Instead of a healthy retirement portfolio, my husband and I have gear. In the back of our minds, the plan must be we'll die of exhaustion before we can succumb to retirement.

We have gear for all seasons, several sports, and varying conditions. But it's the winter sports that really eat up space and finances. Our ski quiver would be truly impressive if it weren't for the fact it really does represents a huge chunk of what should be in retirement accounts. But once past intermediate skiing, you learn quickly that different skis work better in different conditions and are oh-so-much more fun. And isn't fun now much more important the saving money for when we're too old to have Epic Fun?

Since we play in three disciplines, cross country, telemark, and alpine, and in widely varying conditions (hard pack, ice, slush, rain, sub-zero and this year Ullr, the Norse God of Skiing, has even wrought upon us heaps and heaps of powder) we "need" and use it all and then some. (Yes, there's still a list of Wants.)

In deference to our dwindling retirement accounts, this is the year we decided to put our second home, which is in a ski area, into a vacation rental program. Our cabin has served as our winter gear annex. But we needed to reduce the number of personal effects, so we had to make decisions about what to schlep back to house #1 home and what we could leave. It made sense to to bring home the alpine gear which we can use at nearby resorts and leave the real mountain gear back in the mountains. Makes sense, right? Sense to everyone but Murphy.

Murphy's Winter Law has been decreed: You will never have the gear you need, when you need it, or where you need it. We are now looking down the barrel of our second two-foot snowstorm of the season...at our flat land house. And not a snow toy to be had. Deep snow boots? Other house. Gaiters? Other house. Cross country skis? Other house. Snowshoes? Other house. The upside to renting our vacation home is that we ski other places now, but the logistics of that, courtesy of Murphy, seem insurmountable. Since Murphy passed this new law, it never fails that some key equipment is missing. No matter how many times we check the snow reports and forecasts and plan for contingencies, pack and repack, we just can't seem to get it right. My favorite gloves will be stuffed in the pocket of a coat I didn't bring. We'll bring the groomer skis and find beautiful bumps begging for the short skis. My personal favorite is the ice melting off the lift soaking through every layer...on the first two runs of the day.

I was spoiled by not having to suffer the discomforts of day-trippers. Yet one thing this Murphy character can never spoil for me is that any day playing in the snow, no matter the conditions, is far better than anything that can be had under a roof. So bring it, Murphy. You can't wipe the smile off my face, especially when it's frozen by snot.

In the off chance you aren't familiar with Red Hat Society, it's an organization of fabulous women who have declared they will not go quietly into the night. Their gatherings are easy to spot...smiling jovial women sporting flamboyant red hats and vivid purple clothing. The founder, influenced at least in part by the poem, Warning, by Jenny Joseph knew instinctively perhaps that joy has its roots in play and breaking out of molds.

A refresher of the poem:

Warning by Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me. And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells And run my stick along the public railings And make up for the sobriety of my youth. I shall go out in my slippers in the rain And pick flowers in other people's gardens And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat And eat three pounds of sausages at a go Or only bread and pickle for a week And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry And pay our rent and not swear in the street And set a good example for the children. We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now? So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple. ###

I feel a kinship to all those who have declared that age represents freedom and fullness, where playfulness is our earned right and when we quit being ruled by the expectations of others and start living to our own desires. I'm all about that.

My "beef" is that most of the RHS meetings are lady's luncheons at tony restaurants. Forgive me if that doesn't strike me as actually breaking out of any "proper lady" societal constraints. I'm recruiting women who are interested in living a different life, not just the equivalent of a spectator "buying a t-shirt."

I'd like my own society of fabulous women...one that spontaneously meets at ski resorts and bike races and other places where we play hard and push harder than "they" say we should. And where we don't worry about sucking in our tummies, we focus instead on sucking in enough oxygen for the next run, wave, jump, or hill. I know you're out there...wanting to stretch your wings and quit being the chauffeur for everyone else's lives. Take a stand, claim your space, strap on your bucket (a/k/a helmet), and connect with your sisters-in-spirit. Look for the other women, especially those sporting huge grins. Say hi. Say, "Can you show me?" Say, "You new in town?" Say, "You wanna play?" But above all, say "Yes!!" to your own journey.

Look for Bucket Society gathering at your favorite venue.

So here it is at last, Spring has made it to New England. With one of the best Skiing/Riding seasons we've seen in years, New Englanders have been tearing up the slopes.That is about to a lot more literal meaning to it. With Spring comes Corn snow. What is corn snow I am asked every spring. Obviously by a non Skier/Rider.
Dictionary.com provides the folowing Definition.

CORN SNOW

–noun Skiing

Also called corn, spring snow.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Origin: 1930–35 Dictionary.com Unabridged Based on the Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2009.

I fall on the side of hating corn snow. Most other people I know really love it. They say it's part of New England Skiing/Riding. I am mostly a just freeride snowboader and I find that the corn snow makes for a slow and rather wet day. Everytime I ride corn snow I tend to get hurt. Call it a curse, back luck or whatever you want I know it has to do with the snow. I will take -20*F and icy slopes over corn snow.

The other thing that drives me insane about corn snow is how easily bare spots pop up. I have damaged my board on many occassions while riding corn. I know,I know, it is just the natural effect of spring melting away our winter playground. None the less it is depressing. Knowing with the coming of corn snow my winter fun will be coming to an end shortly just takes the beauty out of spring for me.

Sorry I had to go on this rant but I needed to get it out. Maybe with time I will come to like corn snow. Nah, I doubt it! I will however still ride it because God put it there for our enjoyment, and I guess corn Snow is better than no snow!!!

I saw the sun peeking through the space where the shade should meet the window as I lazily opened my eyes from my mid-winter slumber. I could see a light dusting of snow on the pine tree boughs from the previous evening. Mid-winter at its finest in New England. I listened to Dan, my other half, going about his normal routine on cold winter mornings. I heard the scuffing of his hard-soled slippers on the kitchen floor. I could tell by the sounds, that he was preparing the morning coffee, organizing the gear, brewing hot chocolate, making our lunches and then skillfully packing them. I thought about what the day would bring and I repeated my winter mantra over and over: "I can do it, I can do it." Finally, I jumped out of bed, already anxious to start the day.

Dan greeted me with my mug filled to the brim with hot, steaming Dunkin' Donuts coffee with just the right amount of hazelnut cream and we planned our schedule for the day with military precision. We would leave by 10:00 a.m., get to the mountain by 11:30 a.m., suit up, eat lunch and be on the chair lift with our snowboards by 12:00 noon. After we discussed our schedule, we grabbed our respective gear, packed the car and hit the road. We drove for what seemed like forever. We finally pulled off the highway, and made our necessary stop at the Blue Canoe gas station which, by the way, has a Dunkin' Donuts. As I waited patiently in line for the ladies' room, Dan ponied up to the Dunkin' Donuts counter and ordered a Boston cream donut, his favorite. He thought I didn't see him, but I did. But seeing him didn't matter because the evidence was all around the corner of his mouth when I got back to the car. We continued our ascent up winding mountainous roads. On each side of the road, I saw where granite was ripped from itself and it revealed a roadway that took us higher and higher into the snowy terrain. I gazed at the granite walls, and my mind drifted. I envisioned my worst and biggest fear over and over -- Falling off the chair lift.

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