Ruidoso, New Mexico... A Deceptive Mystery of Sorts

We just returned from several days of skiing at our closest ski area, Ski Apache, owned and operated
by the oh-so-often deceptive Apache Indian Tribe. Let me explain by number.

1. After 25 years the website for Inn of the Mountain Gods STILL DOESN'T WORK properly. After making online reservations, one must still contact reservations at the hotel to secure a room. They add new pictures, new menu items, remodel the entire hotel, adding more rooms, and still the website can't seem to deliver even the smallest improvement, or just retain the info for that matter.

2. The hotel still boasts fine dining at their upper end restaurant "Wendell's". Although we had an amazing Caesar Salad made by our waiter at the table, dinner still took more than two hours to deliver. There were only 9 tables of people (2 tables of which were 4) and 3 waiters. Unacceptable. I could have handled at least half the tables even though I haven't done so in more than 40 years. (Shut. Up.)

3. The web cam at the ski area website boasted great and plentiful snow. The reality was that there wasn't much snow and what there was, was *made* snow. It was slush in the sun and like black ice in the shade. I have certainly skied better snow, even in Ruidoso. It's not a new concept. Had I known how truly dangerous the skiing was, I'd have gone shopping in town instead of wasting a whopping $115.00 for less than 30 minutes of skiing. Enough said there.


4. When I first checked the Ski Apache web cam (on the Ski Apache website), the gondola was running. When I arrived at the ski area 45 minutes later, no gondolas were running and there was no wind nor extreme conditions preventing it from operating it during normal hours. Hmm. Color me confused. So, if I wanted to get to the top of the mountain I had to ride 3 exposed (to the elements) lifts. Did. Not. Happen. The huge parking lot was nearly empty upon my arrival, which shocked me, although I'm not sure why. I've been there many times before when the ski area was void of skiers.

5. Following our last excursion to stay at the IOMG, I refused to even enter the casino during this trip. The Apache Indians may shun us if we wear anything made of snake (or reptile), but I in turn, refuse to lose my money to their obviously shoddy gaming establishment. They do not deserve any of my money, thank you very much. If I'm going to gamble away my money it will be to people (like the best hotels in Las Vegas) who treat me well and kiss my fine derriere while I'm losing my hard earned money. IOMG is not that place. Furthermore, they allow smoking at the tables but do not allow drinking at the tables. What kind of crazy ridiculousness is that? Get me drunk for free and I'm all about losing money. What part of this seems confusing? Oh. Dear. It must be that devil firewater they all seem to find so addicting. Since I'm 1/16th Cherokee I do not understand this craziness. I can handle it. Why can't they? C'mon. Really?


6. Inn of the Mountain Gods also offers NO PAY PER VIEW movies in the rooms nor spa services. In my opinion this is sheer idiocy. We would have watched multiple movies (at whatever price), and I would have totally accessed the spa and all its services, and they would have made money. (Can we spell revenue lost through laziness?) I simply do not understand this absurd oversight. Stupid non-marketing, really. Even in Las Vegas I can get BOTH AMENITIES. Uh-Huh.

7. Our last night there we ordered room service filet mignons and all the sides for dinner (only one side was offered for your effort of showing up in the dining room) and it was more prompt and much more delicious than our first night in the restaurant. Seriously? What's that all about?

8. I did ski one day but the conditions were horrendous and I didn't ski very well. Being a fair weather skier I'm convinced that had the conditions been better I'd have been Hell On Wheels Skis. The sun was out and it was seasonably warm, but the snow itself sucked. It was scary and it was dangerous and I didn't like it.

9. I so wanted to do the Apache Zip Tour until I discovered that it can reach speeds up to 70 MPH. during your *tour*. WHAT? Umm... No. Not I. I'm brave if I reach that speed with my car. I'm no longer a speed freak in any way, shape, or form. Besides, the PRACTICE ZIP LINE is located at the bottom of the mountain, something like 30 to 45 minutes away. Honestly, I just feel that they don't have all the kinks worked out yet (yes - excuses, excuses), so I'll wait until I'm sure they are good to go.


10. Yes, I've become a wimp. I can live with that. Also, I can't stand the Apache Indians and their mistreatment of their clients bread and butter, the tourists. I'm now looking for whiter slopes with friendlier folks, still within reasonable driving time... I'm a tree. I can bend. I can also pray.

In addition to all I've stated above, Ruidoso and the surrounding area have been devastated every year for the past five years (maybe it's been 10 years). Fire. Flooding. Drought. Fire. Drought. Very, very sad indeed. Lost businesses, lost homes, lost valuable employees, lost friends, lost forest, lost wildlife, lost ski area terrain. The list goes on, as must I. Ski Apache will, I'm sure, continue to to let what they've built deteriorate as well as discourage future tourists by continuing their deceptive ways. Not much has changed in the last five years, nor the last 30 years. The Apaches still run the only game in town and I'm Cherokee. Perhaps that is my problem and I am at the end game with Ski Apache, as well as being done with the entire tribe....

Now, it's time to get back to golfing... Just as soon as the weather warms up.

Must Be Time For Another Road Trip... 2015 Edition

Lately I find that I just don't have the patience for much of anything aside from keeping my nose to the grind, as it were. I don't know if anyone else goes through phases like this, but I certainly do. I feel restless and the things I normally derive joy from doing on a day to day basis, are either boring me to the verge of tears or causing me a great deal of frustration. It's the same feeling that you would educe from taking one step forward and three steps back in a walking race. Uh-Huh.

I have no patience with long stoplights or people who seem to be asleep for the first few seconds after the light changes to green, because they are talking on their freaking cell phones. I have no patience with people who ring my doorbell unannounced. I have no patience for neighbor's dogs who bark for hours on end, nor do I have the patience to suffer through visits from Jehovah's Witnesses or anyone selling anything. The people who block grocery store aisles are now on my hit list. I'm beginning to scare even myself. And today, a neighbor child is blowing an industrial size whistle, seemingly non-stop and I'm envisioning ripping it from her mouth and tossing it to Kingdom Come. You know. Right after I ask the parents if they are deaf or something (like stupid).

