Today (19 December)
was my birthday, but given our reduced financial situation and
general possession-shedding strategy, the whole gift-giving thing was
kept to a minimum. Indeed, the day itself was all played very
low-key: late breakfast, simple lunch and then a drive up to the golf
course to walk Gina, Dorrie's dog, and do my best to stave off my advancing decrepitude with a bit of tobogganing.
Since our
arrival-day blizzard, it has been warm and even rained a bit, so the
snow is disappearing rapidly, but there was still plenty on the
designated tobogganing slope, which we had all to ourselves. The
hillside was mostly in the shade and hadn't really been used since it
was groomed, so the first run of the day – mine – was very, very
fast. I had forgotten how terrifying tobogganing can be. In order to
reduce the risk of broken bones, we moved a bit lower down the slope
and spent a fun hour or so careening down the hill with only a
modicum of control, and only a few spectacular crashes - all with a spectacular Alpine backdrop.
In the evening,
Dorrie very kindly let me open a bottle from her cellar that I've
been coveting pretty much since we first started visiting her – a
1964 Chateau Pichon Lalande. And it didn't disappoint. Yes, it was
clearly past its peak, but it still had more life than you might
expect from a 50-year-old wine.
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