The last two winters delivered an unbelievable amount of snow but I must regretfully acknowledge that this season the snow gods did not smile upon Utah. The powder came late and infrequently this year. With that said, Jason and I still had a great time boarding. We made the most of the handful of good storms we did have. Work and life were skipped as often as necessary when sweet powder presented itself. We hit the slopes on eight occasions, three of which were in one divine week, as we were called forth by the promise of sunshine or the arrival of fresh fluff.
Pioneer is one of my favorite runs at Brighton. It's not too crazy or too boring.
I can actually keep up with Jason most of the time these days, which makes sweet pictures like this possible.
Now that's a powder skirt!
My education in the art of boarding continued this year. I conquered my first black diamonds, attempted wall hits, rode tighter tree runs, and picked up my speed. Of course, I also wrecked masterfully several times. Like when I was catapulted through the air by some rock-solid hard pack and landed on my knees with a ferocious might that knocked the breath out of me and left them swollen and bruised for weeks or when I somersaulted all the way down a black diamond hill in an unstoppable fashion that resembled the growing human snowball tumble you see in cartoons. Not some of my finer moments but hey, for boarders pain equals progression, which explains why I’m such an amazing rider now. (Shut up and let me hold onto the dream.)
Last month a fantastic storm came through that brought heaps of snow. You can bet your bottom dollar that we were out on that powder lickety-split.
It was nearly 60 degrees at Brighton on their last day of the season. Jackets were discarded while smiles were fixed.
I've become accustomed to riding in deep powder so I no longer sink and wallow in it like a fly in feathery molasses.
When your friends have grown too old to do cool things like board self-photos sometimes become necessary.
I tried to hit a jump but hit this sign instead. How did that happen?
Earlier this week Jason and I rode the slopes of Brighton on their closing day. We mingled with caped skiers and riders in pink bunny suits as we celebrated another season and mourned its end. The boarding may only have been mediocre this year compared to the last couple, we may not have been enticed into the mountains as often or blasted by blizzard after blizzard, but we still found the sweetness. For all those that seek powder with hearts as pure as freshly fallen snow shall obtain it. This the gods of winter have promised and this they will bestow. Amen.
It’s back! Just when you thought that gaming could get no geekier Rowley Con strikes again.
Our friends, Jeremy and Amber, recently hosted their second annual Rowley Con: a weekend of gaming and geeky debauchery. Their house overflowed once more with nerds bent on becoming the Supreme Geekolator. This year’s battles for dominance came in the form of Hoard, Dance Central, Agricola, Space Truckers, and Twister. Each category had its own winner and then an uber nerd was selected based off overall scores. I am proud to proclaim that this year’s geekalo was my own skilled hubby. Yes, Jason ruled the other nerds with a level 10 ironclad fist! Okay, technically he tied for first place with our friend Adam but, through a series of tiebreaker tests, he proved himself the rightful champ.
My attempt to look supremely tough as Supergrirl here somehow just made me look super ornery. Superheroes are allowed to give crusties too, right?
People seemed to leave their children to their own devices through most of the Con, which of course led to raging chaos. But the kids did settle temporarily on the couch Saturday afternoon to watch the Muppets and eat suckers.
Various other contests were going on simultaneously throughout the weekend making it impossible to take part in everything. Our friend Lee contributed to the Con with old school Nintendo 8-bit game competitions: Donkey Kong, Pac-Man, Galaga, and Tetris. These were popular with both the little kids and the once-little kids. Amber also set up a cute table specifically for Phase 10 challenges but, sadly, I never got a chance to phase-in.
Jason fittingly sped around in his Flash outfit flashing as many people with his bursting tights as possible.
I may have forgotten to put on the mask but my Batgirl outfit still made me super tough. I literally broke our metal sliding door handle in half with my overpowering strength just minutes after donning this costume.
The costume contest provided yet another means of demonstrating one’s shameless geekery. I would have dressed up whether there was a prize involved or not, I’m just that nerdy, but the prospect of geeky glory certainly added to my motivation. This year Jason and I decided to disguise ourselves as the super duper. We both came up with two different superhero costumes so we had unique iconic eveningwear each night. I made me a Batgirl costume and upgraded the Supergirl outfit I sewed a few months ago for our polar plunge by adding some additional pieces. My Batgirl costume was mostly the workings of my imagination, not any pattern, so I was happy that my creativity didn’t end up upside-down or inside-out. Yeah! But, alas, I did forget to wear my bat mask to the Con, which ruined the secret part of my secret identity. As for Jason, his package seems to have become an integral part of the Rowley Con package. He, with some of my encouragement, decided, once again, that a pair of super panties was perfect attire for this affair. He flashed us speedily and readily in his Flash Underoos on Friday night. At least his Captain America outfit, Saturday’s costume, was adequately covering and didn’t reveal any mysterious bulges. Bulges notwithstanding, apparently no one can resist a brazen man in leggings because Jason and I owned the costume contest once again.