I used to refer to this strange emotional phenomenon as PMS and later, I thus blamed menopause. I no longer have either *condition* among my repertoire of excuses for foul moods, so I'm fairly perplexed as to what I can blame this on. Am I really just a total bitch after all is said and done? Possibly, but hopefully not that uncomplicated. Perhaps it's just *crotchety old age syndrome*. Whatever. I think I'll go with Early Spring Fever.

Mr. Snoots, the poor dear, doesn't really understand but in an effort to prove his allegiance he feigns sympathy and understanding. I cannot say that I blame him for that ploy. Were I in his predicament I'd probably resort to the use of a sledge hammer, so I must praise him for his acumen.

Oh patience, where art thou?

Sensing this, Mr. Snoots, in his infinite wisdom, has suggested a road trip. I'm always game for a road trip! So, we're headed to our favorite little ski town. Ruidoso, New Mexico. We'll only be gone for 4 days but usually that's all I need to set me right with the world again. As I've said before, all work and no play makes Snooty a very cranky entity indeed. Very. Cranky.

Mr. Snooty plans to stay at the hotel and take care of business on the computer, which will keep him busy. Then, we can go to dinner in the evenings. Normally, when I go skiing alone, I have room service, watch a movie and go to sleep. So, this should be tons more fun! However, when the hotel removed my person from the casino for taking pictures, they completely squashed my pension for gambling. I wouldn't give them my money even if they begged me and rolled out the red carpet.

Of course, Mr. Snoots doesn't ski anymore but I don't care. I'm just thrilled to not be going alone. I went alone for so many years once the kids were gone and after a while, it just wasn't fun anymore. We humans need contact with other humans and he's my #1 choice, so it will be nice to have him along.

Did I mention that I'm now considered a senior and can ski for a discount price? When I turn 70, I can ski for free! That's my goal. So, I'll finally be getting a *deal* after skiing HERE all these years.

Anyway, I'm out of here as soon as I can gather all my ski things but that might take a while. I promise to try take lots of pictures but I'm more forgetful these days. Two full half days of skiing is probably more than I can handle in my out-of-shape condition. It might well kill me, but I doubt it. Only the good die young.... Most likely I'll be as sore as a two bit floosie on payday. Besides, I ski like an old lady now. You know. Because I'm an old lady now. I can only dream about how I used to ski but, I'm perfectly good with that. As always, I'll take my bottle of champagne, a jar of Icelandic caviar, cream cheese, chopped red onion and toast points to have for my afternoon snack. It became a ritual for me about 20 years ago and I'm not one to break tradition. Well, not this one anyway.

See you soon!
 

I Present To You... The Wonderful World of Warren Miller Ski Films

We are expecting something like an inch of snow tonight so it's only right and proper that I should make the last post of my NaBloPoMo commitment on the talented and funny Warren Miller, who has entertained skiers and non-skiers since the early 1950's with his films. He's 80 years old now, is a published author and father as well as one of the most funny, tender men I've ever known of. His films are legendary and have only improved over the years. He really is the Jacques Cousteau of the snow skiing world and even surfing in the early days. The man was a genius and got to spend his life doing what he loves. You certainly can't beat that.

When I lived in Aspen as a teenager, he was a god to all of us. His narratives are better than any reporter on any sport. He always features the cutting edge skiers (and snowboarders) of the day in his films and his photography will make you drool. His humor will entertain you and his tender heart will warm yours. We all wanted to grow up and be in Warren's films much like many kids want to be basketball, movie or soccer stars.

The man is a genius at what he does. I think my most favorite of all his films (which is not an easy decision) is his 2004 movie Impact. He shows more than just skiing. He shows water skiers in Mexico, surfers, horseback riding and Warren's Angels. It's wonderful and entertaining, whether you do any of these sports or not. Extreme Winter is a really good one too... as well as hair-raising.

I realize it's hard to believe I was ever as crazy as any of Warren's skiers, but I was. A gazillion years ago.

Some of my favorite Warren Miller quotes:

"When I first started skiing, my skis were long and my pants were baggy. Now, my skis are short and my face is baggy."

"Work is the price you pay for money."

"If you can afford to go to college then you probably don't need to."

"Don't take life too seriously because you can't come out of it alive."

"It's always darkest before the dawn. So, if you're planning on stealing your neighbor's newspaper, do it then."

"Anyone that tells you they ski as well at 80 as they did when they were 20, was a lousy skier at 20."

"On the other hand, you have different fingers."

"It's not your aptitude but your attitude that determines your altitude."

"How old would you be if you didn't know when you were born?"

"I dropped out of normal life at 20. After a lifetime following my heart on a pair skis, I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up."

"Memory can be your choice of drug if you let it."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And, I made it to the end of the NaBloPoMo thing... Yay!

My Little Corner Of The Skiing World....

Ever since I moved back to Texas in 1975, I've been skiing in New Mexico at my favorite ski area, Ski Apache located in the mountains above Ruidoso, New Mexico. Unlike my beloved Colorado, the temperatures tend to stay mild all winter, which makes for comfortable skiing and makes old ladies like me want to get out their boards and take some turns on the hill.

Ruidoso has had some hard hits the last few years but thankfully, they are still there. Last year, not only were they hit with the worst flooding in their history, but they also never accumulated any significant amount of snow, which means the ski area was hurt as badly as the funky little town of Ruidoso. Frankly, they haven't had snow for the last couple of years. Global warming? Perhaps, but I doubt it. They are just located closer to the equator than most ski areas, I suppose. In all my years I've only heard of them not opening at all, just once. They have great snow making equipment and NOW they have a great WEB CAM. Pretty much all of the land is owned by the Mescalero Apache Indian Tribe and they have enough money from other endeavors that they don't really worry. The ski area is located in the Sierra Blanca Mountain Range (also known as The White Mountain Range) of New Mexico, which is really breathtaking countryside.

Of course, we could go to Taos, which almost always has snow, but the drive is too long. Ruidoso is a mere 5 hours from our front door (or 4 hours if I'm alone). Taos is about a 9 hour drive (12 hours if driving in deep snow). Although I prefer the challenges offered by skiing Taos, I don't care to make the long drive, nor does anyone else.

