Remember that one time I went to Colorado for Christmas and New Year’s with Andy and his wonderful family? You do? Oh good, because today I’m going to give you all the personal details which you may or may not have never wanted to know from that trip. Please stay seated and keep your seatbelts properly fastened until the captain turns off the “fasten seatbelt” sign. Thank you for choosing Lindsay’s blog.
This part of our trip would generally draw no special attention, except for the fact that I am a very nervous flier (flyer?) and on the tail end of our journey into Colorado’s Eagle/Vail Airport, the captain came over the loud speakers to make an announcement. You might think his announcement would be to thank us for flying American Airlines and for spending our money to help them continue digging their way out of debt, but you’d be wrong. So wrong.
In fact, the captain’s announcement in fact had more to do with the fact that due to a snowstorm on the ground, we were stuck circling the airport 30k feet above ground, oh and there was this one small tiny problem. Really, it was so minor that we were all probably going to laugh and think, “Oh that silly captain, worrying about frivolities.” The one small tiny problem was that WE ONLY HAD 30 MINUTES OF FUEL LEFT AND THE SNOWSTORM WAS LOOKING MIGHTY COMFORTABLE WHERE IT WAS ON THE GROUND.
Deep breath. Deep breath. Don’t cry. Deep breath.
But it all ended up being okay: in the time the captain was discussing our options – diverting to Denver (a 3 hour drive from where we wanted to go) or to Grand Junction (also a 3 hour drive) – the snowstorm miraculously moved and we landed where we initially set out to, and everyone made it off the plane alive and I didn’t cry in front of a plane full of strangers.
And then we drove through beautiful scenery and everything was okay again. Google “Glenwood Canyon,” you won’t be sorry.
The next day a very nervous me embarked on her first ski adventure in approximately 9 years. That number may be somewhat less precise than I’d like, as I am too lazy to count backwards and remember the last time my family went skiing. Growing up we’d road trip to Colorado to go camping in the summer, and skiing in the winter. So I really should have known what I was doing.
Except did you know that skiing is really hard? That you have to wear lots of layers of clothes that render you basically immobile? That it’s really, really cold out there? That it will hurt muscles you didn’t know you had in your two little legs? That you have to share the slopes with other skiers? That those other skiers probably ski faster than you (since you go at the approximate rate of a snail out for a Sunday stroll) and will likely come whizzing by you, darn well near knocking you off your skis?
I seemed to have forgotten all those things. But I *did* remember to take gorgeous pictures at the top of the mountain. And it was gorgeous up there, truly. And then I also remembered to reward myself with an overpriced glass of pinot grigio when I finally made it to the bottom of the mountain.
The morning after skiing, we hauled our ski-sore muscles out of bed and set off on another adventure (are you sensing a theme here?) – snowmobiling! This was stupid fun. Except for this teeny tiny issue Andy and I had where we drove our snowmobile into a snow drift and started falling off the mountain, nbd. But we got right back on that horse snowmobile and kept going.
Andy’s parents’ house is just outside the cutest of cute towns, Redstone. Population 91, according to the sign (although Google corrected me and apparently as of the 2010 Census the population is 130). We spent our Christmas eve at the Redstone Community Church singing carols along with the CUTEST little piano-playing, sing-song-voice-having lady. The preacher looked like Mr. Rogers and kept pronouncing evening “evENing,” and it was adorable. All of it. Then we went home and built gingerbread houses (ours was a “Frozen” theme, of course).
Christmas Day was a blur, all family and food and snow. Did I mention this was my first ever true white Christmas? It was beautiful. We opened presents, ate breakfast with Andy’s grandparents, I helped my mother-in-law cook Christmas lunch and then we went on a sleigh ride, where it snowed A LOT. It was incredible.
Then we spent a lot of time vegging at the house, hot springs-ing, and shopping in Redstone and the surrounding cute towns of Carbondale and Glenwood Springs.
On New Year’s Eve we drove the 2 hours to Breckenridge, to spend the holiday with my sister-in-law’s boyfriend’s family. Did you follow that? Good job, 10 points to Gryffindor. I’ve been to Breckenridge before, it’s an adorable little ski town styled like a Swiss chalet (according to my father-in-law, who is very smart so I trusted him and quoted him in my blog). We were up the mountain, almost to the tree line, and we had the gorgeousest of views. No, gorgeousest is not a word. I got to help my sister-in-law’s boyfriend’s mom cook dinner (I got put in charge of the creamed corn, roasted asparagus and the béarnaise sauce to go with the beef tenderloin), and excuse my arrogance but hot damn did that meal turn out to be delicious.
Then, in the middle of dinner, out of the corner of my eye I spied movement outside the door. “Animal!” I cried. Sure enough, just outside the door there was real, live, natural nature happening – a fluffy, wintery fox was sitting outside the door! Turns out he’s something of a neighborhood pet, and the precious thing ended up being fed beef tenderloin and 8 hot dogs. I really wanted to bring him inside and snuggle him, but something about wild animals and danger and blah blah blah blah blah.
And then we came home to Texas where it’s flat and not pretty and there is no snow the end.
There. That’s all. Is anyone still there? Bueller? Bueller? Thank you for reading all the way to the end, I love you more than I love a hot-dog-eating winter fox (which is a lot).
—The Wife in Training