Shtepping Around With Hoobert

"Yeh. But you only saw the blood. You shoulda seen the guy."

Getting ready for bed, the kids were overtired and strained and grouchy. Evan told his little sister, "You're too shy," whereupon she began crying and raced into my room.

"Did you hear what he said?" she asked. "He said I'm shy!"

Five minutes later Evan struck again. "You have gumby toes," he told Barrie. The predictable storm of tears began.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Evan said I have gumby toes."

"Do you know what gumby toes are?" I asked, stalling for time.

"No, but I don't have them."

"Gumby is a French word," I said, "meaning pretty."

THIRD DAY: We awoke to the friendly patter of raindrops. Skiing was all but out of the question; the slopes had turned to Wheatena. Skiers huddled about the lodge in various poses of annoyance. There is nothing so downcast as a man who has driven 300 miles, decked himself out in a lot of expensive clothes, given the boss a transparent excuse for his absence and then spent the day watching a warm rain scour the snow off the mountains.