One of our theories about living in Oregon was that, although the winters make Edgar Allen Poe seem chipper, we live close enough to the mountains to enjoy the snow. We recently tested this hypothesis on Mt Bachelor. I had signed up for a 4 day emergency medicine conference at Sunriver Resort just west of the mountain and true to our specialty's spiritual roots, the conference schedule was 7-10am and 5-8pm with an open bar. In general I don't feel much of a kinship with doctors, but I like most ER docs. The conference was full of folks drinking coffee, beer, or both, and when the lectures ended the room emptied like a fart-filled elevator for the ski slopes and back country. Tiffany, with her love of going fast and her genetic inability to acknowledge consequence is a natural skier. I, on the other hand am clumsy to begin with and am downright dangerous when I've got potential weapons strapped to each appendage. So we hoped to find some middle ground by going cross country skiing. We were able to rent a little ski trailer for Stella and headed out on the gently rolling and groomed trails.
a brief physics problem:
A 185 pound man attaches a 50 pound trailer to his hips and straps 2 pieces of waxed wood to his feet. How far can he go uphill on ice without using his face to gain traction?
Needless to say, the next day we tried snow-shoeing. We headed down a short trail to Todd's Lake and were captivated by the snow formations created by the meandering streams 4 or 5 feet beneath the surface. We were able to see Mt Bachelor poking through the clouds and generally had a pretty good time.
Stella, unfortunately, has been intermittently ill for several weeks with a couple different bugs that have been floating around the community. We are, therefore, doing what I call survival parenting. At this point she can play "Crackwhore 6", the video game, while playing with a lighter and gasoline in the street if she'll just let me put her down for a few minutes without crying.
(picture: stella finds yeti scat)
Our feudal lords, Justin and Lina, have fled to Hawaii for a couple weeks, and as their loyal serfs, we're keeping an eye on the property here. Yesterday, a shiny black Cadillac Escalade slid off the road into their front yard and their neighbor, Lois the vindictive, was out there chewing the guy out before I could get there. "I've seen you driving through here. Always driving to fast! See what happens when you drive that fast. Look what you did to those bulbs they just planted.", she said. There's something that warms my heart about seeing an insurance salesman with a nice haircut and a cadillac truck getting dressed down in the street by an old feisty woman. (think rottweiler on a steak) If i hadn't had Stella with me, she probably would have lit into me too; it seemed like she was really on a roll. Cute babies are like kryptonite to the anger of older women. When I'm good and old, I'm gonna rent a baby so I can meet hot elder-chicks at the nursing home.
This week we took vacation at home. It was the first time since we got here that we decided not to go anywhere and just catch up on some hanging out. Some time with friends, some cooking, some movies. Some time watching instructional breakdance videos from Netflix. 
Two weeks ago, Tiffany abandoned Stella and I and fled to the Caribbean with some other morally deficient women. Left with the task of rearing our child and preserving our homestead, I did what any modern man would do, I called for help from my mom. My mother managed some meterological mama mojo and we had sunny skies and warm weather for her entire stay. I think a 3-generation hike is a pretty rare occurrence and I'm thankful for it. Our little apartment accommodates guests reasonably well, but sleeping in the same room with Sasha Rottenweiler, the worlds snoringest dog, has left me with some mild hearing loss.
Stella continues to learn new words and is refining her interpretive dance of suffering and despair. Regardless of our other short-comings as parents, we apparently are consistent- Stella sometimes takes herself to the bedroom for a tantrum, the only place fussing is allowed. I, too, have to spend a few minutes there, now and again, when I'm feeling fussy.
Thanks to her generous aunt, Stella has a new trampoline, tea set and tent which she endeavors to use simultaneously with interesting effect. Here, Sasha waits her turn. Sasha, surprisingly, has turned out to be quite the gymnast; her front flip with double-wag is flawless.
Spring is here and I'm finding a wet spring to be preferable to a wet fall. Everything is greener than a sea-sick leprechaun and the air is warm and fresh. We are a few weeks from heading back to Kentucky after almost a year's absence and I've got a Christmas-eve's worth of excitement about spending time with my friends there.
