Care of Sarah M:
Greetings!
It may be the time of year, but everyone seems to be stepping a bit lighter around Revelstoke. Personally I think it’s because people’s joints are no longer frozen solid. FINALLY, after 10 longs days of mind-numbingly arctic cold, the temperature is starting to creep up (yesterday I used ‘balmy‘ to describe minus ten). I don’t think anyone escaped the cold without some sort of physical or mental damage - for me it was frostbite. On a toe (black nail), my cheeks and my nose. Frostbite = skin peeling, so I’ve been the one walking around town with pieces of my face flaking off. Yummy.
Karilyn asked me to update on the snow conditions - which seems reasonable for a ski blog, and I do ski most days [EDITOR'S NOTE: EVERY DAY BUT 2, SARAH?]. Problem is - though I try my best to pretend to be interested - I totally zone out when people start talking about snow conditions. Maybe its my east coast conditioning (Blue Mountain - Represent!) - but rocks = bad, no rocks = good. Everything else? Suck it up and ski! West cost people take a very different approach to snow. For five minutes today I stood with my toes re-freezing (ugh) while listening to a ski patrol hold forth on such technical details of winds, and drifts, and layers, and south and true south, or maybe north - and something called …fruff? Dust? I forget.
Short story: Mountain is skiable (with my version you get to keep your toes).
This year, probably more than most, Revelstoke has attracted a random group of individuals from far and wide. As a result, a bunch of us here are not going home. Getting in and out of Revelstoke is a bit of a hassle and rarely cheap in time or money. As well there is a general consensus that after doing all this work to get here to go skiing (quitting jobs, driving across the continent, flying across oceans, illegally immigrating) - leaving here to *not* go skiing seems a bit counter-intuitive.
If you are one of the lucky souls skiing here this Christmas - there are things for you to do!
Revelstoke is holding an orphan’s Christmas dinner - which confused me, because when I think of orphanages and food I think of Oliver Twist which doesn’t sound like a fun Christmas dinner. I was then told that *I* was the orphan. Which did warm the cockles of my heart a bit (and I admit, as a kid I’d sometimes secretly wish I was orphan. Or at least abducted - very large family, middle child) . The main issue for me is that it’s potluck. I don’t cook. And when I say that, it’s not in a self-depreciating ‘i really cook but like to pretend I don’t’ way. I mean I really don’t cook. The social anxiety that strikes when I need to prepare food for anything with less than four legs is crippling. The toaster is about as far as I go. If I invite you over for anything more complex - don’t be surprised if ‘I suddenly remember something I have to do’ after suggestively opening the oven door.
For those sort of reasons, I’m probably going to chill at Karilyn’s place with her roommates and eat their inventive meals and sugar cookies (I bring the alcohol, and no one’s complained yet).
Revelstoke has a theater - so catching a movie or two might be a plan. Last night, I attempted to go to ‘Four Christmases’ which looked to be a sure bet to put me into the spirit. The Roxy is a quaint little theater with terrific heat lamps. I get there in the nick of time, leap out of the car in front of the theater to discover that alas, ‘Four Christmases’ will not be coming to Revelstoke because ‘Greyhound lost it.’ Greyhound lost my bike when it WAS ON THE SAME BUS AS ME. So this I believe. (The CSR told me that not only do they not guarantee the bike will arrive at the same time as you, they won’t even guarantee it will arrive at the same place as you. Think on that for a package delivery service.)
Ok. I’m sure I’ve done enough damage. Regular scheduled blogging will return when Karilyn gets back from Thunder Bay (you see? WHY???????)
WISHING EVERYONE HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!
Love,
Sarah aka Firestarter aka CatTrack (my Revelstoke nickname - given to me when I repeatedly failed to negotiate the sudden appearance of a cat track in the middle of my run. On my first day I splattered myself like a scrambled egg not once, not twice, but three times on cat tracks (”Stop doing that!” my ski friend John suggested). In fact, the third time was memorable for involving two cat tracks. One to cause the initial splatter and subsequent tumbling launch off the other edge, and one more to come to an abrupt halt on). Cat tracks: far and away Revelstoke’s least desirable feature.

Merry Christmas! Give him a hug!