I spent this past weekend in the one place on earth that makes me feel most at home, with people who make me feel truly alive. I spent time with friends, saw all of my family and skied with the boyf each day until the sunset.

I can’t possibly think of a better weekend.

The skies were cloudy for most of the morning and the trails were barely covered with snow, but after a long Christmas weekend the boyfriend and I were excited to get away from the busy holiday schedule and just hit the slopes. We woke up early at my cousins’ house, made a cup of coffee, enjoyed eggs and fresh fruit and drove down to the base lodge.

We skied all day. All day long. We skied with my great uncle, two cousins and their little son Cal. We stopped at Bullwinkle’s, the mid mountain restaurant, for a coffee break with that part of the family around 10. Skied more. Had lunch in the lodge. Skied more. Met up with my two teenage cousins. Skied some more. Met my girlfriend and her fiance for a beer at Bullwinkle’s for a beer around 1. Skied even more.

And then about 6 hours after our first run, we called it a day. Bought a double mocha from Java Joe’s in the village and (quite sadly) made our way south to Portland. My legs are sore and my eyes tired, but man oh man, it was the perfect day.

My family celebrated Christmas Eve in Portland with friends, but early Sunday morning we packed the car with presents and treats and took off to Grandma’s house, to the family celebration up north. My grandparents live in a great big, old house. It sits on top of a big, steep hill just past the town center. A historical landmark in town, it was built well over 200 years ago, was involved in the underground railroad and once served as an small inn. I suppose I’m biased, but I like to think that our family’s memories trump it’s more historical roots.

Anyways, Christmas this year was extra special. Last year, my Grandma was sick in the hospital, recovering for a string of surgeries, and too sick to travel north for the holiday season. To be honest my family didn’t know if she would make it through that season, so for her to be recovered, and back in Maine to celebrate was a blessing to us all. She is still weak, but her spirit still radiates, and my Grandfather gave her a special toast during grace. A toast that included a new nickname. One that took us all by surprise and will never be forgotten: “big momma.”

Keep in mind my dear Grandma is no tall than 5’3″ and can’t weigh over 100lbs. But big momma she shall be called, because what Grandpa says, Grandpa goes. And gosh, he sure does love this woman.

The grandchildren stayed late to help clean up the house, and after all of the tables were cleared and the dishes were cleaned, the boyfriend and I traveled even further north to Sugarloaf. We spent the night playing board games with my cousins on the mountain, drinking wine and watching football. We woke up early and enjoyed our first ski day of the season!

It’s not every April that a skier can a look at the 10-day forecast and see a nor’easter.  So when this April Fool’s rolled around and the boyf and I saw 12+ inches of fresh snow heading towards the mountains, we knew that it was time for spring skiing at Sugarloaf.  Early Friday morning we packed the car with our skis, boot bags and winter layers — 8 hours of work — then we were on our way north.  The mountain is 4 1/2 hours north of Boston.  You do the math, it was going to be a long, snowy drive.  We met the snow storm about 3 hours into the trip, and considering it was April 1st, boy, was it a storm.  We pulled off the road, ordered a pizza to go from Pat’s Pizza in Auburn, and kept trekking north, a slow 30 mph.

We arrived at the house, slept hard, and woke early.  Fresh powder, warm weather, high winds and an incredible weekend of spring skiing followed. I didn’t bring my nice camera, so I apologize in advance for my silly mobile photos that will recap the weekend.

Large Hawaiian pizza, half with no ham for the ride north.

The massive snowbanks that greeted us on April 1, 2011.

The gorgeous view from the SuperQuad @ Sugarloaf

The view from the summit @ Sugarloaf

Our skis!

Keeping it classy with Twisted Teas on the shuttle ride Saturday night.

As the rain falls and cold winds blow in Boston, my daydream finds me, 5 days ahead of my here and now. Must push through another few days of work. Must fall asleep and get back up for one more week. Must drive north to Maine to celebrate the new year; indulging in what I’m sure will be way too many bottles of champagne; snapping far too many sloppy faced pictures of friends; dancing to songs and kissing as the ball drops. Must get to the new year. Must push through until January 1st.

As soon as we wake on January 1st I’ll be making my first trip (first of many, I hope) to the mountain. The mountain that in my family needs no proper name. Just the mountain. The mountain that holds all of my fondest childhood memories tight. The mountain that towers over the horizon, lit up at night by the groomers, embodying a magical presence in a small corner of Maine.

My family is Sugarloaf. They were there 50 years ago when the first group of rugged adventurers decided to cut down a few trails, they were there to found the golf course, to create the ski academy, and they are there now in memory, with charity tournaments, fundraisers, mountain roads and ski races all in their name.

Sugarloaf means everything to me. It brings me peace, happiness and the absolute greatest sense of pride. With stickers stuck on just about everything I own, I carry a piece of the mountain, and all the memories that come with it, everywhere.

The village, the people, the restaurants, the kindness, the community, the pride. I’m going back to the mountain this weekend and I have never looked forward to a trip more than this. This trip, this time… is special. It’s special because this year, is the start of the new me! Mwahaha, I know it, how exciting right? My new life, my journey to a happier place. That place of course – is my life – but what better way to start that journey than with a trip to the mountain. I’ve been gearing up for this change for almost a month. Getting ready to take off running January 1st. No more looking back.

I’ll officially kick off this journey by skiing down the largest mountain in the state, with a continuous vertical drop of nearly 3,000. The most peaceful, relaxed, “it’s just me and the world” kind of way I know. The views from the top, take my breath away, and the fun that is found in a weekend getaway unforgettable.

Cheers to the almost official start date of the awesome new me.