Waiting to Get There. Usually on the A/C/E in Chelsea, New York City.

My brother, in his lifty days. He can be judgy. “Hey, jeans-skier! You back there in the Wranglers ... up to the front of the line, hustle up,” ordered my brother. Often. He was a lifty on Mount Hood and he had a thing for anybody skiing in jeans. I wouldn’t exactly call it admiration.  Today’s ski lodges are hotbeds of mystery even more tantalizing than the bold nature of jeans skiers. We just returned from a ski weekend, and I have compiled three unsolved capers: 1) How has wood completely bewitched the owners of ski lodges and/or log houses on or about snow covered trails?  These good folks have been spellbound into believing a cluster of wooden trappings will transmogrify any hot mess into a decorating scheme. For example, take an oak desk, pine paneling, plywood shelves, a wood-look veneer ceiling fan, cherry shelves and a few twigs stuck in a jar. Add a painting of some trees framed in wood and get some curtains in a brown color reminiscent of wood. Waala. The esta

Thank the gods we still have our Christmas tree. I found some clippers, shoved aside twinkle lights and pinched off a pine bough. We burned it to a toasty crisp. In the fireplace, because it’s February and we had no heat in the house last night.  In hindsight, I probably should have been more circumspect in my clipping. The tree now has a silhouette that sort of looks like a toilet. Whatever. Survivalists living off the land, such as ourselves, cannot be troubled by aesthetic matters. Here’s another incident that proves we’ll be just fine in a zombie apocalypse. Over the summer, our microwave broke and Tom decided to fix it himself. It took him three months to admit it was unfixable. On the upside of the microwave situation, my husband made $150 selling parts on eBay. Who knew you could unload a used high-voltage capacitor for so much shekel! Then he made $29 on YouTube advertising revenue. Apparently lots of people watch videos featuring the flummoxed owners of sad kitche