Easily Excitable

Let me begin this whole shebang with four words: I am wildly uncoordinated. 

If there is any athletic ability in me, any smoothness, or grace, I need you to know that this mode is both short-lived and requires an inordinate amount of focus that I simply cannot sustain for any length of time.

Chances are, if you know me personally, you are aware of the above fact. 

This is important for you to know to fully appreciate the following analysis of our latest trip. 

See, the Meadows- Poston clan took a trip out west. 

The crew consisted of our family and Hanna’s family. 

Together, we made for a most fun and motley crew. Am I biased? 

Not in the least. 

Loving your in-laws is a gift, and I’m blessed to adore all of mine, and my brother’s too.

We took this trip for the togetherness, yes, but there was also a not-insubstantial part of the trip that took place on skis. 

I implore you to recognize this: I am clumsy in real life. But you attach five feet pieces of carbon fiber (Trey’s words, not mine) to my feet…well…it’s almost certainly a recipe for disaster.

Add this to the fact that I have a gimpy knee I have dislocated three times, and you have to ask yourself what is wrong with me? 

To that I say, I’m not sure, but I’ve been like this since birth. 

But, skiing is something Trey and all of my family (save my mother- we’ll get to that later) loves. 

So, I finally decided that I needed to give this a try. 

There is no bigger out of my comfort zone state than this. 

But, here’s the thing: I had a ball. 

Did I look like the Flash coming down a mountainside? 

Not in the slightest. 

To really picture me in this element, I want you to picture Curly from the Three Stooges. That seems like an apt comparison. 

This trip truly was such a great start to the year, and I want to give you an analysis, rundown, summation- whatever you want to call it- of the trip.

Largely, the skiing part. 

Do understand, this is not an all-encompassing accounting: that would take many more words- really, it would require a series.

All the same, please enjoy. If you enjoy any part at my expense, bully to you: I hope it gives you a smile this morning. 

We all need to be able to enjoy our airport snacks without shame. 

I love eggs. 

I love them so much. 

And there is just something about airport boiled eggs that makes my heart sing with joy. 

When we arrived at the airport at 5:45am on Wednesday morning, we made it through a scant airport check-in line, and breezed through security. 

Some might celebrate that with a glass of champagne. 

Me? I celebrated it by eating boiled eggs. 

We live in the land of the free, and I believe in our God-given right to choose our breakfast, even when that choice might not be the best smelling once.

In Montana, they have sauce flights. 

You read that right. 

I have an obsession with sauces. It all started when I worked at Chick-Fil-A, and I discovered that chicken, bread, fries, and just about anything you can imagine is inordinately better when dunked in sauce. 

Montana? It’s the perfect place for this mindset.

On the first day, after we arrived, Trey and I headed to downtown Whitefish, Montana to walk around (six-ish hours on a plane will spur some dire movement needs) and after a bit, we decided a bite to eat would be nice. 

The Delta snack mix had spurred on some gnarly hunger. 

We went to Craggy Range Bar and Grill to eat and catch some of the Ohio State game. We went big with tater tots and chicken club spring rolls. 

At this time, the waiter pointed out that you could order a sauce flight with your order for the nominal fee of $5. 

We got Ginger, Chili, Huckleberry BBQ, and some other sauce that Trey ordered that neither of us can remember. I want to say it was some variation of a chicken sauce? 

It was a life-changing experience. 

Buckets of sauce was jam up, and if you ever find yourself in Whitefish, I implore you to go to the Craggy Ranch and order that sauce flight. 

So, about the eating situation…

While we are on the subject, let me say that Walker found some in-house chefs to visit the house for three nights. 

They were excellent. 

It was incredible to be able to come in and enjoy dinner without having to think about the menu or clean-up. 

Walker and Hanna know how to do a trip, and I’m grateful for their service. 

I wish I knew their names, but I unfortunately do not. All I know is that, every day, when I took the weapons off my feet and nursed my ailments, we got to sit down to some great food. 

So, we got a ski instructor (and life coach). 

In schools, when there is a struggling reader, you may order up some reading intervention for that student. 

Think of the most extreme case known to man, and that was what our ski instructor, Frank, had to deal with in Momma and me. 

You have never seen two people so incapable of balance, yet so aware of their inability to ski. 

