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Magical Mondays are a JOY!

January 11, 2010

My attempt at an "artsy" snowshoe picture. Amy is such a good sport!


Oh, boy, was I excited to start 2010! Nothing brought me more pleasure than taking down 2009’s jam-packed, scribbled-all-over calendar so that I could make way for a crisp, new, uncluttered 2010 model. While there were certainly many joyful moments in 2009, something told me that each day in 2010 was going to be darn-right magical, starting with Mondays. 

Now, I don’t know about you, but around here, Mondays are often greeted with the same enthusiasm usually reserved for trips to the garbage dump. (Full disclosure: I’ve never actually been to a garbage dump, or even in the vicinity of a garbage dump, but I’m assuming that if someone told me we had to go to one, I’d wrinkle up my nose and complain.) 

Anyway, I resolved to do something to change my perspective on Mondays . First step: I officially renamed the day, “Magical Monday.” For all of 2010, I will do something new, different and well, magical, on each and every Monday. The only rules are that I can’t do the same thing twice, and I have to take at least one picture and record the details of each one. Last week’s adventure (pre-blog) was fabulous and I promise to share a picture and some details soon. 

Today’s adventure: snowshoeing. But first a little background: 

I grew up in the suburbs of Chicago. I spent my winters trussed up in puffy coats, hand-knit hats, mittens, scarves and layers and layers of sweaters. I remember spending hours on end outside playing in the snow. The neighborhood park would clear a space and flood the ground to create an ice-skating rink each year. Before long, the rink would be pitted and gauged from the blades of small skaters. I didn’t care. I’d still skate and skate and skate around that rink wearing my white skates with the big pink yarn pompom. As I worked on my twirls, I dreamed of Olympic ice skating gold. I remember arriving home with my face flushed bright red and most of my limbs numb from the cold. I’d strip off all the layers one-by-one. My jeans would be crusty and caked with snow at the bottom and my mom would throw them in the dryer for me. Eventually I got older, and playing outside was something I did less and less, especially in the winter. 


Today I felt a bit of that old childhood magic return as I tramped through the nature preserve wearing borrowed snowshoes (thanks Bob!) with my friend, Amy. Gosh! Where has this sport been all my life? I loved being outside, walking through the woods. (Okay. We didn’t really go through the woods. We stayed on a well-marked path {we are both severely directionally challenged} but the path cut through the woods). We spotted deer tracks right away. I got all excited about maybe seeing a deer or two. Unfortunately, it didn’t take me long to discover that it is impossible to tiptoe in snowshoes. I’m sure the deer could hear us coming from miles away. Before I knew it, I was walking and talking and sweating and working those poles and just really enjoying being outside in the winter again. Magical. We talked about our kids, found some pretty red berries in the middle of all that white and took a few pictures along the way. I loved every moment. 

I will definitely go snowshoeing again. For sure. But not on a Monday, because I’m not allowed to repeat. 

Thanks for bringing back the magic, Amy. 



PS Can you spot my mini pompoms in the photo?


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