Several years ago, my husband announced he couldn't face another Michigan winter. Yet the mere mention of skiing and his eyes twinkle brighter than Times Square on New Year's Eve. He prays for snow. To his way of thinking, mountains and ski gear transform the ice and cold into a bit of Heaven (or is that Heavenly?). My idea of enjoying the bone-numbing chill is a cup of hot chocolate and a roaring fire. Lake Tahoe accommodates us both; Bob schusses down a steep incline while I get comfy with a good book and try not to worry he'll break a leg.