Loveland: Reflections in the Snow

                                      
LOVELAND: REFLECTIONS in the SNOW
Moved by the Mountains: Inspired to Write
By Lisa Marie Mercer

A few years ago, if you told me that one day, I would write a novel, I would have told you that you were nuts! In fact, I would have felt the same way if you told told me I would learn to ski, write a ski fitness book, move to Colorado and open my own Frisco sport-fitness studio, Mountain Sport Pilates and Fitness 
Life is certainly unpredictable!

It all started with a ski lesson. I hated it at first. Then, I started practicing Pilates and other types of balance exercise. Ten years later, I tried again, and became addicted to the sport. The rest, as they say, is history. You can read more about it in my book, Open Your Heart With Winter Fitness: Mastering Life Through Love of the Slopes

So what, you might ask, does this have to do with Loveland: Reflections in the Snow? When I lived in New York City, I worked at a fitness facility at the World Trade Center. By fluke coincidence, I just happened to be off from work during the 93 bombings. My intuition told me that something much  worse was going to happen. A few years later, my husband and I moved to Boston. However, the events of September 11th continued to haunt me. Nine years later, we moved to Colorado. I was suddenly inspired to write a novel about a woman who loses her father on 9/11.
 
Synopsis: After suffering  from the effects of post-traumatic stress syndrome and survivor's guilt,  Mariel Savan moves to Breckenridge, Colorado, where her father trained as a member of the 10th Mountain Division. Once there, her brother sends her a stack of letters that were written to their father by a woman named Kate Springfield, who apparently had an affair with their dad when she was a member of the Women's Army Corps at Camp Hale. Kate is alive and working at the ski school desk at the Loveland Ski Area. The two women meet, and Kate teaches Mariel valuable lessons about life, love and loyalty. In the original ending, Mariel's husband leaves her. She has a nervous breakdown, and Kate comes to rescue her.

Hmm. Not bad, but a bit too Lifetime Movie Network for my tastes. It also occurred to me that in the original ending, not much happened that would improve Mariel's self esteem. Thus, the story was a bit unsatisfying. Then, I happened to come across an article in the Professional Skier  about the Wounded Warriors Project
which is a program that trains disabled veterans to become adaptive ski instructors. I remembered an adaptive skiing video created by my friend Bob Barnes. He had used the music to Ravel's Bolero in the background. I actually had a cell phone with a Ravel's Bolero ring tone. It was a "Eureka!" moment. Taking things a bit further, I recalled that when I first wrote Open Your Heart With Winter Fitness, I was simply trying to write a ski-fitness book. However, Dreamtime Publisher Meg Bertini wanted the book to deal more with the spiritual, physical and psychological benefits of learning a new sport as an adult. I thought about my own persoanl growth that occured as a result of learning to ski and moving to Colorado. Then, I realized that if Mariel did not experience a similar sort of growth when she moved to Colorado, Loveland would simply be yet another "chick-lit" novel.

I went back and edited the opening scene of the manuscript:

If conventional wisdom had a face, it would surely frown upon the way I conducted myself throughout the second part of my life.  In response, I would stick out my tongue like an impetuous child. Yet since the hypothetical face of conventional wisdom could only belong to a conventional, read, boring person, I feel no need to justify my actions. After all, my spiritual, physical and emotional adventures have been a tradition in my family for generations. Who I am to break a family tradition?
The anonymous body of know-it -alls, commonly known as “they,” says that everything happens for a reason. However, reason has nothing to do with the events that happened in my life. In fact my life, as well as my family history, has been influenced by some of the most unreasonable acts in the history of the world.

This is my story.

Sept. 11th 2001

They could not have picked a more beautiful day.

It is the kind of day that inspires poets and songwriters. It's a Chelsea morning, or rather, a Battery Park morning, it is OH what a Beautiful Morning

It's a clear day, and you can see forever.

It's a day to reflect on the glory of being alive.

It is not a good day to die.

Look out your window. Along the Battery Park waterfront, you see a woman walking with her noble white greyhound. Her long hair falls towards her waist. She wears a long dress with a laced up bodice that seems out of place amongst the stiff gray suits that characterize "business wear" for the yuppies of Lower Manhattan.  Watch her walk with her hound. You are transported to an era in time where castles and carriages were the norm. Neither skyscrapers nor airplanes belong in this picture.

A jogger, in passing, calls out "Hey, Lady Godiva! Ya' gonna ride that horse?"

The woman smiles uneasily. His attention both flatters and frightens her. But today, she will have lunch with the one person who is always able to calm her fears. If the jogging GenXer would look a bit closer, he would realize he was flirting with a 43-year-old woman, and a somewhat eccentric 43-year old woman at that. Do normal people chat with their dogs in public? "Whistler" she says to her dog.” We can't let those ski fanatics know how much we are enjoying this day. If it were up to them, we'd have snow already!"

Soundtrack: The tune of Ravel's Bolero matches the sensuality of her step. Then, she realizes that it's ring tone on her new cell phone; the one her husband bought her to replace the one she lost. She wonders how long she can go without losing this one, which is the third she has owned so far.  She fumbles through a bag filled with papers, cards tissues and other items that have long ceased to be useful. Finally, she answers on the last ring.

