My older son, Hayden, and I tagged along on my younger son's school trip this week to Eldora.

My younger son, Carson, signed up for all day snowboarding lessons as part of this school sponsored trip with the Colorado Ski Academy. Luxury bus transportation, his lessons, his lift ticket and even lunch were included in the price.

Arriving back in Colorado in 2005, after fifteen years in the Southern California desert, I could not wait to get back on the slopes and introduce my two sons to this sport I had enjoyed so much during the 1980's. They took to the slopes like ducks to water. But, so much changed in the fifteen years I laid off, not the least of which is my age, I am not much past my new-to-the-sport sons now in proficiency.

My older son and I zipped through the rental equipment line at Eldora. We stashed our junk and headed out to find a lift; like pros, really.

Totally unfamiliar with the layout of Eldora and too....ahh.....excited to read a trail map, my son and I simply fell into a herd of people headed to a lift nearby.

:::::cue sound of baaa-ing sheep:::::

We chatted and laughed and paid little mind.

Off we went and upward. And upward, still. Were those moguls beneath the lift? My heart pounded once the cables stretched almost vertically in front of us. I didn't want to alarm my son. I told him no matter how steep the terrain, we could always sidestep our way out of a bind.

We pushed ourselves from the lift and immediately saw the sign with the double black diamonds. We peered over the edge of a hill only Spider-man could successfully navigate and began to slowly traverse.

Traversing worked for about twenty feet. But, since the hill had the slope of the side of a barn, my son soon gathered too much speed, went off the trail and landed in deep powder. There we were, perched on the side of this hill, my son chin deep in powder and me trying to stay affixed to the side of the hill and pull him out. Not a chance.

This is when Sven the Snow God showed up. Few skiers were bold (or stupid) enough to be on the side of that hill. But, there he was; tan, impeccably groomed and expensively outfitted. We were relieved to see him.

"What have you done?" Sven barked.

"I made a terrible mistake," I replied in the voice of a reticent child. "I got us on the wrong lift."

"Didn't you read the trail map?" Sven demanded.

"No," I answered meekly. "Can you help pull my son out?"

"Get out of my way!" the Snow God proclaimed as he began to yank on my son's arms and legs.

Gods get to be gods because they can take full control. They don't have to be nice, happy about their powers or rejoice in sharing them. They can be cranky and bossy, like Sven.

At one point in Sven's courageous struggle, he took a quick break to shout at me, "Lady, this is hurting my back!"

Sven persevered. He got Hayden out of the snow, on his feet and guided us to more level terrain. I thanked him profusely. I groveled. I told him how sorry I was. He waved us off with a scowl and continued down that steep hill the way mercury pours out of a broken thermometer.

We didn't see Sven* again. We spent nearly an hour gingerly making our way to the bottom, then stayed on our side of the mountain and used appropriate lifts.

We giggled ourselves silly, too, and made fun of Sven behind his back. What's the harm? He was funny. Plus, we needed a good laugh to forget the terror of facing down a double black diamond.

*I doubt the guy's name is really Sven, but it should be.