Unfortunately, the Ski Apache Web Cam is a bit depressing at the moment, although a couple of weeks ago it was all totally covered in snow, but I'm going to try to keep a positive perspective. In fact, I've been so positive as to rent a house there for Christmas. Neither of the kids has skied in years (they can't afford it) and we haven't skied together in a very long time so this year we're going away for the holidays. Farmer's Almanac is predicting plentiful snow for that region during the week of December 23rd and since they are seldom wrong in their predictions, I'm going with it. Actually, we can back out by December 1st without paying a penalty, just as an option. Both of our children have reached the point that they would rather be with us than their friends (yes, it does happen eventually if you've done your job right), so they aren't in the least bit worried about not seeing their friends over Christmas. Five years ago it would have been a completely different story.


I'm just praying I don't fall this year while skiing. No telling how that will affect my Osteoporosis. Yikes. It's really kind of scary, but I've never been much for falling anyway. I check my speed constantly ever since turning 50. I had a bit of a *freak out* that year when I was up in Ruidoso skiing alone. I started my descent down a run called *Caliente* (a run I've skied many times and at high speeds) and I suddenly froze. I couldn't push off, or make another turn, or even side-step. I even sat down and cried (okay this was probably due to the onset of early menopause because I cried a lot). It was something like 20 or 30 minutes before I mustered up the courage to continue my descent. It wasn't in the least bit funny. It scared the life out of me, to the point that I left after that and returned to my my hotel room to lick my emotional wounds.

Anyhoo, I found a great house (this isn't the house, but is a comparable option) to rent for this Christmas that has a hot tub to soothe tired muscles after a long day of sliding around on our boards, a wonderful gourmet kitchen, a wood burning fireplace, plenty of TV's, a pool table, and all the other comforts of home, located on a secluded 7 acres. Now, all we need is some snow...

Rest In Peace Uncle Bob... The Ultimate Cool Cat Hipster, Jazzman & Master Skier....

We received the news yesterday when we arrived home from our trip that our favorite uncle (Mr. Snooty's Dad's oldest brother) had passed away at the age of 86. He was always considered the *black sheep* of the family, which instantly made him my favorite uncle. He was born in 1923, did a stint in the U.S. Navy during WWII, he was a graduate of the Univ. of Oklahoma and Columbia University (where he met and became friends with Jack Kerouac). Uncle Bob was also an excellent and successful oil and gas geologist.



Uncle Bob was the oldest of four brothers and one sister, being tagged as the *black sheep* because he divorced his first wife, drank bourbon, smoked cigars, and was a bit of a wild man back in the day. He also lived with a wonderful woman for something like 40 years, who was at his side when he passed. Of course, that's why I was immediately drawn to him. He was quite the character and was close friends with the likes of Hunter Thompson, Dirty Bertie Cross, and Ralph Jackson, all considered to be part of the *Beat Generation*. He was about as cool a cat as I ever knew, and I knew a lot of them through my mother, The Brown Recluse.



We both shared a mad passion for jazz and skiing, so we were kindred spirits from the get go. His absolute favorite jazz pianist was Ralph Sutton, who actually lived in Denver during the same time Uncle Bob did. From what I understand, they knew each other for years. He authored several books that were filled with his *witicisms*, while others were about geology, with a twist of humor added, and we have them all. I will treasure them until I die and hopefully, my children will treasure them as well. Bob never had children of his own.



At one time he literally owned Four-O-Clock run in Breckenridge, CO. He eventually sold the land, but kept a condo there for many years, which we were invited to use many times, and did. You could actually ski in and out from his place and it was the most amazing condo and location ever. Uncle Bob was an avid skier and even though he actually lived in Denver, he never failed to come and ski with us.



This picture and the next are from February 1978, four months after Mr. Snooty and I married.



He always tried to make me laugh when we skied because I made such a big deal about all the guys being able to *retreat to the trees* while I had to go inside to take care of business. It was like he made it his mission to make me giggle, which always made me feel like I was special and that he accepted me into the family, even though it was annoying at the same time. He always cracked me up. He always smoked lovely smelling cigars, even on the mountain while skiing. The man was a total riot to be around, even in his later years. He had something of a *dry ice* wit and I adored him.





I apologize for the quality of this picture but it's the best I could do in my post vacation mode. I've been in and out of bed all day due to total exhaustion.

Eventually, he and the love of his life sold their properties in Denver and Breckenridge and moved to Montana, where they lived very happily for many years before his demise. When he was in his 70's, he (and his lovely companion) skied the Canadian Cariboos by helicopter, which has been a lifelong dream of mine. There is even a book about their experience, which is one of my great treasures. He was just SO SPECIAL and I will truly miss him until I die....



Honestly, I was in bed all day yesterday, trying to recover from the trip. So, I hope to get a post up this week. I just felt that Uncle Bob deserved a little lip service.



Oh... And can I just say FUCK CANCER? Well, I just did, so there. I'll even say it again. FUCK CANCER! It's the scourge of the earth and I hate it, hate it, hate it!

Perhaps No News Is Good News Today...

Since the 10:00 PM news came on tonight, I've been through a myriad of emotions after having already taken that ride after the national news was done. The AIG thing is … Well, I won't talk about it.

Then, our local news reported that anonymous calls had been made to our city police and the police in our neighboring town (20 miles away) stating that women should stay away from all of the Wal-Marts. It was stated the reason was reportedly that 3 women were going to be killed at one of them as a gang initiation. Whether or not this is true, do you think I'll be going anywhere near any of them? I avoid Wal-Mart at all costs anyway, but it still gives me a creepy crawly feeling up & down my spine. Holy Crap! I might not leave the house for weeks, now.

Last, I was saddened to hear that Natasha Richardson (of the newer 'Parent Trap' fame, but did many wonderful films & stage productions) has died from head injuries received during a snow skiing accident in Canada. The cause of death was not announced, but she had been hospitalized after suffering a devastating brain injury while skiing Monday.

If you want to read further you can click here. She was the daughter of Vanessa Redgrave and the wife of Liam Neeson. She will be missed.

I guess I won't ever be taking that dream skiing trip to The Bugaboos in Canada. I believe that window closed quite a while ago anyway. It probably closed away even before I left Aspen, which is where I left my bravado.

I Once Lived *The Dream* In Aspen... The Final Days

Aspen... Part One
Aspen... Part Two
Aspen... Part Three
Aspen... Part Four
Aspen... Part Five

By the time the snow was beginning to fly once again, the Summer was becoming just a memory to me. We were busy with updating our ski equipment, ski clothes, and preparing for Winter's arrival. I had already received my letter from the Ski Corp. about being a Snow Hostess again, and I was pumped and ready to go. Michael was ready for another year of search and rescue, looking rested and feeling better than he had in quite a while. We made it through the holidays with minuscule amounts of *Mountain Drama*, cruising our way into a lovely Spring season.

