You know the nearer your destination the more you slip sliding away

{Video of Portland, OR via CNN, but this is not unlike what I am seeing and living this week. Feel sorry for me.}

I went skiing for the first time ever last year. I kind of stunk at it, but did make substantial improvements by the second time down the mountain. It was a little bit terrifying to go downhill which, duh, of course that's what you do when you ski, but conceptualizing it and doing it are two different things. I think I will continue to improve, and eventually get over the feeling that I am not in control and yet I'm gaining acceleration in a downward direction. Steve wants us to be a "ski family" so we'll see how that goes.

This week for the first time we've experienced some snowstorms while living in our new house which sits ever-so-nicely at the top of a hill. The whole road up to our house slopes a bit to the left, which is one thing, but the road is semi-steep when covered with treacherous ice, and the last little chug up to our house is the steepest, most treacherous part. On Tuesday and again today (big ol' snowstorms), I watched out the living room windows as cars came up the hill: they thought they could, they thought they could. They couldn't. Stalled at the top. Sliding backwards back down the street. Fishtailing around the corner. Abandoned by the side of the road. Of course it wasn't very nice of me to stand there and watch while these poor drivers sweated it out on the ice, but really, what was I going to do? There's no saving the day when Tires and Ice don't seem to want to work together with their old friend Traction. No, it's a lonely time for that driver who has lost all control.

I know. On Tuesday I tried to be tough and not so Arizona-wimpy so I got in the car to drive Isaac down the hill to preschool. It was crazy snowing. I knew I was in bad shape when I backed out of driveway, and then proceeded to roll forward while still in reverse. I slipped, I slid. I anticipated every scenario of what I would hit when I finally hit something. I maneuvered the van to the neighbor's curb just downhill from us. I hit his curb and his snowbank (very painless, whew) and parked that baby right there in front of his driveway until later that afternoon when my friend the sun came out and dried up the road. I walked Isaac to and from preschool that day. (In the snow. Uphill both ways. Barefoot, natch.)

ANYWAY, the point of all this is that tonight I made an important realization. Skiing fast downhill (before I've adequately learned how to stop and steer) evokes the same out-of-control going downhill nervousness in me as does skidding on icy roads. It all just makes me nervous. It's all Utah's fault.

UPDATE: Friends, please correct me when I misuse/misspell a word. I'm counting on you.