We went with a large group of friends, a clutch of teenagers and kids and stayed in a chalet that was flanked on both sides by mountains. It was a pretty awesome experience to step out at midnight on New Year's Eve, to minus-10 degree temperatures, a spray of fireworks in the night sky, snow crunching underfoot and champagne in hand.
There was a lot of wine. We did the ski lunches - mainly consisting of distant mountain restaurants with low, wood-clad ceilings and more fondue than you can imagine. So much cheese! Absolutely divine for a few days; heading towards a coronary if it had gone on much longer.
As ever, my skiing ability was changeable. I am a fair-weather skier with only adult experience of this pursuit. Unlike my husband, who has skied since he was a young child and does stuff on skis that I could only dream of. Each year, for him, I do this wintry pilgrimage and our kids learn to ski better and I - well, I stay on my plateau of able-to-get-down-the-mountain, but not much else. They tell me I improve; I think they lie. But still, I persevere for love. And now, after about ten years of investment into my children's skiing, they are effortless and safe and I watch them with a mother's pride. Learning to ski is a gift; as is learning to ride a horse or sail. These skills that you might want to use in later life.
There is something wonderful about spending the day outside in crisp, sunny, oh-so-cold weather then coming back to tea and cake and lolling about in thermals chatting about the tree-lined runs of the day. By the end of the week the snow did start to melt and this early in the season, the lack of snow made it a little treacherous at times. Last year we skied in April and there were people in snow boots and bikinis! This year I wore so many layers I could hardly function and was still frozen!
Chamonix is a pretty French village with beautiful shops, frequented by stylish skiers who wore fur. I wasn't about to guess whether it was faux or not; I suspect not. But some were achingly Dr Zhivago in style. I succumbed to a bobble hat. Cashmere. Cashmere is my new love.
I entered the new year feeling good; ready. 2014 was not my year, for lots of reasons, but most of all I limped through the year trying to get comfortable with the changes I have made in my life. For the sake of health and home I stopped working, and despite knowing it was the right move for me, it hasn't sat as well as I had hoped. As this blog and my regular laments attest to, I struggle to find peace with my new domestic life. I am like one of those possessive teenage boyfriends; I don't want my old life but I don't want anyone else to have it either. I hope that in 2015 I will find my groove again as honestly, I have shifted into it only to be shaken out just as I started to get some traction. I just can't seem to commit to any activity long-term; there is a perpetual drift as I go from chore to chore each day, punctuated by the school run.
But still - I am determined to sort this First World problem and find my place in the world again.
There are resolutions and there are thoughts to the future.
There is also the usual summary of diet, running, yoga, seeing friends and getting better sleep.
There's the need to embrace the challenge and make it work for me.
There might also be the need to say goodbye to the past - living in my home town and seeing my kids grow up where I did has a lovely Waltons-esque 'Goodnight John-Boy' quality, but it can also be stifling. I am genuinely getting my head round the idea that we will need to leave before we come back.
And then there is the house-build. At the moment half-baked, by this time next year I might have a fully baked house. Maybe!
Happy new year.
Snow, wine, cheese, friends and fur...hello 2015.
Reviewed by axiata
Published :
Rating : 4.5
Published :
Rating : 4.5
.jpg)
.jpg)
