Archive for the ‘My Life’ Category

Every good aspect of mountain town life you’ve heard is true. It’s easy to make friends (you have SO much in common with each new person you meet), it’s pretty much always prettier than where you came from, and words like “rush hour,” “corporate,” and “hard work,” can be a thing of the past.

Key word: can. 

Today Twitter did what hard work couldn’t or wouldn’t.

The hubs and I are under contract on a quaint little mountain home in Breckenridge, Colorado. We love the mountain life so much that we decided to settle down and spend a ton of money on a mortgage. But like anything in life, we’re experiencing a few minor hiccups.


  • We had asked for a 60-day closing, to close on May 31, 2012.
  • We had submitted all paperwork requested by April 25, 2012.
  • We have been in constant contact with our lender, seller, agent, mom, friends, etc. during the entire period
  • We are excited (!)

On Tuesday, we knew our closing day was coming up and asked our lender (RC at Wells Fargo) if there was anything they needed prior to the Big Day. “We should be good,” he says. “I’ll keep you in the loop.” Two days go by and nothing. We email. We call. We do everything but send out smoke signals before we find out “we may have to push up closing a bit, but I don’t really know the issue.”

So we move to Friday.

Friday comes along and again, nothing. We may be closing any second and we reach out to RC every moment to get something out of them… and still nothing.

So I decided to sick the Twitterverse on Wells Fargo. A quick search brought up @Ask_WellsFargo – an account dedicated to customer service. I tweeted at them, they got back to me 20 minutes later with a request for a DM with more details. I sent it on and BOOM. @ask_wellsfargo  on Twitter

Christina (aka Mortgage Angel) calls. After a bit of information exchanged, by the end of the day she’s worked with RC’s boss at the branch, the underwriter’s boss, and the processor’s boss to figure out what else is needed and how we could get to closing on Monday (5 days late).

What RC couldn’t do for us in 62 days, Twitter did in an hour and a half.

Sure, life in a mountain town is sweet, adorable, fun, freeing, and easy going — but it’s the less ambitious work ethic that you don’t quite realize may affect you. Some people work their butts to the bone (I’ve seen lifties with frostbite that are still bumping chairs) but others are a bit more laissez faire. RC could have done a lot more for us to move the system along or to just keep us more informed. He took a back seat so I took the wheel.

Hopefully we’ll close on Monday. Hopefully we’ll move in in June. But two things I don’t have to hope for: we’ll love it in Breckenridge and I will never sacrifice hard work for anything.


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I am me. I am a skier.

Skiing at Snow Summit 1985

Skiing with my dad at Snow Summit at 17 months old

Before anything else I was a skier. Before I was a sister. Before I was a strong willed, temper-tantrum throwing testarossa I was a skier. Before my parents got divorced. Before I moved to Summit County. Before I got married. Before I worked in the ski industry — I was a skier.

Above all else my identity is embedded in the smooth planks underneath my feet, the feel of fresh powder on my thighs, the sweat on the back of my neck at the end of a mogul run. I don’t lose myself when I’m skiing. I find who I am with each run I take. I don’t just ski. I am a skier.

My allegiance lies with the culture, the people, and the emotions intertwined with skiing. It’s the reason I didn’t move to Luxembourg to be with my husband’s family. It’s the reason I haven’t wavered in my career path. It’s the reason I get into each fight with my mom. I will not relinquish that part of my identity as it cannot be removed from my soul. I won’t say or do something that I feel isn’t in line with the soul of skiing.

It’s also the reason I get in trouble All. The. Time. My mouth spouts off constantly for “the good fight” — the progression of the sport, the promotion of the culture, and for women who are sick of taking second place to their boyfriends, brothers, or dads on the mountain. I mouth off because I think I have to. I mouth off because I can. I mouth off because I love skiing and

Morgan hiking Mirkwood at Monarch

Hiking Mirkwood Bowl at Monarch Mountain at 26

because every woman can find a place within herself where her ability to ski will transcend her inability to speak up. Skiing isn’t just for the bro/bras that huck themselves harder than anyone else or the ski film companies that glorify injury

through trailers depicting human-triggered avalanches. Skiing is for any woman that is looking for herself. Those guys are just looking to lose themselves, sometimes literally.

Among the neon gear, the avy beacons, and the ski town bars lies my soul, my identity and my first love. Yeah, some things can distract from it but others bring me right back to where I started.

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Why I married a skier

I never grew up saying my prince charming was going to be a skier. When I was little, I was really more concerned that he be ready to take me to a ball at a moments notice – glass slippers in hand.

Just like dreams, things change. I grew up, met a lot of different people, and eventually fell in love and not with a dream, but with a guy.

Stefan and Morgan Crested Butte

Stefan and I in Crested Butte on Valentine's Day

I met Stefan at a dude ranch in Wyoming when we were working there in college. He was a wrangler, I was a kids counselor. He had a beer,  and I was thirsty. It was simple, but it worked. I never put qualifications on the relationship like “he must be this tall,” or “he must be interested in skiing.” In Wyoming – those things were unimportant and I was much more concerned with how I could see him at the end of the summer.

Perhaps not caring about his skiing abilities then was a good thing. I just lucked out when that winter he came out to Colorado and skied me under the table. If you don’t meet at a ski resort or in the backcountry, or in a bar in Boulder for that matter, these things have a way of impressing you. Especially when your entire family are skiers and it runs through our blood like wine. Stefan was a skier and I was hooked.

A few years later, he asked me to marry him and I said yes. Not because he was a skier, but because he was incredible and incredible to me. We’ve been together

Stefan and Morgan in Telluride, New Years

My and my skier in Telluride on New Years Eve

for years and I know now that I married a skier because of what being a skier means.

He’s passionate. He’s driven. He’s smart. He’s curious. And he loves sharing these things with me. He’s all of these things because he’s himself, but he’s also all of these things through being a skier.

Now, I know that it wouldn’t have mattered if my prince charming couldn’t ski. Although, it might have been a rough patch if I would have had to teach him. The only balls I’m going to now are the ones that involve chairlifts and bloodies at the base – and it’s just how I like it.

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