Ski bum vs. Beach bum?

It seems that my social life has recently had some inexplicable connection with a little cluster of volcanos in the Pacific. My brother recently proposed to his future wife in Kauai. I dated a girl this past fall who lived on this same island. Kate, one of my best friends in Colorado, just recently moved to Oahu. And now my new confidant, Kaytee, continues to find herself pulled in the same direction. How ironic then that I should choose a landlocked state to make my home.

You'd think after being nicknamed a "fish" by my father in Southern California, a name coined by my ability to spend 10 hours a day in the ocean, that I would not be able to survive without some large body of water. But I was able to find a substitute. Water in a different form. I strap my feet onto a piece of wood and ride water's colder sister every day I can.

Snow.

As much as I liked the ocean, I have always found comfort in colder temperatures. Waking up to inches of snow on the ground provides a grab-bag of terrific opportunities: reading a book by a warm fire with hot tea at my side, eating grilled cheese sandwhiches and tomato soup, watching a friend's head steam when they take their hat off, dragging canoes behind a friends truck, or hitting fresh pow on the mountain.

I always smile at the sight of white.