"What's up, Dad?"

"Mariel cheri." I've arrived early for our breakfast date, but no need to hurry. I'm sitting here at Windows on the World taking in this marvelous view."

She laughs. "Don't get too drunk, Dad. I'll see you at 10:30 as planned. Je t'aime, Papa."

No response. "Je t'aime. I love you! Can you hear me now?"  She's lost the connection. She is disconnected and vulnerable. Damn cell phones! Turning to her dog, she says,  "You're gonna' see grandpa today. Are you excited?"

Whistler responds with a whine. “Hey, what’s up, boy? I told you we had to take Tribble to the vet to get fixed, unless you want him pumping your belly all day. Honestly, it’s bad enough you rescue stray kittens, you had to find one with gay tendencies!”

The hound begins to whine persistently. Looking up at the sky, he tries to get his mom to turn in the opposite direction.

“Oh don’t worry, sweetie! It’s just an airplane flying a bit too…. OH MY GOD, DADDY, DADDY OH NO, PLEASE NO!  Transfixed in her tracks, she stares in horror and confusion.  The shock stage of the grief cycle is characterized by physical freezing.

As he did three nights earlier, Whistler begins to run, dragging his mom away from the danger. Being a gentle hound, his rapid retreat is the only way he can bring his mommy to safety.

Often, when I tell this story, I speak of myself in the third person.  Maybe, if I can disconnect myself from the event, I can convince myself that it never happened, or at least not to me. Denial is the second stage of the grief cycle. 

Then, in a later scene:

"Hey folks, anyone want to see the video we put together for the Adaptive Skiing program?" Everyone stopped their partying. When Jim Sears, the God of skiing spoke, everybody listened. Everyone except Vicki, who, as usual, was busy getting sauced. "You guys watch training videos at parties? I don't believe it!"

Everyone ignored her. Jim started the video. I was mesmerized. On the screen, I saw skiers with one arm or one leg, who floated down the slope with a grace I would be incapable of with two perfectly good legs. "Who are these people?" I asked.

"They're part of the Wounded Warrior Project," Jim answered. I knew about the Wounded Warrior Project, but I had no idea that they were involved in skiing. The project was created to assist the men and women of the Armed Forces who had been severely injured during the ongoing Global War on Terror. Before they went off to war, most of these folks were in peak physical condition. Even though they were missing one or both of their legs, or one or both arms, they continued to see themselves as athletes.
"They ski?" I asked Jim.
"They sure do, " he answered. "In fact, we're training some of them to become adaptive ski instructors." I looked at the video, and noticed a familiar jacket and skiing style.
"Is that Kate Springfield?" I asked.
"Sure is. She's in charge of the project."
At that moment, I knew exactly what I was going to do the next time I saw Kate.
Immediately, David picked up on my thoughts. "I see the wheels churning, Mar. I know what you're thinking, and it's a great idea."
At the mention of Kate's name, Vicki shouted out "Kate? Is that the same Kate that your daddy was sleeping with? Isn't that a coinkidink?"
"Coinkidink?" David asked. I rolled my eyes.
"Well, now that you've broadcasted the news to half of Summit County, Vicki, yes Kate was the lady in question."
"OOpsie! Sorry!" she giggled.
Suddenly I became aware of the music in the background of the video. It had been three and a half years since the last time I heard that music. Except the last time I heard it, it was a ring tone on a cell phone, which, I of course, ended up losing: Ravel's Bolero.

At this point, the story simply began to write itself, which was rather inconvenient, since I had a number of paid writing assignments with tight deadlines. Nonethless, it became a story that wanted to be told. Things that happened in my daily life, as well as things that are part of my memories demanded to become a part of my story. When I began working with the Breckenridge Historic Alliance, I was inspired to add some "slice of life " content about Summit County:

I started the first day of my new life on Independence Day. Two days later, when Jonathan returned to New York, I was truly independent. We had decided that he would need to spend a year back East, until we were sure that the business would be successful. Although he would be visiting periodically, for the first time in many years, I would be living alone.

"Look, Mariel. This PT Clinic/Fitness studio idea can either be a big success or a total failure. I'm making enough in New York to support both our condos, but I doubt I can find anything that pays that much in Summit County."

