Royal Pains

Maid of Honor in this year's royal wedding? Pippa. Name of my first born. Not going to be Pippa. I'm expecting plenty of Pippas to pop up in the next year or two. It's a beautiful name, one I'd had my heart set on since reading a Dickens classic, Great Expectations. I fell in love with Pip and wanted one of my own. My sisters ridiculed me enough over that idea until I came up with a compromise--Pippa.

An old English nickname for Phillipa. I figured I could justify that easily enough as Philip is a family name. I'd just need to have girls and no boys. Done. A cute name fairly unknown in the States but not entirely made up, nor a medical term.

Then I ran into an old college friend at BYU graduation (I was supporting my brother Travis). She happened to be pregnant and naming her daughter Pippa.

"I know. We're crazy," she said in her southern drawl.

I laughed and assured her it was the perfect name, one I'd wanted for myself. The problem with having great taste in names is your friends will have it too. Since she was married and pregnant she got the name. I graciously told her it was beautiful. She laughed at me and said I should also use it.

I would too. Well, I would have. Now that Britain's newest next of kin to Princess Kate is named Pippa I expect a huge surge in baby girls named Pippa for 2012-2020. On the other hand I'm checking to other family names I can use...Travelina? Danielle?

Dog Wars

A couple of days ago I argued with the love of my life over dog breeds. Specifically what kind of dog would be perfect as a pet. I said husky; gorgeous, fierce, independent, the perfect dog for me. It would run with me and growl ferociously at the freaks approaching me on my walks. It would also serve as a replacement for Teddy the loveable husky we had briefly before he was hit by a car on Christmas Eve.

Apparently others view black labs as perfection. And apparently besides being man’s best friend, ultimate retriever, loving, intelligent and safe to have in the house they also make pancakes, mow the lawn, scrub the toilets, mop the floors, take out the trash and speak Spanish.

No comparison.

But while some of us argued and dreamt about our future dogs others of us went out a bought one. My brother Travis sent me this picture text later that night.


“Look Bre! It’s a puppy!! Oh man he’s the coolest little dog you’ve ever seen! We just got him today ha ha! He’ll be a hunter.”

gogg-less

Sometimes ideas are genius in their very nature. Generally mine are not and I miss the foreshadowing of the misfortune to come. So this time when my great idea involved working early Saturday morning and meeting Trav for one last afternoon of snowboarding I banished all negative feelings.

The stomach churning was probably from the acidic orange I’d just eaten. The growing 48-hour headache was from being cooped up indoors all week. The tight calf-muscles were effects of dehydration. And a 30-minute late start only meant I’d have to ride with the nose pointed down the mountain instead of the parallel lines I love.

On the mountain Trav and I saw short lift lines and splashed our way through the snow. Even the dense rain clouds and warmish temperature didn’t clue me in. Maybe I thought it had to be a dark and stormy night for calamity to fall. I blamed undesirable conditions for my lack of balance and by the last run I felt a rare thrill.

On that run we had the mountain to ourselves. No small children for me to injure. No fast riders to injure me. And Travis was pulling tricks old school Nintendo style. I watched him crouch down and ride out a flat (when I say crouch picture Nintendo graphics and that’s what he looked like, arms straight out). He helicoptered down while I made mounds of slush to ramp over. And on the death hill he flew leaving me with an echoing call of WAHOO. That deep booming Hall voice could be used for avalanche control. And then it was done, the season over and the end of the winter of Trav and Bre.

And as a mark of rebellion, or maybe I subconsciously wanted to commemorate its greatness, one self-fulfilling prophecy stole my happiness. When Travis gifted me with my white and blue pinstriped goggles I loved them immediately. He immediately cautioned me not to scratch the lens. After months of reminding myself not to two weeks ago I did just that. And as we said goodbye to each other and to the mountain I failed to notice my missing scratched goggles, lying on the pavement near my car.

My paranoia of ruining the perfect gift came true.

February Where Have You Gone?

The shortest and coldest month I push Feb. to the back of my mind. It's a place of ugliness, a time when I want to shut out the world and hide under 50 blankets. Even if you took one off everyday I'd be safe until Spring Break. Plus it's the month of my least favorite holiday—Valentine's Day.

I'm something of a romantic in my own warped, optimistically pessimistic way, but a national holiday that forces people to show affection seems wrong. Flowers on the 14th smell of desperation and conformity, but flowers on the 15th bring the aroma of love. And so this year for the holiday I've tricked Travis into a road trip to California. Just me and my brother braving Donner Pass.

In anticipation I thought it wise to prepare some treats, and I do enjoy all holidays even bottom of the list Valentine's Day. (Actually I love making Valentine's cards; a certain someone received one of my best. I don't think he understood it though...) I searched for the conversation hearts that mark the season. Many years I agonized about giving those candies to undeserving boys. I carefully read each one and tried to give away the generics; Awesome, Hi, Stay 10 ft away. If only.

The shock of not finding them equaled the disappointment of seeing Easter candy already. It's not enough that Mother Nature screwed with my summer sending me snow into June. Marketing now takes my holidays ending them before they've begun.

I didn't even get my yearly cream puffs on the first. It's as if February didn't exist, a leap year of the month in 2009.

Feeling 50, Looking 15

“OK Group 5 this is our last run. You’re all doing great but remember to watch out for beginners, they don’t know how to handle their equipment.”

With a wicked grin I turned to Travis and raised my hand. I managed to get my thumb to my jaw before bursting into laughter. I’m sure Trav felt the bench shake, just as I’m sure more than six guys stared at me. I only hope that my new snowboard friend saw me as well and thought I laughed at him.

The lifts opened yesterday and we dragged ourselves up to the mountains hoping for snow. I think the 33” mentioned on the website meant they combined all the snow in front of the lodge and built a snowman of such height. But this year I’m determined to conquer the heel-side and to do I will need every available day.

I made it down the one packed trail with a little snow and plenty of people, which helped block out the numerous trees. The trees covered in snow look like soft mounds of fun, bare I see them as prickly death sticks that I am destined to meet spread-eagle. I took a couple tumbles dodging fate. My acrobatics caused me to look young and uncoordinated and each time a creaked back up I imagined my chiropractor’s face twisted in horror at the damage I’d done. One lucky run I decided to regroup by stretching my legs out near the bottom hopeful that I’d appear to be waiting for my friends and that my toe would stop tingling.

I got one out of two. Moments after stopping a young high school boy waved at me and asked if I came up with anyone. I explained that I did have people watching for me but in my slow awkward decent I had told my friends to go on without me. I didn’t realize that was the green light he’d wanted.

“You can ride down with me and I’ll help you. I can teach you how to ride,” he grinned.

No, I thought, you can’t there is an obvious generation gap. Except that it wasn’t obvious as my mouth betrayed me by laughingly saying, “It would be a long trip, I’m not good I struggle.”

His grin spread, at the challenge I’m sure, and he told he’d wait for me at the lifts. He did right in front of Travis. When I slid up between them Trav started excitedly talking about his adventures and asking about mine. I bit my lip to suppress a rising giggle and watched as my new friend told me he’d see me on the top of the slope. And he did. He rode up behind us, waited for me as I sat beside Trav and adjusted my boots (really it is awful trying to concentrate while worrying your toe will need amputation), and watched as a burst into laughter in the middle of Group 5’s instructions. Then he waved good-bye and left me.

Being hot and young enough for a high school kid shouldn’t bring so much joy, but on the cusp of losing another year to old age it was a boost.