On January 12th a young woman named Caryn Campbell went missing from The Wildwood Inn in Snowmass and yet another full scale search was conducted in trying to locate her. After an exhaustive night of searching the mountain, authorities called off any further search and she had still not been found. All of the available ski patrolmen had taken part in the search, which sadly turned up nothing. After that, local law enforcement and volunteer parties continued to search, once it was determined that she had not gotten lost on the mountain.


It was frustrating for everyone involved and heart wrenching for the family of this young woman, not to mention her fiance. One month later she had still not been found and we were beginning to hear rumors that the responsible person might be a man named Ted Bundy, who was allegedly the suspect in some murder cases in Washington and Utah. The MO's were very similar at any rate. The FBI was called in to help.

The presence of the FBI was apparent everywhere, since in a ski town setting, they stick out like cat poop in potato salad. A month after the woman's disappearance, the FBI was still interviewing people who had been in Snowmass Village that night. For a while they thought the woman's fiance had done something to her, but ultimately realized he was innocent. She had only returned to her room to grab her purse before dinner, which should have taken less than eight minutes. It was all so insane. Everyone in The Village and In Town were talking about it and how we just couldn't believe something like that could happen in such a perfect place like Aspen/Snowmass. Still, it had happened right under all of our noses. The overall mood was, shall we say, guarded. No, it was also very grim. It was like a big black cloud had come to hover and decided to stay.

On February 17th her body was finally recovered just off the Old Snowmass Road, not far from the Aspen Country Day School. I know this because we had a friend who worked for the Pitkin County Sheriff's Department at the time, and he told us. Her name was Caryn Campbell, rest her soul. She was only 23 years old. The same age as I, at the time.


This left Aspen and Snowmass reeling and rethinking security measures left and right. Ted Bundy was still on the loose and no one knew where he might turn up next. Women were terrified, including me, since I fit the profile of Ted's victims. Twenty Something. Long Brown Hair, parted down the middle. Always willing to help. I can't begin to express how scary that period in time was for me.


That year, I was so ready for the end of the ski season. It had been a difficult year all around and I just wanted to move on to the next phase. I wanted to erase everything that had occurred, from my mind. I just wanted everything to be normal again. I needed it to be. I had to settle for allowing time to heal the wounds.


Summer would find us once again fishing and backpacking in our favorite areas, as life seemed to be returning to normal. Michael decided to not take the Alaska trip again because he didn't want to leave me alone. Ted Bundy had been found and arrested but escaped while out on bail. Again, he'd escaped authorities and they couldn't find him.

Autumn came quickly and the local buzz turned from Ted Bundy murdering a tourist named Caryn Campbell to the anticipation of the upcoming ski season. Michael attended Avalanche School again, scheduled to arrive home just two days before his birthday. He and an Ajax Patrolman named Kjell Gustafson were driving back from Denver together. That was when it happened.

I don't know any other way of telling you this other than to just blurt it out, since I have seldom spoken of it over the years. Michael was killed instantly by decapitation. He and Kjell stopped to change drivers. I still just can't envision this happening. There wasn't much shoulder to pull over on the side of the road. The next thing was, a car swerved and sideswiped their car, killing Michael instantly when the door he was standing inside, was hit. Thankfully, he never knew what happened. He was spared any pain and I was so grateful for that.


On the other hand, there was me. I felt every bit of the pain that he was spared. I felt it every day and I was falling deeper and more dangerously into some sort of emotional crevasse. I was numb during The Wake (which was a standard among ski patrolmen), then had to fight his parents over what would be done with his remains. I eventually won that battle and was able to finally lay him to rest, scattered to the winds up on Aspen (Ajax) Mountain. It wouldn't have been right for him to be any place other than there. We were married up on Aspen Mountain, after all.


After that, I went into a Death Spiral Tailspin, headed for the depths of Hell. Trust me. I was doing a fair amount of drugs, trying to kill the sickening pain inside me, which only served to make my situation worse. First, I lost the house sitting job and then I quit working for Lucille Ball. Lucy urged me to go home to my family. If you know anything about me, you know that wasn't an option. So, I moved in with a couple of girlfriends as a temporary thing and started working nights as a Hostess, then later as a waitress at Phillipe's (French restaurant) in Snowmass Village. I drank more and did more drugs but nothing seemed to get the job done. I was just so lost. So alone. Friends started not wanting to be around me. I felt as if everyone was thinking terrible things about me. I was scared about where I was going to wind up. Fear, as we all know, makes strange creatures of us.


My life was a complete mess and my heart and soul were empty. I stood on a precipice in my life, teetering back and forth between living and dying, not knowing which way I really wanted to go. I was getting worse and going deeper into my depression, trying to figure out who I was without Michael. I felt like I was no one without him.


The Ski Corp. didn't fire me because they felt sorry for me, I suppose. I knew they wouldn't be *inviting* me back as a Snow Hostess the next year, since I'd lost my *sparkle* and *creativity*. My Life. Then, an acquaintance of mine who'd lost her husband a few years earlier, sat me down one day for a chat. It was the best chat I'd ever had with anyone. Ever. With her infinite wisdom, she was able to help me see that I could not celebrate Michael's life with my own death, which was something he would never want. She basically gave me the old "Pick Yourself Up. Dust Yourself Off, and Start All Over Again." speech. It worked too.


As part of my recovery, I found it necessary to leave Aspen. Being there was just too painful, no matter where I went or what I did. I'd let things fall apart dreadfully in my everyday life. It was time to leave. Time to close an old chapter and time to begin a new chapter in my life. That was when I moved back to Texas, where the most important chapter of my life laid in wait for me. I've only been back to Aspen once in all these years and probably won't ever be going back again in this lifetime...

I wouldn't trade those years for anything, but I also wouldn't trade anything for what I've got now either. Mr. Snooty and our children are the whole world to me. I believe Michael was the one who catapulted me to this place I am now. Yes. He was like that. Whatever it was, I'm certain that Fate had a great deal to do with it too. I was supposed to be here, when I was here. To meet Mr. S. To have our children. Perhaps Michael was in cahoots with Fate, on my behalf. I rather like thinking of it in that way.

