Ski Season #3 Begins

People who live in the mountains tend to say -- ad nauseam, if I might add -- "If you don't like the weather, wait thirty minutes -- it'll change." This weekend we witnessed that phenomenon firsthand.

Thanksgiving morning dawned sunny and bright, so while the calendar dictated that it was the beginning of Aspen's ski season, it sure didn't feel like it around town.

Undaunted by the green landscape, I decided to head up to town and make some turns on Ajax. A quick shot of the current year's quiver. Each ski, like the clubs in a golf bag , serves a specific and vital purpose, with no overlap or redundancy.

Here's a quick view of the Little Nell from the gondola. As you can see, snowfall has been a rarity in the early season.

At the top of Aspen Mountain (Ajax) a ceremonial pre-first run photo. Behind my head and just to the right is Highlands Bowl, perhaps the best inbounds skiing in the continental US, with consistent 40 degree pitches for 1500 vertical feet. Just to the left of my head are the Five Fingers, backcounty pitches accessible from the top of Highlands Peak.

The skiing, as you might imagine, was awful. Only a few runs were open, and with hundreds of people eager to start their season scraping away the snow with every turn, it wasn't long before the conditions became downright scary. After about an hour of getting my legs under me, I made a hasty retreat to the safety of my couch.

As we settled in for dinner later that evening, storm clouds rolled in from the west, and before the last of the apple pie was consumed we had already accumulated nearly a foot of new snow in Aspen. This gave me all the motivation I needed to wake up early the next morning and take Maci for a climb and ski.

Applying skins to the bottom of my boards for the first time since April. For those of you unfamiliar with ski-mountaineering, skins -- when combined with a releasable heel on your binding -- allow you to climb on your skis without sliding.

I took the dynafits out for two simple reasons: they're really light and I'm woefully out of shape.

While there wasn't much new snow at our starting elevation of 8,000 feet, by the time we had ascended to 9,000 or so, Maci was up to her shoulders.

It was snowing heavily during the climb, and with visibility limited, most people chose to stick to the resort and Maci and I had this peak to ourselves.

Throughout the climb, Maci is free to roam ahead, frolicking and digging where she may. But when I call, she comes a-running.



Once we hit the ridge, the combination of cold and wind became too much for both of us so we decided it was time to do some skiing. As you can see, Maci gets a touch excited when we make the preparations to start heading downhill.

Once we start skiing, my main concern is keeping Maci from darting in front of me. Many a dog has been sliced open by a ski edge when they got a little too close. With the snow as deep as it was, this wasn't a huge concern as Maci is working so hard just to keep moving downhill, she doesn't have any energy to waste attacking my ski tips.

The dog and I made it downhill in one piece, even enjoying about 18 inches of powder for the first 900 vertical feet or so. All in all, not a bad start to the season.

Giving Thanks

Three weeks ago, Aspen held its annual ski swap at Lauren's school. The swap is a rite of passage for valley residents, as it offers an abundance of discounted gear just in time for the upcoming season.

Lauren, being the person she is, always volunteers to work the swap, while I, being the person I am, volunteer to use my spousal privliges in order to get in early and horde the best deals. We work well togther that way.

The swap started at seven, so Lauren hung around after school to work in her classroom. Meanwhile, I grabbed dinner with a friend downtown, with eyes on swinging over to the school right when the doors opened for the special "friends and family" shopping period.

Dinner ran a bit late, however, so I didn't make it to the swap until nearly 7:30. By then, shoppers were everywhere, and my wife was buried deep within their midst. I hadn't called her to tell her I'd be late, but rather than use my cell phone to track her down, I figured I'd start perusing the goods and when I ran into her, I ran into her.

As I turned down an aisle of clothing, I spotted Lauren about 30 feet away, near the end of the row. She was in mid-conversation, and hadn't yet noticed my arrival.

As I worked my way down the aisle, Lauren finished her conversation and turned towards me. She took a couple of steps, looked up, and our eyes met; and when they did, her face lit up with a look of excitement that's burned into my memory.

