Road Snowpacked and Icy - Slower Speeds Advised

Five inches of fresh (heavy) powder reported at 5 am this morning. At 11 am, it was still snowing. Trees were silent and the snow was dense. Snow flies in your eyes from every direction. Thirty-five mile per hour (35 mph) winds thrash your face. Zero visibility up, zero visibility down, and forget side-to-side. Fly off the chair to avoid its whip. It's possible you just might make it, skating uphill into brutal headwinds. Trees come out of nowhere and all of a sudden you're safe. That is, until Travis starts mini-slides at you from above. A gust of wind comes at you and the white-out is blinding - quite literally - until it subsides. The trees protect; the trees hoard. Exposed, the wind blows you uphill; up and over the ridge, down into the bowl, cutting the only tracks through knee-deep snow you plunge back into their embrace. Four hours of mind-numbing, bone-chilling wind are made worthwhile by endless stashes hidden deep in the forest. Ah, springtime.

Bunnies and Eggs

Weirdly enough, this is the first time I've ever lived anywhere that people care about Easter. Never before, in my whole life, have I been wished a Happy Easter. Little kids, big kids, old men, resort hosts, everyone seems to be into it. What is this holiday, anyway? Resurrection or chocolate rabbits? I know I am lamentably ignorant in this matter, but is it my fault that I've never been exposed to the (believing) Christian majority that makes up this country?

On a happy note, two guys from New York came in and it was discovered that they were Jewish. We exchanged a joyous "Happy Passover!", and I was relieved to be within such close proximity to other Jews after living in such a void for so long. Speaking of Passover, I'm getting pretty sick of rice and curry since that's all I've eaten for the last three days. Thank god for following Sephardi Pesach - otherwise I would be oozing grease from all the fries I would have had to have eaten.

Ruminations on Philadelphia

The peaks of Center City plunge deep into the raincloud.

I hustle-bustle through the busy city puddles in my drug-induced stupor with a soundtrack of Nouvelle Vague. Leggings and chucks: I am the (spitting) *image* of hipster. Damn.

Airport to 30th Street: Coming in from the southwest. Urban wasteland, cloudy skies, trash and tires glowing by the railroad tracks. Beautiful. Where is my camera when I need it? Why did I see the city like this before? Is this my city? It's so natural, it's as though I never left.

My life always comes and goes in circles; a classmate neighbor from four lives ago boards the train "all aboard to Trenton" with me. Not even a double take. Completely natural. I can even remember his name, no hesitation.

Has the demise of Philadelphia progressed, or have I become spoiled and accustomed tot he *pristine* (untouched) wilderness of Colorado? Twelve hours ago I was crossing a mountain pass - marvelous feat of engineering. East Coast rainy spring green grass humidity trains trash Trenton Makes the World Takes - marvelous feat of engineering.

Lonely traveler alone with the thoughts of a life gone by that isn't yet over. Coming home to a home that isn't quite home but is one of many. Nothing. Ever. Changes. She finds comfort in that thought. Same café, same pretzel, same SEPTA conductors. One, two, three, four, five years running. R1 to 30th. R7 to Trenton. This place is dynamic and unchanging. I can come and go as I please, beginning and ending new lives, but here I will always find a part of me.

The Air Here is Heavy

"He's never missed a seder. He's 88 years old and he's never missed a seder."

Funnily enough, things change. My aunt pointed out to me earlier today that if/when I move to Israel in July, I'll miss yet another Thanksgiving. That makes three in a row. As depressing as it is, it becomes somewhat normal.

A 26-person seder has dwindled to 24...and then 23...and then 21. When the grandparents don't come, is it still a seder? We won't get matzoh brei in the morning (woe is me...). The debauchery is outrageous already, and it's only 4 o'clock in Colorado. True Farber family style.

(DAN: my dad's drink is DELICIOUS.)

Things Fall

Berthoud Pass has signs for every non-catastrophe that can possibly occur on a mountain pass:

Road May Be Icy In Areas

Avalanche Danger

Road Damage

Avalanche Area

Snow Slide Area

Rock Slide Area

And even on a beautiful, sunny, 40 degree day like today: Danger Fallen Rocks

Can't it ever just say "Beautiful Day Enjoy Your Drive"?

Then there's the perennial favorite:


(Warning Back Country Skiers Avalanche Blasting At Any Time Using Long Range Weaponry)

What Was Once

The former glory of a deserted train station, high wooden benches as long as the room are empty save for a couple of bums. Abandonment, echoes, arched windows and vaulted ceilings towering over decades of history with nothing to show for it. Underground, the doors locked or nonexistent. Trains hundreds of people must once have ridden to all points. Chicago! Los Angeles! St. Louis! Portland! All aboard! And now, nothing. St. Patty's Day revelers seem not to notice the heavy heart of the vast hall. A plaque outsides marks the historical landmark - 1881! - and inside a security guard sits a card table with his feet up reading the funny papers. Beware! Memories of the ghosts of travelers past haunt all ye who dare enter here.

From Wild Wild West

Never-Ending Flour Parade

Something about living with boys. I make two challahs, gone in 36 hours. I make four baguettes (small, to be sure, but still...), gone in 24. Due to guilt laid on me for my neglect of Pi (3.14) day, an apple pie cools on the stove. I wonder how long that's going to last. Considering the amount of anticipated alcohol consumption, I will be surprised if there's anything left for breakfast. (Don't take this seriously, parents), but if I have boys as children just shoot me.