Black Diamond Defiance

February 22, 2013 § Leave a comment


I stood poised on the edge of the icy slope, my ski tips jutting out over the headwall.  The wind came speeding up the hill with the force of a freight train and almost knocked me down.  Leaning into it, I shouted my defiance to the skies. I would not be held back!  With a powerful push, I started over the hill and down the black diamond ski slope.  The incline was steep and the barreling wind had blown the fresh snow into large chunks, so that I skied from thick powder onto icy stretches with every swish of my blades.  I felt off-balance from the start.  As I made my way down the hill in twists and turns, I could feel the wind tugging relentlessly at my body.  Wind, gravity, my wiry frame… and an icy patch.  I tilted suddenly on my skies, unable to stop my sideways momentum.  As my speed carried me closer to the edge of the slope, I knew I wasn’t in control of my skis any longer.  Sit down, Rose!  My thoughts were crystal clear and adrenaline rushed through my veins.  You need to stop yourself.  I let myself fall to the side closest to the steeply canted slope.  The thump rattled my already-frail bones as I landed on my bottom.  For a second, I thought a clump of snow had obscured my vision on the left side of my goggles.  I reached up to brush it away but pulled my glove back without any improvement.  As I sat there on the side of the slope and blinked a few times, I realized what had happened.  My left contact had been knocked out in my fall!


This wasn’t good.  I could actually see my contact, resting right below my lower lashes on the top of my cheekbone, but I had no idea how I was going to get it back into my eye!  The wind was merciless as it screamed up the slope and around me.  I could feel it buffeting my good, warm Columbia snow jacket even as I sat.  And not only did I have the gale-force winds to deal with, my fingers were freezing cold.  I told myself to relax.  I could do this. I had to do this.  After 15 years, putting in a contact was second nature to me… when I was standing in a bathroom with no breeze and warm, functioning fingers, that is!  I took off my gloves and sat on them so they wouldn’t blow away.  My fingers were cramped and red.  In a swift motion, I pulled my goggles up and plucked my contact from my cheek.  For one split second, I had it… and then the wind snatched it away.  “NOOOOO!!!!!!”  I cried out in anguish as my contact blew away into the sky.  “Come back, please!!!  Nooooo!”


After a few long moments of “Oh my gosh what the heck do I do now?  No seriously what do I do?”, I realized there was no other choice.  I had to ski the rest of this icy, patchy, powdery black diamond slope with no depth perception.

My sight has been awful for years.  I’ve had glasses since fourth grade and contacts since high school.  I am -6.00 in both eyes.  I blame (from least to most) my father’s bad eyesight genes, my distaste for carrots as a child, and years spent reading books by flashlight, by dim light, by flashing-by-streetlamps-in-a-car light…  Point is, I can’t see without help.  And my help had just been snatched away by the Mistral of Montage Mountain.  I saw (from my good eye) my brother hopping into view at the bottom of the slope.  He looked up at me and gestured, obviously wondering if I was okay.  Well, I thought, what else is there to do?  I waved halfheartedly back at him and stood up, making sure my skis were sideways on the slope and the edges dug in.  The last thing I needed was to fall over again and lose my other contact.  I tugged my gloves back on and formed my plan.  Luckily, I was closer to the bottom of the run than the top, but I still had a good two drops left before the end.  My eyes kept trying to focus and it was already annoying me.  I put a hand over my left eye, which helped, and then I laughed dryly.  I couldn’t ski down a black diamond with one hand over my eye.  But I had to.


I pushed off and immediately realized this wasn’t going to be easy.  The snow lay in clumps but my lack of perception left me unsure as to their exact size and shape.  I made it halfway down the first hill and then fell with a thud as my ski tips hit a particularly deep patch of powder.  I couldn’t see the ground well enough to adjust my balance, and it was incredibly frustrating.  I picked myself up, brushed off the snow, and started again.  This time I made  it down to the bottom of the steep slope.  Now there was only the gentler last incline before the blessed relief of the chairlift.  This last hill was surprisingly easy to navigate.  The shallow drop allowed me to ski with less tight maneuvering and I found myself at the bottom without falling again.  I turned around to stare at my nemesis looming behind me.  The black diamond’s slope carved a sharp white line against the trees.  Like an echo of the beginning of my run, I shouted my defiance to the skies.  “You tried but you COULD NOT STOP ME!!!”

Then I explained my ignominious situation to my brother and Jill, and went to sit in the lodge, drink a soothing hot cocoa, and obsessively refresh Twitter for the last hour of our lift tickets.


Guest Post: Meet Henry

February 21, 2013 § Leave a comment

This is a story about a rat…

Throughout my life, my love for animals, especially rodents and dogs (thanks Rose), has grown more than I can measure. My rodent love started with Robert, or Bob, the rat. His bully personality and his brown head and brown stripe really did charm me, as did Merv and his white belly. Next it was Willy, the albino, and many more months later it was Freddy, the little rascal. His mentor was the diseased Bob, and by mentor I mean Freddy followed Bob around everywhere when they would scurry around Rose’s room and usually, when Bob would fight, so would Freddy. Too bad Merv didn’t have a mentor, because the mentor would’ve been proud of his apprentice, but sadly Merv is not here to meet Freddy and Willy’s new cage-mate, Henry!?!?!?!


