Ski Bum

ERICA MEYER RAUZIN SPECIAL TO THE JEWISH NEWS

I

his is my husband's fa-
vorite week of the year: his
week of winter.
Friday morning my hus-
band boards a jetliner that will
take him two-third across the
country, from tropical Florida to
freezing Gunnison, Colo. He'll
rendezvous there with four old
buddies from around the coun-
try, rent a big, boxy car, and head
for Crested Butte for a week of
snow skiing.
I will stay home, warm and
dry, and surrounded by small
children, but I am not complain-
ing.
I think snow is a wonderful
thing to look at, but not to be in
It is entirely beautiful, when
viewed through a picture window
from a warm room.
I love the Rockies...when they
are covered with wildflowers. I
loved Crested Butte deeply, in the
summer. For a small place, it has

great restaurants, stores and
amenities, and the scenery is
magnificent. But if you only know
it in February, you should see it
in July. That's my month.
I like sports, but only those
sports you can do without risk-
ing your neck braving slippery
heights at break-neck speeds. rm
a born swimmer, in a heated pool.
In other words, skiing is my
husband's treat and he should en-
joy it. I only request that he re-
turns home as healthy as he left.
We married in our 30s, late
enough in life to know that mar-
riage doesn't demand identical
pursuits all the time. And it's a
good thing, too.
He loves to snowski, so I tried
it, twice even. Once long ago and
once two years ago, when we took
a family trip to Crested Butte in
December. We all took ski
lessons. The instructors like
everything else in the Butte were

topnotch, but I was a hopeless
pupil. Once I got back on skis, I
remembered everything that
wiped me out the first time I had
tried.
The gear was cumbersome; the
slope was terrifying, and my
Florida-ized toes were s000000
cold. I couldn't see through my
goggles or feel my ankles. Im-
mobilized by my pink snow suit,
I felt like a gawky raspberry pop-
side. Worst yet, small children,
including my own, zipped around
me at a dazzling rate shrieking
with sheer joy as I fell repeated-
ly on my face.
After a day or so of vain effort
on my part, we discovered that it
wasn't a bad thing to have a
spare parent back in the rented
condo, waiting with hot chocolate,
available when the infirmary
called, as it inevitably did. I even-
tually discovered that I loved a
ski vacation as much as I disliked
skiing itself. On my kind of ski
vacation, the spouse and children
disappear all day, and Mom gets
to read, sketch, shop and sleep.
Who could complain?
This particular week of relax-

The Heatherwood

ation and fellowship is a gift I am
glad to give my husband. I send
him off with a bag of challah rolls
and a box of candles for Shabbat;
kosher wine (a commodity not
available in the average ski
town); packaged, microwaveable
kosher meals for midday on the
slopes; and a couple of frozen
kosher salamis, which constitute
his meat supply for the week. He
and the guys improvise from
there. The only thing they seem
to have learned over the several
years they have been taking their
ski week is that it isn't a good
idea to eat Mexican food your first
night at 8,000 feet.
The condo has a kitchen, and
they are on their own. Among
them, one keeps kosher; one eats
only macrobiotic mixtures of
lentils and coarse grain; two are
always dieting and one is an un-
requited carnivore. They man-
age; and for once, it isn't my job
to worry about it. I am under the
impression that their diet con-
sists mostly of Wheaties, peanut
butter and beer; but I don't ask.
I do not want to leave you with
the impression that I am a self-

less heroine here. I do give my
husband this week, but I am not
unrewarded. We will vacation to-
gether, with and without the chil-
dren, this summer; but this
spring I get my own break while
he stays home with the kiddies.
My mom and I are taking a
cruise in May. I'd ask him along,
but he feels about cruising the
way I feel about skiing, absent
the fear.
Meanwhile, if you happen to
be skiing the Rockies this week,
keep an eye out for a guy with a
beard, a kippah, a microwave
pocket pack of kosher beef stew
and a big grin on his face. That
Bud's for me. 0

Correction

In a letter to the editor ("Ar-
rogance Is Distasteful," Jan.
31), it was inadvertently stat-
ed that Mr. Emil Wolok and
his wife recently celebrated
their 50th wedding anniver-
sary.
The Woloks have been hap-
pily married for 53 years.

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