dianne salerni author
dianne salerni author


Thanks for all the well wishes from everyone who commented on my being sick last week. I am no stranger to sinus infections, but this was a real doozy. I was mostly absent from the blogosphere – I didn’t visit anybody else’s blogs, didn’t respond to most of my comments, canceled my Practice Room Session, and shamelessly used my daughters for blog content all week. I missed two days of school and then – guess what I did? The best thing to do with inflamed sinuses is take them skiing, right?

Okay, the trip was already planned, and I don’t want to be called a spoilsport. But I had my moments of regret on that first downhill fun on Saturday. It was 7 degrees; there was a headwind, and I was flying downhill on my skis. Every inch of my sinuses protested with the most searing brain-freeze-style headache I’ve ever known. But, hey, after the second run I got used to it. (You’re wondering: she got used to the cold or the pain? Don’t ask.)

The whole family can ski all the intermediate and most of the expert slopes at Jack Frost Mountain in Blakeslee, PA. Gina and I mostly prefer the lovely intermediate trails, with names like Easy Rider. Gabbey prefers to drag Bob down double black diamonds with names like Death Drop 4 and It’s Your Funeral. Nothing says family togetherness like meeting up to ride the quad chair lift.

I know those could be any 3 strangers I picked up on the mountain, but they really are Gabbey, Gina, and Bob.

It was dang cold this weekend. My toes and fingertips ached. Let’s not even talk about my sinuses. And yet, it’s worth it! The only thing I don’t love about skiing is … my ski boots. We have a very high strung relationship, those boots and I. Their nickname is The Iron Maidens. Getting into them on the first day is always a monstrous battle. I struggle and squirm and slide to the floor, kicking and cursing. By the time I actually have them all buckled up, I’m lying in a puddle of sweat on the floor, ready to quit before I’ve even started.

The second day is always a little easier. They slip on with deceptive ease, but when I snap the buckles closed – OH THE PAIN! But I get used to it. (You’re wondering: used to the pain or they stop hurting? Keep wondering.)

You might be thinking: Why doesn’t she get new boots?

Sigh. These are my new boots. Only had them 5 years. They were custom made for me. What does that say?