Another rat’s personality to learn, another small body scurrying up my arm, (hope his claws aren’t as sharp as Freddy’s) and alas, another rat to be made fun of. Look at that adorable face!  Look at those long whiskers, those small but cute eyes, those cute ears and small legs and body, aren’t they so awesome? Yet they are called creepy and strange.  I say, NO!  Welcome this new rat and the old ones, even the dead ones, into your heart!  If I may say so:


– Genevieve

‘He Has Become All Things’

February 15, 2013 § Leave a comment

This reflection by Caryll Houselander was in my Magnificat a few days ago.

“As to your Lent … I can only tell you my own experience.  A mass of good resolutions, I think, are apt to end up in disappointment and to make one depressed.  Also direct fault-uprooting:  it makes one concentrate too much on self and that can be so depressing.  The only resolution I have ever found works is: “Whenever I want to think of myself, I will think of God.”  

Now, this does not mean, “I will make a long meditation on God,” but just some short sharp answer, so to speak, to my thought of self, in God.
For example: “I am lonely, misunderstood, etc.”  “The loneliness of Christ at his trial; the misunderstanding even of his closest friends.” 

Or: “I have made a fool of myself.”
“Christ mocked — he felt it;  he put the mocking first in foretelling his Passion — ‘The Son of Man shall be mocked, etc.’ — made a fool of, before all whom he loved.”

Or: “I can’t go on, unhelped.”
Christ couldn’t.  He couldn’t carry the cross without help; he was grateful for human sympathy — Mary Magdalene — his words on that occasion — other examples as they suggest themselves — just pictures that flash through the mind.” 

This practice becomes a habit and it is the habit which has saved me from despair! …  Different people have different approaches to Christ.  He has become all things — infant, child, man — so that we all can approach him in the way easiest for us.  The best is to use that way to our heart’s content, and not to trouble about any other.”
-Caryll Houselander


February 13, 2013 § 4 Comments

mervy post 2It took me almost two weeks to write this and that seems fitting for my topic.  Mervy, my sweetheart rat, one of our original three rats, died a few days before I went to Mexico.  I know he would have understood my tardiness with this tribute because that’s just how sweet he was.  He died the way he lived, without fuss and without causing me undue pain.  I think he knew he was secretly my favorite rat.  Mervy was always a little smaller than the rest, and he sneezed a lot.  Danny and I called him Sneezles Rat because of it.  In fact, he was the rattie of a thousand nicknames: Sweetheart Rat, Cuddly Rat, Sneezles Rat, Mervytown Rat, Bumbler, Mervster Pervster, White-Bellied Merv, Sweet-faced Merv, Sewer Rat, Ambassador Rat.  Mervy was the rat who won the hearts of even the most hardened rat haters.  Everyone loved him.  That sweet little face would squint up at you until you gave him a treat, and once you saw his delight when munching on a goldfish cracker or a peanut, you’d fall in love too.  You’d have a lot of time to fall in love, because he was also the slowest eater I’ve met since my sister Juliana.  He could nibble away at a peanut for ten minutes.  When we bought Willy, we had already owned Bob and Merv for about a month.  Bob tried to bully Willy, to establish that he was the dominant male in the cage, but Mervy wouldn’t let him.  He blocked Willy from Bob and kept him safe.  Merv was the cuddly rat, the one who liked to snuggle even before he grew older and slower.  He’d hop up to my bed when I was lying there reading, and settle down on my shoulder for a lengthy grooming session.  He had the cutest little move when he groomed himself.  He’d run his little paws from back to front over his ears and down his face to his mouth.  Then he’d lick his paws clean and do it again, quicker than a cat.  I never saw another rat do that.  Even when his tumor began to grow, he was still bumbling around my room and cuddling up in my lap, just hoping for a good ear-rub.  This is a shorter and much less harrowing tribute to write than Bob’s, and that fits Merv’s gentle, simple personality.  I knew he was going to die soon, and I’m so glad Danny and I were able to give him as much love and affection as we could before he slipped away in his sleep.  I know he is with Bob in rattie heaven now, snacking on Cheese-Its and yogies and just being a sweet, lazy rat.

Mervy post

me with mervy

We love you, Papa

February 12, 2013 § Leave a comment

As usual, The Anchoress gets my feelings exactly right when talking about Pope Benedict:

“Yes, I am sad. I have loved Benedict XVI; he has been my favorite pope — I loved John Paul, of course, but as I have said before, he was a grand, dramatic pipe organ of a man; he belonged to the whole world and his writings are often so dense I cannot plumb them. Benedict has always been the more accessible tinkling piano, simply inviting one to come closer. His copious writings have been almost avuncular in their gently-voiced but brilliant instruction, and somehow it always felt like he belonged “to me”. I will miss him terribly.”

Yes, exactly.  Pope Benedict was the one whose words helped me delve deeper into the teachings of my Church, to understand that our faith is both deeply intimate and yet still a mystery.  The dear Holy Father’s words on “full, active, and conscious participation” pushed me to really commit myself to learning about Catholicism.  I will miss his gentle shepherd’s presence.

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