I was not a skier.  I remembered a sunny winter day in Switzerland, when my mother took the two older boys skiing.  We were on a local hill, and as far as I could see, it was quaint.  But years later, my cousin Heidi came to live with us in the U.S.  She took the initiative, and we three brothers became skiers.

Pico Peak in Vermont, and Hillsdale in New York were names we readily dropped.  We learned from Heidi and professional ski instructors.  On a winter Saturday, it was up at four o’clock in the morning and off to, say, Stowe in Vermont on the Taconic Parkway.  We’d ski all day and find lodgings for the night, leaving for home after Mass and a little skiing on Sunday.

Heidi loved the U.S. Northwest, and fell in love with Navy veteran Bob Eckes there, married him and produced three children for the marriage.  They are all prospering, but Heidi and Bob are gone.

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