I Once Lived "The Dream" In Aspen... Part Five

Aspen... Part One
Aspen... Part Two
Aspen... Part Three
Aspen... Part Four

I try to write about this part of my life with as much accuracy as possible, but I must admit that I don't always get the year or the time periods right. I try to not sound like I'm bragging about people I knew or things I've done, but every time I read back over, it always sounds like that's exactly what I'm doing. That is entirely unintentional. Sometimes I think I'm only writing about this to keep it all fresh in my mind and yet other times I'm just trying to remember it all correctly and am afraid I can't. I'm afraid that my memories are fading and I'll never be able to remember those years in the right context or with the right people. Will they all be the people that I speak to in my sleep when I have ceased to make contact with the outside world? When my mind and body cease to work for me any longer, will I be able to find the people I loved somewhere in my dreams? Or will it be in death? Perhaps I'd be better off just continuing the story and stop asking questions to which there are no answers.

Losing our friend Radar knocked everyone off kilter and we were still having trouble getting back to normal by the time Summer arrived. I think it's so much more difficult to accept the death of a friend or loved one when you're still in the Age Of Thinking You're Bullet Proof. But, Aspen had its share of tragedies every Winter. When you lived *The Dream* where half the people you knew were daredevils and the other half were adventurers, you just knew large numbers of friends would come and go in your life. A ski bum's life is usually a transient one, often saying goodbye to friends you didn't want to let go. I suppose that was the most difficult part of living someplace like that.


Michael had an opportunity to go salmon fishing in Alaska but since one of us had to stay to take care of the house, I knew he needed it and told him he had to go. It was something he'd dreamed of doing his entire life and for the first time in several months, he was getting the old twinkle back in his eyes. Of course, this meant he'd be gone for just over a month, which was the part I didn't like, but I never let him know it. He was just ecstatically happy about his trip, so I pretended I was just as happy for him.

We knew that his trip would wipe out our bank account, which of course it did. However, Michael would be coming home with the money he'd get from salmon fishing, so we just had to be frugal until then. Michael was going to Alaska with another ski patrolman buddy named Woody Woodson who had his own fishing boat, which is how he made enough money to cruise through ski season every year. Anyway, once they finished getting the salmon they needed to sell, they were going to take a week for fly fishing before heading back to Aspen.

Art and Pat seldom came to Aspen in the summer because they also owned another vacation home in Cardiff-By-The-Sea, California. So, my work there was limited to basic, menial tasks.

On the other hand, Lucy spent almost the entire Summer there after shooting her new Fall Episodes for the Here's Lucy show. Lucy was a very private person and didn't really go out a lot. She was very frugal and believe it or not, she was not a high maintenance babe. Most of the time, she came with one family member (most often her second husband Gary Morton) or several other family members and was totally devoted to them. I mean Totally. I can remember wondering what it must have been like to have had a mother who worshipped the ground you walked on. That's how Lucy was with everyone in her family. I always knew that was the exact kind of mother I wanted to be... well, someday. Anyway, when at her condo in Snowmass, Lucy seldom ever had much of anything to do with the *Hollywood Crowd* and always fiercely protected her family from it. Luckily for her, there were plenty of movie and TV stars in Aspen for the paparazzi (even though photographers weren't called that back then) to drive insane. She was a great lady to work for and I'd always said if I was going to be something as lowly as a maid, I might as well work for someone famous.

So, while Michael was gone to Alaska, I stayed busy working and riding my bike in the mountains. I sometimes went on picnics with friends and did a fair amount of fishing and hiking. However, none of it was as much fun without Michael. There were days I thought I couldn't stand another minute of his absence. There were days I thought I'd really go completely nutso, but somehow I managed to hang in there, keeping my sanity in tact.

Michael returned to Aspen just in time to leave for Avalanche Training School, which I was afraid would happen. So, I managed to survive that separation too, even though I felt like doing a blood curdling primal scream off the top of Aspen Mountain. Every. Single. Day. He. Was. Gone.

When he at last returned home, I became very selfish about sharing my time with him. All I wanted was to be with him and woe be unto the person who tried to alter that. I simply was not ready to share him again and he was more than content with that. Yay! All I wanted was for Michael to keep telling me how beautiful I was and how much he'd missed me and how much he only just wanted to be with me. Once again, life was good and My Heaven On Earth had resurfaced and we were blissfully happy.

To Be Continued...

I Once Lived "The Dream" In Aspen... Part Three

"Aspen" Part One

"Aspen" Part Two

The next summer we planned taking a back-packing and fishing trip across Electric Pass to Crested Butte with several other friends. Radar Lundh was one of those friends. The first couple of days brought the most gorgeous weather and skies, and we were having the time of our lives. We were catching cutthroat trout to die for and frying them up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They were like the size of a salmon and the natural color of their meat was a beautiful crimson red.


It was a good thing we could catch them too, because back then the freeze-dried foods they sold for camping totally sucked. Truly, that crap was revolting, so I was thankful to have plenty of trout. We also took things like dried fruits, nuts, kipper snacks and crackers, as there wasn't much available (that was edible) in those days. I think the freeze dried scrambled eggs were the only thing I could stomach, as long as I could salt and pepper it to death. We were often lucky enough to come across raspberry bushes, but we could never actually count on it. It was merely a bonus.


The third day of our trip, dark clouds began slowly approaching and we knew we either had to turn back to our last camp or get moving on to the next before the weather set in. Electric Pass is NOT the place you want to be during a storm. Of. Any. Kind. Mind you, we had no radios (walkie-talkies) or cell phones (no one even dreamed of them then) or outside communication of any kind except for flares, which we would only use in dire emergencies. We decided to pack up camp and get to Crested Butte as quickly as we could. Radar said that he would bring up the rear and catch up with us in a while, so we quickly moved along in fear of the approaching storm. I'm a huge lightning weenie.


Radar was a wonderful photographer and wanted to get some shots of the dark, threatening weather. Once we reached the area where we were going to camp, we began setting up again (but with everything tighter), anticipating the storm. When Radar didn't show up within the agreed upon time, we got really worried, so Michael and another one of the guys decided to turn back and try to find him.


