I didn’t even look to see what the difficulty rating of any of slopes were I was going on.  I just kind of pointed the pythons and off we went.

It was a really great day.  I’m sore today and for a first ski trip of the season, it was like a mid season ski trip for me a couple of years ago with the amount of skiing I did and the quality of the skiing I did.

OK, enough words.  Let’s get to the good stuff: