From On Cruise Control: How to get out of a life rut by Cynthia Hanson:

Along the journey of life, we're destined to fall into some ruts. Sometimes, they're big (think career change). Other times, they're small (think new exercise routine). Either way, experts say it's inevitable that we'll become bored with one or more facets of our lives.

This article talks about identifying ruts and then how to go about getting out of them. Something good to think about and be aware of.

Now that I'm in Europe, my hair — perhaps in an homage to her pending nuptuals — has chosen to channel Camilla Parker Bowles. Granted, it needs more length to get the look just right, but as a simple compare and contrast will show (Camilla and Me), my coiffure is right on track. Bring on the foxes and tweeds!

There are very few things in this world that don't change, or that you can count on being the same upon returning after a long absence. I can count on one hand the places I still frequent that were regular visits for me as a child in the 70s and a 80s: my grandparents' house in western Massachusetts; our summer home on Nantucket; and again this winter, Mad River Glen, a ski area in Vermont. My grandparents home has a new back staircase and different furniture. Nantucket has changed quite profoundly: from our deck you now look upon a house where there used to be woods. But after a long hiatus, I returned earlier this winter to Mad River Glen — a ski area where I began skiing with my family as a very little girl and frequented every weekend for many winters while in high school — to discover that it hadn't changed a bit.

Ok, well the lodge at the base was painted a slightly different color, and they now allow you to ski in the trees whereas before we had to do it surreptitiously, but those are minor changes. Fundamentally the mountain remains the same: the same Single Chair, the same trails, the same woman directing you in the small icy parking lot where to cram your car on a busy Saturday, the same delicious burgers from the grill at lunch. In a day and age when progress is a given, when newer is nearly always seen as better, the consistency is not only refreshing, it's comforting as well.

I've spent as many days as possible this winter reacquainting myself with the mountain, rediscovering trails and cut-offs I'd long forgotten. And it's as delicious as reuniting with an old dear friend you haven't seen in ages, only to discover you've just as much in common as you did fifteen years ago. Driving up Route 17, with the mountain off in the distance, the Catamount bright and mogully in the early morning light, "Here Comes the Sun" playing on my iPod (that's progress: it use to play from my Abbey Road cassette!) I feel all the excitement I did as a fifteen-year-old heading up for a Saturday of fun.

Traditions are to be treasured, and continuity cherished. I'm so happy to have reconnected with my mountain friend again, and look forward to my final weekend of skiing for this season. It's all over too soon. It will be hard to wait until December to hang out again!

Best spam headline in a while, "ChristianMortgages, Saving you more than your soul"

The conditions were a bit crazy these past few days for skiing, and I had my share of spectacular falls on Wednesday. But nothing like this photo of a man who's Tree-Ski-Jumping.

The jumpers will be aiming for the trees and the higher they land in the trees, the better their scores may be. The idea is to take flight from a mound of snow, fly through the air and land in a tree. To qualify as a completed jump, the skier has to hang onto the tree without falling to the ground.

I like getting air and all, but I'm not sure I'd try to land in a tree! That seems like something that would just happen by accident.

I've never met a sport I didn't like, and recently I was introduced — albeit very late in my sporting career — to hockey. Oh hockey, where have you been my whole life? After only three days of wobbling around the rink (read: local pond) I am addicted and ready to check and slap shot with abandon! Soon I shall begin a proper training regiment to prepare myself for the ladies hockey games that occur weekly at my landlord's pond/rink. Bobby Orr, watch out!

Update: I hadn't realized my mom posted some photos of our hockey action as well (since she's the one that took them all). Here's a shot of me scoring on my dad. Amazing! He must not have been trying very hard…

With the new year comes new changes and challenges, and for me the biggest challenge is a return to a dial-up Internet connection. I've moved to New Hampshire to a wonderful cozy house close to all the wintry goodness I crave: downhill skiing, ice skating, snow shoeing (haven't tried this yet but I'm sure I'll like it), and hilly mountain runs. The setting is idyllic, atop a mountain with our own ski trails (an old rope tow trail runs alongside our driveway, alas no longer operational, requiring one to hike back up after a nice schuss down the slopes) surrounded by tall stands of evergreens and birch trees. The near-daily snow fall has blanketed the landscape in fluffy white, while indoors Bodhi and I enjoy the warmth of the wood-burning stove. And all is peaceful and good, except for the fucking internet connection.

A return to dial-up after five years of high-speed access is like forsaking a car for a horse and buggy. It's maddeningly slow and impossible to adapt to when you know you could be getting there faster! Added to that is my ISPs propensity to drop my connection while I'm in the middle of downloading, and I think I may go mad.

When contemplating the move, I had grand dreams of spending less time online and spending more reading and connecting with the "real world." But what I've discovered so far is that dial-up doesn't mean I'm online less. It pretty much means I'm not online at all. I just connect to download email (which takes anywhere from 30-45 minutes, twice a day) and then I'm off. I can't really do anything else online while I'm downloading email or it takes even longer to get the mail, and by the time I'm done, I've got some phone call to make or errand to run and off I go. Some people choose to be Luddites, others have Ludditity thrust upon them.

It's been quiet around here since the holidays. I don't really have much to say, and I've been doing a lot of traveling and driving and not a lot of online browsing. But I've a new design brewing, and lots of things coming up, and so there should (in theory) be a lot of fodder for this site: pictures, travel, food and recipes, thoughts, etc. Will it become a reality? Who knows, but I hope so. So stay tuned, patient readers. Some day your devotion will be rewarded.

This site has never purported to be a journal or a diary, or really anything more than a public place where I chose to share some bits of my life with people who are interested in reading them. But it's all been very controlled, and I've been very aware of my audience — from grandparents to potential bosses to strangers — since its inception. And so most of what I think and I do goes unsaid on this site, which for the most part is OK, except that when I look back on prior entries, sometimes I wish I had a better sense of what was really happening between the lines. So this entry is more for me than for you, because this week has been really been something and I need to get that down someplace.

It's been cloudy and insanely windy for two weeks straight, and every marathon training run has been a battle against the wind whipping across the orange and red landscape. The marathon is a little more than a week away, and I realized I've been spent a third of the year training for it. Somehow I hadn't really understood the intensity of what I was undertaking. On Monday my neighbor was murdered, though I had never met her. The yellow police tape came down yesterday. Now there are "No trespassing" signs at the driveway, and there are still lots of police cars. It's brought up lots of existential questioning, for obvious reasons. I don't know when I'm leaving Nantucket nor where I'll go when I do, but slowly my friends are leaving as the seasonal work ends and they head to other jobs elsewhere. I hate the tenuousness of the relationships I'm forging here. I'm exhausted because all I do is work, eat, run, sleep and watch baseball. Occasionally I go out after work, to watch baseball. And then last night something I've wanted as long as I can remember actually happened: the Red Sox won the World Series (see the front page of the Boston Globe). When Johnny Damon hit a lead off home run, I knew we had it, but it was nine tense innings before it ended. When it did, the bar exploded in cheers, but I sat there stunned. And then I started to cry. It was just too much. Everything from the week, from the fall, from the summer, from the whole year, it just overwhelmed me.

Thanks to all who've written with words of encouragement about my adventure in cooking. The flood of support reminded me once again why I love to write megnut and reinforced my interest in continuing with it. For those that were wondering, I don't have any plans to stop the site anytime soon. And I wanted to share one especially poignant email that I received from Warren:

You've never met me, but Blogger did for me what cooking has done for you. I used to work in television, doing technical work. I was good at it, but I knew I should be writing. When I signed up with Blogger, I finally got in the habit of writing something every day, and many friends and family members told me time and again I was wasting my time in television, when clearly I should be scribbling. I took the plunge last year, first going to journalism school and now writing for a newspaper, and I'm glad I did. I know now that whatever career path I take, it'll have to involve writing.

But I wouldn't have been able to take these steps in my life without Blogger giving my ass the kick it needed. I just wanted to say thanks, and to wish you luck in your new endeavor. "Follow your heart" sounds sappy, but it's true. Good luck.

It really was nice to hear this. I think sometimes when I'm trying to make a decision, I focus too much on the negatives and overlook what's been good. Warren's email reminded me, once again, of the impact of Blogger and that makes me feel so happy and proud.