Survival Monday: Snow days of the northeast blizzard

On Friday, the day of my mom's burial, a blizzard hit the northeast. We went to bed on Friday night, dazed and shell-shocked, but without too much worry about snow. We woke up on Saturday morning, however, to 30 inches of snow and even higher drifts.

Good morning!

Luckily, we still had power, food, and (some) booze. Even better, we had four pairs of hands and one powerful snowblower to clear the cars and the driveway.

Snow-blowing up a storm

Unfortunately, the condition of our street, like many others, left a little to be desired.

Our road

The snowstorm gave me more time to spend with my father and brother. We drank coffee in sunny windows, mixed cocktails by the fire, and released pent up tension by shoveling snow.

It also gave me more time to spend with myself. I practiced some yoga, cooked comforting meals, and compiled a few blog posts. I also learned that it's too easy to distract myself from grief with a book or the Internet.

Cabin fever footpaths through the street

As of Sunday afternoon, the snowplows still hadn't come to our street. Although forced relaxation can be a wonderful thing, Andy (who flew out for the wake and funeral) and I are anxious to get back to our own apartment in Utah. Andy and I have a rare opportunity to buy a good car from a family member, and we were originally planning on driving back to Utah from New Jersey. Our biggest obstacle was getting off of the unplowed street, and our days allotted for driving across country were quickly diminishing.

So, we decided to take matters into our own hands.

My parents' house is just half a block away from a plowed "snow emergency road." Sunday morning, we considered trudging through the snow to the corner, to have a car service pick us up. Instead, Andy's father went above and beyond, and he picked us up from said corner and brought us back to New Jersey so we can begin our road trip.

Today, I am grateful for pleasant snow days, healthy bodies, good food, loving family, and a supportive partner—and his amazing family.

Adventure Friday: Becoming a Gear Head

I've been learning how to ski this winter, mostly at Andy's insistant persuasion. First thing in the morning, before we get to the mountain, I'm pretty poor company. A typical Sara monologue sounds like this:

"It's too early. Can't we sleep in?"
"I never get to sleep in."
"Why do I always have to get up first?"
"I don't feel good."
"Why do I always have to make the coffee?"
"Wait, I need coffee."
"We never go snowshoeing. When can we go snowshoeing?"
"I miss hiking. When can we go hiking?"

Once I'm on the mountain, my competitive side takes over and I start having fun. Sunshine and pine trees help, too. Skiing just isn't something I typically suggest of my own will.

Until recently.

Sunshine helps

Andy surprised me with a pair of my own skis this week, and suddenly all I can think about is skiing. I can't wait to try them. I'm excited to see how they feel, and I'm excited to challenge myself. They're longer than the rentals I've been learning on, and I'm anxious to see whether I can finally break the habit of leaning back. (Or the habit may break me.)

Skis!

Sometimes I forget how much of a gear head I really am. After all, I only have two bicycles, three backpacks, four types of technical fleece, four different hydration systems, one camping hammock, and one pair of snowshoes. That's not a lot, right? Ugh.

The key to most outdoor adventures is minimalism. Whether you're carrying a week of supplies in a backpack or pedaling up a steep incline, less is often more. So why is it so easy to accumulate (and fall in love with) gear?

Or, really, why do outdoor hobbies multiply and expand?