What they found was Radar lying on the ground unconscious, his hiking boots next to him (fully laced and tied), and Radar's backpack split clean down the center, also lying on the ground close to him. When he finally regained consciousness he told them that he'd been struck by lightning and had seen himself from above, lying on the ground. The lightning had blown him out of his boots, knocked him out and split the backpack he had on, down the center. Oddly enough, he insisted that he was able to carry on and the three of them finally made it to where we had our next camp. Once we made it to Crested Butte, we made Radar go to the hospital where they later released him, saying there had been no adverse side effects as far as they could see.

As a good humored joke, we gave Radar a mock wake the next week, which was hilarious and great fun. He got a huge kick out of it and of course, got to tell his story over and over.

Summer passed quickly and before we knew it, Winter would be with us, bringing our beloved snow. I must admit that we were all total and complete *Snow Ho's*. Once the snow began to fly in Wyoming and Montana, Michael was required to go to Avalanche Training with the other supervisors from the Aspen area mountains, which they did every year. As I recall, they went to Jackson Hole, Wyoming that year. They learned how to control avalanches by blasting key areas of deep snow with dynamite, so it was always dangerous even when it was just practice. Once the training was complete, they got back to Aspen just as the area mountains were preparing to open for the Thanksgiving holidays.
I made the decision to try out for the Ski School as an instructor, so I was busy with that since the tryouts were just a couple of weeks away. My main workout was bicycling or jogging up steep mountains which Michael usually did with me. When it came time for tryouts, I was buff and ready. I was so worried that I wouldn't make it, and I wished Peggy Sue was there to run with me, but my fears were unfounded. At the end of the week of tryouts, I was invited to be a Snowmass Ski Instructor, under the tutelage of a Norwegian named Peter Dahl who was the Snowmass Ski School Supervisor. Peter was organized and tough, but he was also loads of fun and immensely entertaining. I had never in my entire life been so happy. For the first time (roughly since birth), I had everything I'd ever wanted and I was as content as I could ever have dreamed of being.

Thanksgiving and Christmas found us working and celebrating the holidays with friends. We were working and skiing so much that we hardly noticed that the holidays had come and gone. In January we were offered a house-sitting position in Snowmass, which meant we'd be able to ski to and from work everyday instead of making the 25 minute trip to and from town everyday. It took even longer taking the main road but we always took the Old Snowmass Road (Imagine driving on a snow covered washboard. Uh-Huh), which let out onto the main road at about The Anderson Ranch, which was just past The Aspen Country Day School.


Things just kept getting better and better for us. Well, except for the fact that we were always hopelessly broke. Still, it was all good because we were living the dream then. We didn't care about money... until we were out of it, of course.

To Be Continued...

I Once Lived "The Dream" In Aspen... Part Two

Obviously, TBR did not like Michael and preferred for me to marry someone with money. She always said it was just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it was a poor one. Whatever. Unlike her, I wasn't able to control my heart or emotions like that. I have always gone with my heart and my gut. I probably always will.

Michael was actually from a farming family in Levelland, Texas by whom he'd been adopted as a baby. He was never close to them because he knew they'd only adopted him because they needed a boy to help them farm their land. They had a daughter they treated like a princess and Michael got to do all the work. Several years after graduating from Texas Tech he discovered he liked skiing more than farming and headed to Aspen with a friend from college. Otherwise, we would have never met. Jim, his friend from college eventually moved back to Texas, but Michael was there to stay.

The Brown Recluse had bought me a new wardrobe to start college with, but when told I was dropping out of school and going back to Aspen, she took them all back and gave them to charity. That was nothing new. She had done that to me my entire life, every time she got mad at me. Whatever her latest gift to me was, it was yanked at a moment's notice, on the whims of her flaming temper. Of course, she kept Peggy Sue too, because she knew that would hurt me even more. It did hurt, but I wanted away from her so badly that I just didn't care. That was the last time I would ever again live under her roof. Thank God.

Michael knew what had happened since we talked every day. Once I returned to Aspen, I moved in with Michael, where we lived blissfully in sin for a couple of months. He proposed to me one day on the chair lift and of course, I bawled like a baby while trying to accept. Then, we were married on January 12th on top of Aspen (Ajax) Mountain, on skis, with 50 or so close friends in attendance. It was a perfectly gorgeous day so we all skied en masse for the rest of the day. It didn't matter to me where we skied because I loved all the runs. The Ridge of Bell, Ruthie's Run, Gentleman's Ridge. We hit them all that day. It was like an enormous party on skis. We had no real reception or honeymoon because everyone worked 6 days a week during the ski season back then. We worked 7 days a week during holidays and Spring Break. Besides, when you lived someplace like Aspen, what better place could you possibly go? We were already in paradise and couldn't afford to go anywhere anyway.

By that time I was working as a ski lift/ski school ticket seller in Snowmass Village at the top of Fanny Hill, which led up to Sam's Knob and Campground (which was the best skiing in Snowmass at the time). It really was a dream job because our schedules pretty much revolved around free ski time. Everyone got time to ski every day, in addition to getting a free season pass for skiing. Yes, we were all ski bums and proud of it. Life could not have been better unless we had won the lottery.

During this time we lived in an apartment complex in Aspen that was actually employee housing for the Aspen Ski Corp. It was called The Hillside Apartments, which is where The Ritz Carlton hotel stands today, at the base of Little Nell, AKA Aspen Mountain, AKA Ajax. I loved our cozy little apartment that was tucked away in a corner of the building, in spite of the fact our bedroom was only big enough for the bed. Yes, it was wall to wall bed. Our kitchen was so tiny that it was about the size of a small bathroom, which was a moot point, since I couldn't even boil water back then. We ate most of our meals on the mountain anyway, because of employee discounts. At night we were on our own and most often ate out with friends we worked & skied with. Everyone that worked for The Ski Corp. back then was a tight knit group, even between the three mountains. Ajax. Buttermilk/Tiehack, and Snowmass. Aspen Highlands was not yet a part of the Aspen Ski Corp., as it is today.

Our work days were long but the rewards and benefits were more than worth it. We lived in Ski Corp housing (which was eau de cheap), we received employee discounts at all mountain restaurants, discounts at most local ski equipment shops, as well as the free Season Ski Pass, which was worth its weight in gold. For someone my age, it truly was like living your dream.

