As my grandpa used to say, “It’s colder than a mother-in-law’s kiss out there!”
He knew what cold was because he lived in Randolph, Utah. You know, the itty bitty town in the western sink that national weather channels point out as the coldest place in the country on a regular basis.
With all the great new snow over the holiday we were hoping to hit the slopes once or twice but, BRRRRRRRRR!
Skiing is too freakin’ expensive for conditions not to be awesome.
I did my time as a kid freezing my patootie off on the slopes because my dad was a blue-blooded Randophite too who is unfazed by cold. I was raised in Utah too, but over the mountain in the milder temps of the Wasatch front and I never had to milk cows at 4 a.m. with barn temps of thirty below. I did, however, have to get up at 4 a.m. on many Monday mornings through tax season as a kid to go clean an H&R Block building in the dregs of downtown Ogden to earn money for a family trip to Disneyland. My farm-raised parents were determined their suburbia kids would learn how to work.
No, it wasn’t a barn, but based on the filth I cleaned up, the people who worked there definitely showed barn animal tendencies. And going out at 4 a.m. January through March in Ogden is still pretty darn cold.
I always wondered why listing “cleaning ashtrays and coffee mugs” as one of my job skills on resumes wasn’t as impressive to employers as I hoped it would be.
Anyhoo, I’m ready to ski.
So, Mother Nature, I would like some new powder with a side order of balmy temps and sunshine on the slopes please.
Is that too much to ask for a Utah girl who did her time in the modern barns of life?