"You mean being a greeter at the Frisco Wal-Mart's doesn't pay well? Who knew?" I was joking, but truth be told, I was scared of living by myself.
"Yes, hello, welcome to Wal-Mart." I cracked up. Jonathan did a great imitation of Arthur, the elderly Russian man who is practically a fixture at Wal-Mart's.
"Don't worry, babe.," he said in his normal voice. "You're not getting rid of me so fast. I'd miss the sex." He patted my ass.
"Yeah, when you get horney, just hop on Jet Blue."
As the airport shuttle drove towards I 70, I wondered if Jonathan had collected his "going away present" from the Russian princess. Maybe that's why he can do such a great Russian accent. To my embarrassment, I began to sob. A young dude walked by and pointed to the mountains. "When you feel down, look up," he said as he handed me a tissue. Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.
I got on the bus and headed back to my new home in Breckenridge. On the radio, Janis told me that freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose. But look what happened to her.
As the bus continued on Summit Boulevard, it passed the A&W restaurant. Out of boredom, I looked up and read the billboard sign:
"Chili cheese fries/onion rings/praise Jesus with thanks giving! /Isaiah 12:2''
What the…?
The woman sitting next to me caught my surprise. "The owners are Jews for Jesus," she said. They had to fight with the Town of Frisco to allow them to keep their scripture on their billboard. It provides the locals with their daily entertainment. Are you new in town, or just visiting?" She was a natural beauty with a contagious smile. My guess was that at some point of her life, she probably worked as a model. Had she lived in New York City, she would have been aloof and unapproachable, but here in Colorado, she was as friendly as the girl next door.
I smiled back and offered my hand. "I'm Mariel Savan. I just moved here."
"Oh! I've heard of you!" she replied. "My husband knows you from Ski-Chat. I'm Deanna Sears, Jim Sears' wife. Our roommate, David La Vecchia told us you had just moved into town."

Roommate? Married couples have roommates out here?

"You're married to the God of Skiing?" I exclaimed. Jim Sears was everybody's hero.

She laughed. "Yes, that's what everyone says. This is my stop. Listen, we're listed in the phone book. Give us a call. You'll have to come over for dinner."

"Thanks! I'll take you up on that."

As the Summit Stage Bus continued towards Breckenridge, I looked out the window, and saw my second strange sight of the day. A man dressed in the long brown robes worn by Russian Orthodox Priests stood on the sidewalk. In one hand, he was waving a crucifix, in the other, an American flag. He had attached two flickering red lights to the belt he wore around his waist. As he danced through the streets, he seemed to be singing. Out of curiosity, when the bus stopped at the light, I stuck my head out the window to hear his song.

I feel good

You know that I would

I feel nice

Sugar and Spice

I laughed out loud. Perhaps he would be my new spiritual advisor, now that I don't have Sister Felicity. Or not. At the thought of Sister Felicity, I started to feel guilty. In the past three years, we had kept in touch, but I no longer saw her on a regular basis.

"I just don't believe in God anymore," I told her. "Keeping up with these 'spiritual advisement' sessions is just hypocritical."

"Well, we can still be running partners, can't we? You're the only one I know who runs at my pace and sings in the same key."

I laughed. "Maybe sometimes we can go for a run. But no God talk, please."

"Sometimes a run is just a run," she said.

"Right, Sister Freud."

A young Mexican gentleman interrupted me from my memories. "There's story about him in paper. Is here." He handed me a copy of the Summit Daily.

At first, I had no idea what he was talking about. Then, I looked at the paper, and saw a picture of the dancing priest. According to the story, Milton Kapner, aka Brother Nathaniel was born to a Jewish family. He spent part of his life following the Jews for Jesus movement (again with the Jews for Jesus). Then, he somehow became enamored with the Russian Orthodox Church, and decided to become a monk. Now, he dances through the streets of Summit County, preaching the word of God.

Hmm! Perhaps he was the reincarnation of Father Dyer, the Methodist Priest of the mining era who carried the mail, along with the word of God, to the towns of Colorado. As a dour, dance-hating Methodist, returning to life as a Jew turned dancing Russian Orthodox Priest would be a great example of one's karma running over one's dogma. Or not.

I always found the Jewish/Christian conundrum to be rather confusing. In my view, the two religions are simply different colored threads in the same intricately woven fabric. Why such animosity? To an Arab terrorist, Judaism and Christianity are the same. We are all "People of the Book." Some of the most heinous and hateful acts in history have been performed in God's name. Think about it: The Crusades, the Holocaust, and September 11th. I was happy to be living in a place where the only God that most people worshipped was Ullr, the God of Snow.

Although my ruminations on religion had kept me distracted during the bus ride, when I returned to my home in Breckenridge, I returned to the sadness of my solitude. Determined not to let it get the best of me, I went out to explore the town. While walking along Ridge Street, I noticed a crowd of people gathered by a small house. Apparently, today marked the opening of the Barney Ford Museum. Ford was a slave who escaped through the Underground Railroad. When he arrived in Colorado, he opened a restaurant in Breckenridge, which made him the first black businessman in the State. The tour guide was encouraging the group to also visit the Edwin Carter Museum. Carter was a man that came to Breckenridge for the mining. When he discovered the ill effects of mining on local wildlife, he taught himself the art of taxidermy, so that generations to come would know what sort of creatures once roamed through our lands. His "collections" inspired the opening of the Denver Museum of Natural History.

What was it about Colorado that inspired people to such greatness?  Was it the mountain that gave people the illusions, or perhaps delusions of possible grandeur? I hoped that this inspiration thing was contagious. Waiter, I'll have what these guys are having!

I used to wonder how novelists get their ideas. Now I realize that every day life provides an opportunity for creative inspiration.