BUT! by the end of the week, we were both upright, and we had no serious injuries. 

Frank had an encouraging word and a great joke for every moment, and he held us both up as we tried to click into our skis. 

That sounds like a small service, but if you have ever tried such a thing, you will know it’s anything but. 

I was grateful. 

When we finally learned how to pizza (read: stop), Frank looked as if he had finally coached up two Olympic athletes. 

His girls? They felt like Olympic athletes after that, too. 

Bless his heart, he had to pick Momma up after she fell both getting entering and exiting the magic carpet. 

He had to dig me out of snow five times when he took us on perhaps the easiest slope ever that I just couldn’t get down. 

And yet, after all that, Momma didn’t recognize him in normal clothing. 

After Frank took off his ski gear so we could take a break in the lodge, Momma, off on a coffee excursion, was greeted by a man she didn’t know. 

He was enthusiastic to see her. She, ever the introvert, wondered how he knew her name. 

Then, as someone said his name, she thought to herself, “Wow! My instructor has that same name.”

And when he came to sit down at the table with her, she got the shock of her life when she realized just how different he looked without glasses, a helmet, and all identifiable ski gear removed. 

Talk about a shock. 

Never has moving so little felt like such an accomplishment

Among the children and teenagers ripping on the bunny slopes, there were two women who looked more like chickens than humans trying to ski. 

While we tackled what felt like massive moves on this slope (it has all the curve of a rolling field), there were little ones skidding by on snowboards. 

We were just grateful to be standing. 

And even then, we initially fell more than we stood, as we found that this was the most effective tool to stop ourselves from running over said-little ones. 

So much thought must be put into movement when in skis, and I was unprepared for that. 

Just as soon as you think you have it all figured out, you will turn to look at someone and find that the ground is a lot closer than you think- as it, touching your face. 

Zayden was quite the skier this time around. 

Zayden got to go on the big slopes with Uncle Trey (who should be on a TV show with how well he skis…shocker!).

You couldn’t tell Zay NOTHIN’.

He continuously got more daring across the trip, and he would try to jump as he skied. 

He told me that he jumped five inches at one point. It looked more like five centimeters to me, but he isn’t really into the metric system, so I’m sure that’s what he meant. 

He also got a little bit big for his britches. 

At one point, on the ski lift, he, Daddy, and I were traveling with a lovely woman. 

We struck up conversation for the five minutes we were together. It was all great until it wasn’t. As we disembarked the ski lift (a feat in and of itself) Zayden jumped off and skied straight in front of us, causing me to bump into Daddy and fall, which caused Daddy to fall, and together, we flung this precious woman straight into the fence. 

She was almost impaled by a fence pole, but she managed to stay upright.

Zayden? 

He zoomed by and made it to the slope, then had the audacity to look back at us and wonder why we were taking so long. 

Momma and Walker made it off the ski lift, but on the slope, she proceeded to fall and both she and Daddy got so tickled that she couldn’t get up. 

If you’re wondering what our family is like? That’s a perfect picture right there. 

Trey skied circles around me. Literally. 

When Frank wasn’t around, Trey became my instructor, and he skied backwards instructing me.

While I was working on both avoiding small children and keeping my knee in joint, he was working on doing turns from backward to forward. 

While moving, mind you.

Then, being the tough coach he is, after dinner, for about 15 minutes one night, he had me lay on the floor of the dining room and attempt to get up in a way that, I believe, only he can get up. 

The following day, as I lay in the snow on what I considered a pretty treacherous graded slope (it wasn’t), Trey got the opportunity to wonder how I’d forgotten everything he taught me the previous evening. 

Read: I couldn’t get up. 

One of Hanna’s brothers, his wife, and one of their daughters were lucky enough to ride by on the ski lift to witness this debacle. 

Family truly is a gift. 

All the skiing aside, I think I can speak for all when I say that the most prized part of the trip was being together. The Poston crew are incredible folks, and we had the best time. 

We are blessed people. 

The opportunity and ability to sit around and enjoy everyone was my favorite part of the whole trip. 

Family is from God. To have a good family? There’s nothing like it. 

2025 began with my learning how to maneuver with death traps on my feet. 

I’m not sure I can top that.