Since we both worked in Snowmass, Michael and I were able to ski together during the day unless he was out on detail or rescue. I often went with him if we were skiing when he got a call on his radio, to take care of an injured skier or mark a patch of exposed rocks (sitzmarks), or whatever. Watching Michael take care of an injured and frightened skier was a thing of beauty. He was always so gentle and spoke kindly to the injured, as he went through the motions of his job. I also loved to watch him ski. He was a beautiful and talented skier and always looked so magnificent streamlining down the hill on his boards. He looked like something straight out of a Ski Magazine advertisement. Even when he had icescicles hanging off of his brows and mustache.

I got off work before Michael did, so I would usually take the last chair up the mountain to wherever he was assigned that day, and would join he and another patrolman for *clearing* at the end of the day. *Clearing* was when pairs of patrolmen would clear the mountain on each and every run after the chairlifts had closed down, making sure there were no stranded or hurt skiers. I always loved doing that. As we each skied down the mountain we would yell "CLEARING!" so that anyone stranded would hear us and be able to call for help. Other than that, it was almost a pristine quiet.

One Patrol friend of ours named Radar Lundh (who came from Taos, N.M.) was a yodeller. I adored doing clearing with him because he would yodel in between yelling "clearing". He also cracked me up because he skied with his skis really far apart which always made him take on a comical air about him. I'll tell you more about our dear friend Radar at a later point.

Our first Winter ski season together was sheer Heaven and life was good. As the ski season turned into Spring, the employee games and festivities began. Let's see. There was The Ski Jump into the pool at The Wildwood Inn which was located right on Fanny Hill. Then, there were the hilarious cafeteria tray races, the one-ski races and so on. It was a rights of passage time for all locals planning to stay until the next ski season began.

Once the ski areas closed for the off-season, everyone but the trust fund babies found other jobs to sustain them through the Summer and Fall months. Michael worked mornings as a surveyor and also helped with the installation of new lift towers, which was rough, dirty work. I took a job at Aspen Stereo which was owned by Tony Fairchild (heir to Fairchild Cameras from Newark, N.J.), where I spent countless hours alphabetizing record albums. Yes, this was long before CD's and about the time 8-track tape cartridges were going the way of the dinosaurs and cassettes were being slowly introduced, gaining steady popularity.

We spent the Spring and Summer backpacking and fishing in the high country whenever we had time off and did a lot of biking locally when we were working. It was a magic time in my life and I remember every moment of it as if it were just a year or so ago. It was 35 years ago.

To Be Continued...

I Once Lived "The Dream" In Aspen... Part One

I've never told you about my first marriage before. In fact, I'm certain that I've never even mentioned it before. So, let's just call this yet another revealing of my soul to the whole wide world. This is supposed to be therapeutic, right?

When I was 19 and attending college outside Glenwood Springs, Colorado, I was on my own and still living in Aspen. I rented a tiny guest quarters from a couple I had once worked for and become friends with. It was just three rooms but it was all I required since I was seldom home unless it was to sleep, clean up, and change clothes or study. Since I didn't study much, I think you'd be safe with saying I was rarely ever there. The kitchen and living room were one in the same, with a small bedroom and an even smaller bathroom.

I decorated it in the oh-so-boring Pier One Imports look of the times. You know. The Colorful Cotton Bedspread from India, the chair from the second-hand store with a gypsy type shawl thrown over it to cover the holes, the fake Tiffany lamp, lots of fish netting, and an abundance of candles. For my sofa I found and purchased an old footed porcelain bathtub that someone had cut the 1/3 left side off of (the feet were still there), to which I'd added thick, plush velvet pillows that had soft, silky, twisted fringe all around them. Everyone that saw my funky sofa wanted it, but I loved it. I had a couple of framed Peter Max posters on the walls and I thought it was my own little slice of Heaven Pie. It was, for a time.

That was the summer I met my first husband, Michael. I met him while playing pool at Alice's Alley/The Slope, which was a legend in Aspen in the late 1960's and all of the 1970's. This particular year was 1972. Summer. Two guys from the Midwest, fresh out of college, opened a great bar in the basement of a building that had an eating area in the front, a long antique bar down the middle, and an area where billiards and darts were played in the very back. At the time, it was the hottest bar in Aspen and I was a regular, along with my dog Peggy Sue. Yes, I was underage, but I'd practically grown up there. Besides, Peggy Sue was one of the better known and most popular dogs in town. Yes, dogs had their own level of notoriety in Aspen. I suppose they still do.

Peggy Sue had been The Brown Recluse's dog before TBR dumped her because she was moving back to Texas in hot pursuit of some man who was either married or had no interest in her, as usual. It was either me or the poor thing got the needle. TBR was always so dramatic.

However, Peggy Sue and I adjusted quite well to living together. TBR always could train dogs. I never could be stern enough. So, PS was a great companion for me. Her only weakness was tap beer, which she liked to drink out of a clean Coors ashtray, up on the bar at Alice's. Which meant she had to pee a lot. I owned a beat up aging Toyota station wagon then and never drove it anywhere but to school and back. You were much more likely to see me on my ten-speed bike with Peggy Sue close behind me, no matter how fast I went. Hey, she loved it and it kept her nails and body trim (after all those ashtrays full of beer). Of course there were Leash Laws, even then, but locally they were a joke and everyone's dog roamed free. They were the true local *characters*.

I'm getting side-tracked though. Anyway, these two guys from the Midwest also opened another establishment called The Slope, which was nothing more than tiered levels of shag carpeting, a huge movie screen that showed all of the old and current Warren Miller ski movies with a state of the art sound system and served THE BEST drinks in Aspen. It was directly above Alice's Alley so the traffic flow between the two places was usually steady. Now, their secret was that they always kept the heat turned up on high (yes, even in Summer though not as much), which made people drink more (a little known fact to anyone, even then). They did the same in Alice's Alley and baby, the freaking money flowed like The Mighty Mississippi after heavy rains. In between Warren Miller films they would show film footage shot on the mountain (during the ski season) of whoever happened to be skiing on Ajax that day. The tourists loved it and flocked to The Slope in droves to see themselves on the big screen and catch the latest Warren Miller flick. He is a super-hero in the world of ski photography and film. By their third year in operation these guys opened another of the same pair of bars in Vail and the rest is financial history, documented by The Wall Street Journal as I recall.

