Anna's Soapbox

I know I should know better than to travel to Philadelphia in January and then bitch about the weather, but dang -- it hasn't gotten above 30 since I got here nine days ago, and probably won't for the next week, either. Back in Denver -- "oh, wow, you moved to Colorado from L.A.? Are you just totally freezing all the time??" -- it's been in the 60s, and of course that won't last more than a week. I'll leave here next week and Philly will get their usual January thaw, and I'll hit Denver around the same time as some monster cold front from the Yukon blasting bountiful, frosty tidings from the Bering Sea.

I know I left California of my own free will. (repeat after me, Anna...) I know I don't miss the traffic, smog, crowds, or too-fast pace of life there. I know I complained endlessly while I lived there and dreamt aloud, to anyone and everyone within earshot, of getting sprung, someday, and I know I've complained endlessly since I left that I miss my house and blah blah blah. Come spring, when the sun stays up for more than a few half-hearted hours and the days warm up more than sporadically, I'll have a better attitude about everything. I promise.

Laz's uncle Charles came down from New York to see us -- I miss seeing my brother more often and am trying to talk him into coming out to ski (and visit us non-skiers) in Colorado. Laz got in on the act, too, wooing uncle with well-spun tales of pristine trails and that oxygen-thin high-altitude bliss you get only in the Rockies...

Trust me, uncle, it's a blast -- you've never seen skiing like this...