in which i can't be convinced to go skiing

When we woke up Sunday morning, there was quite a lot of waffling.  I didn't really think I wanted to ski - H certainly hadn't sold me on it based on his description of opening day.  H was unsure too: conditions hadn't changed overnight and based on the cloud cover, it looked to be flat light.  He fretted about it for a while and then, in a burst of activity, threw his gear on, snarfed down some breakfast and headed for the bus stop, rightly figuring that if he didn't go, he would drive himself nuts with the second-guessing.  This way, he could get it out of his system.

So while I changed batteries in smoke detectors, took a walk and made both brownies and gingerbread cookies, I got these texts:

On the bus (8:13 a.m.)

And when I asked if he got a seat: Only two of us, so yes

Goldminer's Daughter (8:40 a.m.)

And when I asked if he got a seat: Lots to choose from

Done.  Crazy-windy (12:18 p.m.)

Made the 12:34 bus [with a seat]

There were fewer people on Sunday than there had been for opening day but it was still precarious: when H was on the narrow, single-file ribbon of snow comprising the EBT, returning to Collins from Sugarloaf, the guy in front of him fell hard, losing a ski and sprawling across the ski way.  With dirt and rocks on either side, H had to bunnyhop the guy's skis to keep from hitting him.  Sorry I missed it.

Have I mentioned