Did you know that "Vermont" translates to "Green Mountains" in French...as in "Mont Verts"? I like it even more now...
But I could never live there. no way. Too much cold. and worse, too many people happy about blizzards and freezing temperatures. So while it is an oasis for many (my dear friend is a transformed man, i noticed about a 78% happiness increase) It is not for me in a permanent state.
But it was one hell of a visit. I laughed, I cried, I shivered in 3 layers under a quilt. I ate well. well enough to gleefully pack my SB#2 pounds back on. The maple creamy alone was worth it...
BRAD would kill me if he knew I was posting pictures of his house in an unclean state on the Internet. That won't stop me. What will instead is that I left my camera at home...
So they will come tomorrow. His house is a steeped roof home on 2 acres that began its life as a 3 season cabin. And its cold. There is a big wood burning stove front and center that works pretty well wit the design of the house, but without your own personal Jeeves keeping this stove full and steaming, we woke up most mornings too cold to muster the courage to make a run for it. I'm told it has central heat, but runs on propane, of which they have none. Had I known that I would have happily filled my suitcase to the brim.
2 "big" things happened while in VT.
1.) (this is sort of un-big) I miraculously found the perfect master bath accessories
2.) I made myself do something I really REALLY didn't want to do. And loved myself for it.
I hurled myself face first down a snowy AND STEEP mountain on two skinny planks of wood.
I think the french call it...Le Ski.
For the first 2 hours I hated it. I yelled at Spencer and threw my sticks...I'm sorry, I mean "poles", at him. I sat and pouted. I steamed angrily over lunch that no one was willing to take me far away from this terrible mountain. The last 2 hours is where I proved that "I'm the man". I could sit and wait, or try again. I rationalized that trying again would make the time pass faster and give me more ammunition later when I was accusing Spencer of trying to kill me. So I went to the top and cried my way down. "blubbered" is more accurate. Once safe, I skied my way over to the lift (hate that thing too) and tried again. and again. and again. By the end of the day I was still blubbering, but this time it was while hurtling towards certain death on a BLUE trail. (for non skiers, BLUE is A.K.A- "medium" fear and suffering)
I'm alive. And I'm the man. I hated it for sure, which is why I'm surprised to find myself willing to try again. Maybe this time NOT 3,000 feet up the steepest mountain in Vermont.
I was sure tickled pink to be home though. My first trip away from my baby, my moulin blanc. My glorious bed. My central heat. My big, hot shower.
Hmmm, that last sentence sounds more "lusty' than "lovey".
It felt wonderful to accomplish something I was soooo SOOOOOO terrified of. Spencer was proud of me too. And that also makes me feel wonderful.
The moral of this story has 2 parts. First, ALWAYS bring flannel to vermont. Second, put your big girl panties on and hurl down the mountain, whatever your mountain is. I promise...if you survive...you'll be your biggest fan!