Hot Chocolate And The Honey Sticks example essay topic

My Weekend Family Get-Away Throughout my childhood I liked to escape from everyday routine and be alone with my family or my closest friends. There was the trail in the woods by the old battlefield where I would take my dog for long walks and for a change of scenery. There was the pond where my friends and I would go and throw rocks to see who could get theirs to skip the farthest. These places are vivid in my memory because that's where I would go to have fun, but the one place that sticks out in my memory the most, the place I know better than anyone, my weekend get-away, was my family's house at Hidden Valley Ski Resort. While I was growing up I was blessed to have this house to go to on the weekends during the winter. Come Friday I would be so excited because I knew where I would be going, I loved it up there.

The sights of the resort, the distinct smell of the house, and the anticipation of the drive up there all contribute to the most vivid and realistic memories I remembered about this place The excitement that filled my mind was incomprehensible to any person who has never experienced this for them self. The trip up to the house was only an hour but it felt like three or four. Snow would fall on the windshield, then be wiped away by the windshield wipers as we were driving, and every five minutes my mother would scream, "Watch out, Jeff", as she would grab the handle on the door. As we pass through the tollbooth at exit 9, my Dad threw the change in the container. From the ting, ting, ting, sound the change made, I knew that we were close. "Only twenty more minutes", he would say, then right after my Mom would say, "Yeah, more like ten the way he's driving".

Finally, we would make the right hand turn into the resort and drive up the hill. About half way I would get a feeling in my stomach not the feeling you get when your nervous, the one you get when your excited. With the first step out of the car onto the frozen ground the snow would crackle beneath my feet. Sometimes I would get a little in my shoe right between my sock and my pants. As I stepped out of our salt covered Chevy Blazer, and walked to the door. I would watch my dog Dakota run around the yard to mark his territory, he would always convince me to wrestle with him in the front yard before going in the house.

Cold and wet in the most awkward places on my body, such as in my shoe right where my sock meets the top of my shoe, or on the back of my neck trickling down my spine. I would take a big deep breath of air, my lungs refreshed with that cold mountain air. Then I'd exhale, relieving my lungs of that chilled air only to have my breath come out as steam. My father would yell for me to come unpack the car, so I would run and grab a bag and head into the house.

Following those first few steps into the breeze way and then through the front door, I would notice a unique smell that occupies the house. To this day I can't define that smell but it reminds me of my own house, as if I was walking through the front door of my home. Walking up the steps to "my room" on the top floor to the left, I'd throw my bag on the bottom bunk bed and run outside to grab firewood. The smell the fireplace gives off is not that of old wood or newspapers from August of 1986, but of cold nights sitting around it telling stories and eating nachos and cheese and lifting a chip to my mouth and having the cheese burn the roof of my mouth. Following the delicious snacks it was time for little Ryan to head off to bed. My room was the one on the top floor, first door on the left.

It was equipped with bunk beds but I would be the only one sleeping there, I had the room all to myself. My room had a Bo Jackson poster along with many pictures of skiers for my inspiration. While I slept upstairs the rest of my family would stay up playing jinn rummy or solitaire. I always had to go to bed early.

Saturday morning around 11: 00, I was ready to hit the slopes. I tried to keep warm but not over dress myself; contrary to popular belief you do sweat while you ski. So I tried to keep it simple, gloves, a hat, a long underwear shirt, ski pants and my warm, down North Face jacket. Finally, I would put on my boots and snap in my skis, ready to go! Skiing down those slopes I'd feel a sudden rush go through my body, my adrenaline pumping and that cold wind blowing in my face.

Riding the chair lift soaring above the trees, I would look down at all the people hoping everyone was having as much fun as me. Being outside in the cold can only go on for a couple of hours at most, then it is time to step inside the Clock Tower Lodge for a cup of piping hot chocolate and a few little gold honey sticks. My uncle always loved the honey sticks, ever since we had been going up there. I hated them at first the taste was horrible, but after a few years of skiing I became accustomed to them and felt cool eating them with him. The hot chocolate rejuvenates my body and warms my bones from the cold weather, while the honey sticks satisfy my taste buds.

Then after the hot chocolate and the honey sticks were gone; it was time to go back out for a couple more hours. Swishing down the slopes me and my uncle side by side, and to throw a change up into things he would open his legs real wide and I would tuck my little body and sit on my but while in motion and go right through him. We loved that trick. It looked tough but was really simple. We would ski till 5 or 6 and then head back for a good, warm, home cooked dinner.

That was a day for me on a weekend during the winter. I would wake up Sunday morning and do the same thing all over again. It was the life! Every Sunday night on that long car ride home I would recall all the fun I had, and for one moment I would still smell the brisk cold air and still have that feeling in my stomach, knowing that was the best weekend get-away ever!