The dark recesses of the basement appropriately became home to the Dungeon Master.
The last part of Jason and Adam’s tiebreaker test was a finger sword fight wherein Jason finally claimed victory with a plunge of his index finger.
Jason’s Captain America outfit covered all of his bits properly but, strangely enough, everyone seemed to miss his red tights.
Dungeon masters, gold hoarders, dot munchers, sheep breeders, and alien garbage gatherers: they were all represented at the Con. Practically anyone, except sufferers of chronic too cool syndrome, could find something to please their inner gamer at this event.
Who can resist the tighted superhero?
Jason’s costume contest prize was a latex horse mask, which he promptly convinced Jacob to prance around in.
Many thanks to the Rowleys for graciously hosting this fest. We came, we played, our children trashed your house. It was good geeky fun and perhaps, if Jeremy’s dearest wishes come true, we will do it all again next year.
I remember going to my grandma’s house as a kid for Easter egg hunts. I impatiently awaited these yearly searches almost to the point of frenzy. It wasn’t just the prospect of some sugar, though that certainly was part of the joy, it was also the thrill of the quest.
In addition to the small amount of candy my parents allowed me and my siblings to seek out on these special occasions, we’d paint an enormous amount of hardboiled eggs for scattering. I don’t think we were nearly as concerned over discovering the whereabouts of the hidden eggs as the candy though because we’d frequently find a few of those dyed ovals months later buried in the flowerbeds when the pungent aroma of their sulfuric rot was too overpowering to ignore. But not a single morsel of sugar ever escaped our frantic scavenging, of that I can assure you.
Keeping these rascals from escaping into the yard prematurely required body armor and a big stick.
Yes, I have plenty of warm recollections about Easter traditions, which is why I think everyone should have the opportunity to add Easter egg hunts to their list of “fond childhood memories.” Hence, I have always been a firm supporter and proponent of my nieces and nephews’ annual egg hunt. Jason and I contribute more toys, candy, and cash to this affair than any of the parents do. We are rewarded for our efforts by some hefty juvenile enthusiasm. The kids eagerly await the moment they are released into the yard as if looking for treats in the bushes is the most exciting activity they could possibly imagine. Once out they run about so manically that they miss half of what is plainly in front of them. It’s pretty entertaining.
Simone made Isabelle a cute little Easter dress. It even matched her basket.
The limited quantity money-filled golden eggs we hide are always the kids’ favorite but they do cause malcontent occasionally among the unsuccessful seekers. All the children walk away with a robust supply of sweets and toys though so their cash flow issues are soon forgotten.
I think Jason and I do a pretty fantastic job of creating memories for our young relatives. The Easter bunny doesn’t always bear an uncanny resemblance to a kind uncle but if you’re lucky he just might.
I played paintball when I was a teenager a few times and then, like most people, I forgot about it. That was until Jason and I attended a paintball birthday party for one of our friends a couple of weeks ago. Now it’s fresh on my mind and skin.
When I played paintball in high school I did so with a large number of girls therefore I was somewhat surprised to discover that this pastime apparently isn’t too popular with the ladies in general. I turned out to be one of only two girls in our sixteen-person group and definitely the only girl in the bunch that actually enjoyed herself. It’s true that paintball can be a startlingly painful experience; if you get hit in the wrong place or at close range there is usually bleeding involved. This isn’t a tag game for sissies. Many members of our group limped away from our matches with oozing battle wounds. I got a few whelps during the action but I didn’t mind too much. Dishing out punishment to the boys was worth the occasional insults I received.
Our group looks ridiculously tough right? Okay, maybe just ridiculous.
I’ll admit that I made no heroic attempts to offensively sprint across the arena like a few on my squad did repeatedly but my cowardly sheltered stance provided cover for many of those masochistic darters and served my team well. I took out quite a few of our opposition and made it through the majority of the games without being hit myself.
I would be happy to participate in a paintball showdown again. Who cares about a few bumps and bruises when there are boys to shoot? Next time we play though I’m hoping for a stronger female showing. Come on ladies, surely you are tougher than your wimpy husbands. Here’s your chance to prove your might and hurt them good all at the same time. Even if I do end up being the only woman at our next epic battle, be prepared boys cause there’s a whole lot more paint and pain where that came from!