This is one of those days when I wish I still lived in the Texas Panhandle. I’d consider taking a drive in the morning over to Angel Fire, to see how the slopes look. Maybe I’d rent some ski equipment, and see if I still remember how. Think it’s like riding a bike? I hope so. I would want Ashley to go with me, since she and her Mom taught me how to ski, and the Paffords and Maxwells, so we’d have someone there to cry over spilt milk. We’d arrive just in time for the slopes to open. Ash and I would spend a few hours on the bunny slope, until we were warmed up. Then, we’d ride the lift to the top and turn down the Heading Home trail. I’d want to stop just past the lift area and listen to the unbelievable silence that is only found on the tops of mountains. Another, better, skier would probably swoop past, spraying me with icy snow. I wouldn’t care. I’d just start down again, going much slower than Ashley could bear, but she’d be patient with me, because she’s my friend. About three quarters of the way down, I’d probably get really confident, and start going too fast, and fall on my face. Maybe this time I wouldn’t hit the fence. I’d get back up, scrape the snow off my boots, and pop them back into the skis. I’d start down again, even slower this time, and a little more embarrassed and afraid. I’d reach the bottom and decide it was time for a break. I’d walk down to the restaurant to buy some Nacho Cheese Doritos (the only acceptable snack for skiing) and hot chocolate. I’d sit there for a little while, then decide that I was brave enough to try Heading Home again. We’d ski until closing, and in the quiet of sunset I’d look back up the mountain and wish for one more run. I’d reluctantly take off my equipment, and start packing up. We’d drive home in silence in the dark, thinking about what an awesome day it was, and knowing that we will never have another moment exactly like this one.