And that, in this year of so many miracles, both minor and major, is what I am most thankful for. That my wife, after all we've been through, after all she's endured, still looks at me the same way she did that first summer down the beach. Nothing has changed.

To be strong for your husband when he needs you is one thing; to not over time let that pressure and burden taint or diminsh the way you love him is another thing altogether.

Oh, and my dog likes to wear a wool hat with a brim when we're waiting for Lauren in the school parking lot. I'm pretty thankful for that as well.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Looking Back

Six months.

It doesn't seem possible that its already been half a year since the surgeon opened up my head and clipped an aneurysm that was ready to rupture. But the calendar doesn't lie. Just look at all that's happened since May: the economy has collapsed, the once-promising Christian Slater sitcom has come and gone, and in a landmark, world-changing moment many skeptics believed wouldn't happen in our lifetime, the Phillies won the World Series. Oh, and we elected the country's first black president.

When you look at it like that, six months seems like plenty of time to recover from a little brain surgery. So now seems like as good a time as any to reflect on all that's happened.

First and foremost, it's awful nice to be alive. As Lauren and I look back on some of the things I was doing over those last few months prior to the diagnosis, it's a miracle the aneurysm didn't give out. From the 15,000 feet of climbing at the 24 Hours of Sunlight, to the climb and descent of Hayden Peak just 10 days prior to the discovery, to my run up the Arbonny Kittle trail the day BEFORE the diagnosis, the thing sure had ample opportunity to rupture, and if it had, there's a 70% chance I'd be gone.

So there's that. It's something I think about quite a bit because sadly, most aneurysm stories don't end so well. I was one of the lucky few that had advance warning, in my case in the form of a wicked migraine while out climbing with my dog one afternoon.

Then there was the surgery. We were given all the standard warnings and statistics regarding the potential for problems; including but not limited to disability and death. But my surgeon, as he's known to do, pulled through with a kick-ass job.

Two days after the procedure, as I lay in the hospital running though my own self-imposed, informal neurological testing, I realized that everything was still there. From my childhood phone number to the 1991 Final Four participants to Homer's alias while he's temporarily crashing at the retirement home (Cornelius Talmidge), it was all there, and for that I was grateful. My biggest fear going into the surgery was that I would come out and not recognize my wife, or even worse, recognize her but not be able to communicate. But fortunately -- very fortunately -- that wasn't the case.

Since the surgery, I have slowly progressed to my pre-operative state, but not in anything resembling a linear or predictable manner.

Three months after the operation, as Lauren and I returned to Aspen and the physical pain had finally diminished, I considered myself "healed." I was back at work full time, I was running every other day, I could even enjoy a cold beer or three if I so desired. By any clinical definition, I imagine I was indeed healed.

And that's precisely when the trouble started. Not in any tangible physical sense, but in a mental and emotional sense. In retrospect, I never really processed all that happened until the recovery was "complete," and when it hit me, it hit me hard.

I'd always fancied that if tragedy or adversity did find its way into my life, I'd handle it admirably. I was wrong. I let the fear of a recurrence take over my life for much of the fall, and the pain from the intense emotional overload -- both physically and psychologically -- was in many ways worse than the surgical pain.

But time heals all things. Well, time and a wife with infinite patience. Lauren, god bless her, has bore the brunt of all my weakness over the past few months, and she's carried me through this.

It's an interesting thing, love. On the one hand, if it weren't for Lauren, I probably would have spent the better part of the past few months curled up in the fetal position and sucking my thumb like Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber.

On the other hand, one could make the argument that it was the way I feel about Lauren that made the recovery so difficult. Before I met her, what did I have to lose? As I rejoined reality back in Aspen, the fear of a foreshortened future dominated my thoughts. And it had nothing to do with the fear of dying and death's effect on ME, but rather the effect it would have on Lauren and the sadness I would leave behind. There are few things in life as depressing as waking up in the middle of the night, looking over to the other side of the bed at the person you love with all your heart, and fearing that you won't be around to grow old with them.

But that's the price you pay, isn't it?

As the six month mark rolled around, Lauren and I reached the conclusion that the best way to put these fears to bed was to take some more diagnostic tests and prove to myself that this aneurysm was what the doctors said it was: a one-time, freak occurrence that while life threatening, had a permanent fix.

