Winter wondering

There's nothing really bad about winter. If you've got a winter coat and a snow shovel and four-wheel drive and skis, that is.

Yes, it's cold and yes, it lasts a lot longer than you wish it would, but since the snow covers up the dead grass and brightens up the gray days, it's actually a nice change every year or so.

I like the blanket of white -- especially when it coats the mountains. I like the fluffy flakes -- especially when they're decorating the pine trees.

I like the puff of white that proves my body is warmer than the air that surrounds it.

Yes it's cold, but it's what makes hot chocolate and fires in the fireplace and ear muffs and snuggles all the more necessary.

And that's all good.

51 reasons to celebrate

It's not just because my birthday's coming up that I'm feeling old. It's because I looked in the mirror -- not to see if my masquera was on properly or if the necklace worked with the outfit, but to get the overview. And it did seem I'd put on some years since the last real look.

Alas, it happens and it's not all bad and there's not a lot I can do about it.

Some might suggest I could dye my hair, but what might be fine for everyone else is, in this case, not for me. It's more of a hassle than I'm willing to put up with and once you start you can't stop and thank goodness I've lived in Oregon long enough to appreciate natural, and besides that my mom's gotten away with grey hair all these years and my husband doesn't mind it since he has grey hair too and anyway -- why do something men don't have to do?

Besides shave legs, that is.

So I think I'll just get old and not even pretend I'm not.

Another way to fly

So the body hasn't been able to go very far lately. It's been stuck with responsibility and lack of opportunity, in a cold, white, wintry, windy world that now is home. But that doesn't mean I haven't traveled.

I just got back from a sojourn courtesy Elinor Burkett, who took me along for her year in Kyrgystan through her book, So Many Enemies, So Little Time. That was perhaps a trip best taken second hand since it included frustrations over everything from food to politics to heating systems to visa applications.

But I learned. About journalism in a post-Soviet society, about women in a post-Taliban society, about Iraqis' views of Americans in a pre-war society.

Previous to traveling through her book, I traveled to southern Utah for an inside look at a fundamentalist community. Again -- thankful not to have experienced it first-hand, I became ever-so-grateful for where I was born and how I have lived.

Now I'm traveling through time, as I experience the Depression through the eyes of an author whose research makes the fictional story educational as well as entertaining.

So yes, though I'd generally rather be the one traveling and writing about my discoveries, I must admit sometimes it just can't be. Time-travel or Afghanistan travel must be considered impossible and unlikely in that order.

That's what books are for.

For real?

So, if you go to Vegas and walk through the casino "Paris," does it count?

Is the "Venetian" on the strip as good as being in Venice?

Let me think.

No.

They're cleverly done. The Pont d'Alexander in Vegas' Paris, the mini canals in mini Venicia, plus the Vegas version of New York's Statue of Liberty and Empire State Building in tribute to America's fascinating city. It's Disneyland for grownups in Vegas. All the fun places on one little street with all the heart-stopping vices that could make it a wild ride.

But don't mistake playing a video game with hitting a volleyball over the net. Don't think that watching a love story is as good as getting a kiss. And don't think ordering fettuccini from someone who speaks English as their first language is as exciting as ordering it from someone who only recognizes the word "fettuccini" as you place your order.

There's real. And then there's surreal.