The reason I know all this is because my brother, The Prince, was their on-the-mountain photographer for a time. He always did get the cushy jobs. He worked for them the next summer too, which is the one I'm relating to. The summer of 1972. He'd gotten a job bar tending at Alice's Alley, which was how I was always able to get in. Well, that and my Heinz 57 mutt, the ever-so-popular Miss Peggy Sue.

The first night I met Michael, I beat him at a couple of games of 8 ball pool and thought he was mildly interesting. The next time I went back he was there again and gave me a nod as I entered the bar. He thought my dog was hilarious and I thought he was handsome in a ruddy, Irish sort of way. He wasn't quite a strawberry blond, but not quite a blond either, having the complexion you'd expect to see on a redhead. He was big and strong and I soon learned he worked for The Aspen Ski Corp., as it was called in the days when Darcy Brown was still huge in the scheme of all things.

In the summer Michael was a surveyor for all the mountains (new ski runs were being cut every year) and in the winter he was a Ski Patrolman in Snowmass, and not The National Ski Patrol or the patrol they have now that is run by the unions.

We saw each other nightly at Alice's for a couple of weeks before I agreed to go out with him. He was 19 years my senior, although he didn't look it at all. His body was a finely tuned machine, as was his mind. By the time the Fall off-season was upon us, he was teaching me to fish all the surrounding rivers, where trout was always plentiful. The Roaring Fork River. The Frying Pan River. Reudi Dam. Maroon Bells Lake. Snowmass Lake. It was his passion and it soon became mine, as he was a gentle teacher. He had his big waders and I had my small waders. He with his fly rod and self tied flies and I with my spinning rod and No. 1 Mepps Spinners. All the patience in the world could not have taught me fly fishing, so he compromised and taught me to spin fish, which I loved with all my heart. He taught me how to sneak up on holes where the fish would be, cast my line and ever so slightly begin to reel it in and I was getting to be quite good. Well, except for the time I got too deep and nearly drowned when my waders filled up with water.

I at last made what I thought was a Big Girl Decision. I decided to not enroll for college in the Fall. Instead, I planned to buy new ski equipment, which I needed very badly. The moment TBR found out she called me screaming and yelling the same old rigamarole I'd heard before. The next thing I knew, she was at my front door with a U-Haul truck, telling me I was going to go to school in Midland at the local junior college. I never actually heard a question, as it was undoubtedly a command and I had not located the steel in my spine at that point. So with a heavy heart, I did as I was told, leaving my beautiful mountains and the man I knew I was falling in love with, behind. I don't know why, but I didn't question the fact that she wasn't even paying for my college. I had to work to do that myself. And yet, I was still under her mind control crap so I simply allowed myself to be led away like a sheep to slaughter.

By Thanksgiving Break, I had packed up my meager belongings and headed back to the Rocky Mountains home of my heart. Aspen. It would be several years before I returned to Midland or spoke to The Brown Recluse again.

To Be Continued...

Friends Are Rather Like Martinis. So... Do You Like Your Friends *Up* Or *On The Rocks*?

Frankly, like my Martinis, I like my friends *Up*, but am more than willing to listen with an open heart when my friends are served *On The Rocks*. In other words, I prefer for my friends to be happy & upbeat, but certainly don't ever turn them away just because they're having *down times* that don't fit into my scheme of things. I'm a friend all the way and I'm not wishy-washy about it. Jeeze, I never liked anyone because they were perfect, but rather because of their strange or abnormal quirks & idiosyncrasies. I suppose I've always sought out the oddities in people. I'm not really sure why, but suspect it has something to do with the assorted cast of characters I was raised around.



Since The Brown Recluse didn't ever care for family, she was a study in opposites when it came to friends. Even I must admit that growing up in her shadow had its perks. Our home was always filled with interesting, artistic, musical, funny, eccentric, eclectic, and sometimes dangerous people. This was especially so when we moved to Aspen. It was never anywhere even remotely resembling a so-called normal family life, but I didn't know many other kids growing up there, that did have the norm. Aspen is a unique place, or rather, it used to be. Back in the 1960's it was grand and filled with the most colorful cast of infamous & famous people.



The Brown Recluse was friends with Leon Uris, who was a frequent visitor at our house. His son, Mike, was a good friend of The Prince's and I had a major crush on him, not understanding the vast difference in our backgrounds. Still, he was cute & funny and always had great pot entertainment resources.



Another frequent visitor was a senior level ski instructor, Bert Cross, who was also known as *Dirty Bertie Cross*. He'd once been a famous ski instructor in Stowe, Vermont as well as Squaw Valley (which meant he'd bagged dozens of Snow Bunnies), but was also a fairly good artist. When I was 15 TBR let him do my portrait, minus the usual post portrait sex antics, of course. I remember he used to come over early mornings with what he always called "Boo-Boos", which were basically coffee with whatever liquor he had at the moment. I'm fairly certain he wasn't too particular at that point in his life. He also had a lot to do with my early skiing lessons. The man had patience of steel.



Another local character that frequented our abode was the head of The Aspen Underground Ski School... Ralph Jackson. The man is a legend in stories of anyone who lived in Aspen back then, to this day. Ralph was as old as the hills (although no one actually knew his real age) but taught trick skiing back before any of it was a sport. His students were the ones who created all of the events that came to be part of the Olympics, as well as nationals & regional championships. This man was a true pioneer in the world of skiing and yet, is seldom remembered as such, in most skiing circles anyway. He also had a profound influence on my skiing technique, for which I'm forever grateful to him. He taught me to do helicopters off the roll-jump. So, clearly, the man was a genius. Always has been. Always will be. Whether anyone has ever heard of him or not.



So.... I must say that I've always been rather partial to the eccentric & quirky, as they seem ever so much more fun than the mundane. Call me crazy, but... I will argue with you to the death. As bad as The Brown Recluse was, she always provided my brother & I with a diverse group of people, although none of them were what I'd consider role models. I'll go into the *dangerous types* at a later date. It was enchanting to me, being around these people and I always thought that my life was good. Hey - what the Hell did I know? I was just a kid.... And, Aspen was magical back in the 1960's.

To Be Continued...

Oh, and by the by... I Am Back. I Think. Alright, I'm praying. I think the back is back. For Now.