So last week, I walked into Aspen Valley Hospital, where this all began, and took an MRI and an MRA to test for any new aneurysms and make sure the healing was going according to plan. I was fully aware that the brain takes a long time to completely recover, and that as much as I felt "healed" in September, it will be a full year before I am truly back to my pre-operative state. Nonetheless, we thought a six-month check-up was warranted.

The results are in, and the news is happy. No new aneurysms, and my brain looks healthy and ripe with useless knowledge. The MRI did reveal two tiny areas of dead brain tissue, but I am expecting to hear from my doc that this is the inevitable by-product of the surgery. Plus, as the radiologist reading the MRI pointed out, I have no neurological deficit, so the dead tissue likely isn't impacting me in any way. Although come to think of it, I have been having some trouble with names lately. Oh, and I forgot to wear pants to work today. Boy was that embarrassing. But I'm sure it's a coincidence.

So while I don't consider this chapter of my life closed, we're definitely getting near the bottom of the page. I still get some pain on the surgery side, and it seems to be exacerbated by intense exercise. Not a great thing when the snow should start falling any day now and there's roughly 100 ski days in my immediate future.

Those are little things, however, and with these new test results the fear should soon start fading, and perhaps now I can fully appreciate the simple joy of being alive. That'll be nice.

I Love Legitimate Theater!

Big things happening in Aspen Thursday night, as Lauren and I got dressed up all nice-like (read: I took off my hat) to attend the community theater's performance of Chicago.



I was a tad skeptical at first, as I had some other appealing entertainment options in the Jets-Patriots game and the Roaring Fork Avalanche Center's annual fundraiser. But love won out, as it tends to do.



All in all, I was more than a little impressed that a mountain town of 6,000 people was able to muster such a talented collection of actors, singers, and sexually confused teenagers. The show was a hit, and Lauren greatly enjoyed it.



But at the end of the day, I'm a simple man. I like my beer cold, my TV loud, and my musicals to feature apes run amok in a post-apocalyptic world.

The Nitti's Arrive in Aspen

Lauren and I took a brief hiatus from the demands of our amateur dog-fighting ring to welcome the Nitti parents to Aspen, Colorado. It was the first visit for Mary and Angelo, confirming my long-held hypothesis that if you want people over 60 to trust their lives to air travel, you'd better a) have grandkids to dangle as bait, or b) have recently undergone some form of major surgery, the recovery from which can be utilized as a guilting tool.

After a rather long travel day, the folks and I met Lauren in Aspen for some fine dining at Jimmy's. Here's my wife and Mary shortly after agreeing to share their entrees, providing immense relief to my mother, who had spent several agonizing minutes torn between the wild game and the chicken parm. Here's Mary and Angelo posing in front of the Maroon Bells on another cloudless autumn day in Aspen, looking respendent in the very attire they wore to their failed 1997 audition for the Blue Man Group.

A quick shot of a boy and his dog. Maci's proudly sporting her new harness, a gift from a local pet shop owner after our return this fall. As you may or may not have noticed, it's PINK.

/Looks over at dog. Shakes head in disgust. Dog appears indifferent.

The better part of the next two days were spent watching the Phils and putting my parents to work on various odd jobs around the house. By the time Tuesday morning rolled around, they couldn't wait to leave and get back to their minimum-wage gig as indentured servants to my sister. After dropping them off at the airport in Denver, I picked up my brother Mike, which as you know by now, led to this...

I returned home well after midnight Wednesday night, nearly two full days after leaving Aspen. As you might imagine, priority number one was to reconnect with my #1 girl.

Friday was the Phils' championship parade, an event 25 years in the making for one star-crossed city. The parade gave us two diametrically opposed -- yet equally enjoyable and memorable -- manners of celebration.

Which kind of person are you?

Are you a "baby commanding legion of fans=adorable" person?

Or a "me likey gratuitous use of the F-word" kind of person?

God bless Chase Utley. I'm fairly confident members of this 2008 team can legally kill people in Philly now.