Winter Park 2010: A Reflection on Life and Time

As I browsed through my digital photographs looking for something to write about, I came across a folder of pictures I took on a ski trip to Winter Park, Colorado, in 2010. The trip actually took place in late March 2010, during my daughter’s last spring break in law school. But a ski trip is certainly a winter topic, and therefore ripe for writing about now.

I’ve written about my dislike of skiing. I officially quit skiing in 2013 when my daughter broke her leg. But the March 2010 trip took place during happier times, for many reasons.

First, of course, it was happier because we had had no skiing injuries in our family. I’d fallen and hit my head many years before, suffering vertigo as a result. But that was it. In 2010, I didn’t enjoy skiing, but I didn’t worry too much about serious injury.

Second, my husband was healthier in 2010 than now. At age 60, he was active, though a little slower than he’d been in his younger years. Now, thirteen years later, Parkinson’s Disease places his skiing days behind him.

Third, my parents were still around in 2010, and my mother’s dementia only beginning to be a real problem for them. I wrote in my journal that week about her cognitive tests and my father’s reaction, but they still had no formal diagnosis.

Fourth, we could travel at the drop of a hat. Perhaps not quite that easily, because my husband was still working. But when he could take vacation, we could get on a plane—or drive all day, as we did on this trip to Winter Park. Now, because of my husband’s Parkinson’s, because of the pandemic, and because of airline difficulties generally, travel is hard for us. Any trip must be scheduled weeks in advance, and I have to make provisions for my husband’s care, as well as handling all the planning and packing.

My recollection is that I wasn’t delighted by the prospect of this Winter Park ski trip, but I wanted to spend time with my daughter and husband, so I went along. My husband and I drove from Kansas City to Denver, picked up our daughter at the airport, then drove on to the ski areas. We skied one day at Sol Vista (now Granby Ranch), a small resort that was more my speed than that of the others in my party. They enjoyed Winter Park more, while I mostly stuck to easy slopes. Nevertheless, I had a decent time, and we were happy to give our daughter a last spring break from studies.

As I look back on that trip, and on my life thirteen years ago, I can see how many changes time has brought. At that point, I had not published any novels, though I was in the process of drafting a second book (the first one still languished on my hard drive). I was just beginning to consider self-publishing, though I was afraid to commit. Now, thirteen years later, I have self-published seven novels. Though I am not as prolific as many authors, I haven’t done too badly.

So, while there have been challenges and difficulties in the last thirteen years—my husband’s diagnosis, my parents’ illness and deaths, keeping up with adult children, moving out of a house we’d lived in for 35 years—I can see accomplishments as well.

Sometimes, it takes a decade or more to see one’s progress through life, with all the accompanying successes and heartbreaks. Writing this post and reflecting on where I was when we went to Winter Park thirteen years ago have helped me feel better about my life today. I have accomplished much in my writing, and I have coped thus far with health challenges and family losses. More successes and heartbreaks lie ahead, I’m sure, as does the need to continue coping with everything.

When you reflect on the last decade of your life, how do you feel?