"You are lucky to live in a big house," my friend said. "You have a big playroom and even a balcony in front of it."

"But I have to share the playroom and a bedroom with my sister, and she bosses me around," I told her. "My wish is to have a room to myself, even a small one would do."

My sister Gretl, eight years older, had an attic room on the third floor. It was warm and cozy and far away. I admired everything about her, her clothes, her independence as a medical student and especially her social life. Sometimes a good-looking young man would pick her up, and in winter she would go skiing with a group of students. I figured out that skiing must be a lot of fun. For my eighth birthday I wished for a pair of skis, boots and the necessary ski clothing.

My father did not ski but was in favor of any kind of exercise.

"Well " he said, "we will see, but then your sister Susi will have to have skis, too, so you can ski together."

Since my birthday was just before Christmas, I received a pair of green-gray ski pants and a salmon-colored sweater. Our seamstress made over the pants from my father's old army uniform of World War I.

"This is good heavy material," he said smiling. "This remind me of the winter of 1915 in Rumania. I was the army surgeon and our operating room was a tent in a snow-covered field. Sometimes we worked all night and placed the freshly operated soldiers outside in a circle around a roaring fire. But the bloodstains are all gone," he added, when he saw my startled face.

I was not impressed with the stiff ski pants, and the sweater was a little scratchy, too. I envisioned myself skiing gracefully like my sister in a short circular skirt with matching underpants.

When Christmas arrived, there under the Christmas tree was a pair of skis and boots, both hand-me-downs from my older sister Gretl. The skis had no steel edges and the boots were hiking boots with nails. For Christmas Susi received new skis and boots, new pants and a new parka. My practical father figured this old outfit should last me until I had grown into my sister's size. Oh, how I wished that I did not have a birthday just before Christmas and was not the youngest in the family!

During Christmas vacation we two girls, Susi and I, were packed off to an uncle who was a doctor in a small village high in the mountains of the Black Forest. Our two cousins, about the same age, were already excellent skiers since they had to go to school on skis and always competed with the village boys in the afternoons. They were not too crazy about skiing with us, so we slid, stumbled and fell by ourselves in the meadows around the house. We had to hike uphill, making a lot of kick-turns if we wanted to have a longer run down.

"You know," I said to Susi, "Gretl said it was much fun; I think it is pure drudgery."

During Easter vacation Gretl was ordered to take us up the nearest mountain and really teach us. The bonus was a ride on the new cable car to the top. The view was breathtaking. We were amazed to see the snow-covered Swiss Alps on the horizon.

The first slopes were gentle and wide open and posed no problem. Then the run funneled into a logging road in the woods and got steeper and steeper.

"Now be careful," my sister warned. "This part is called the Cold Water and can be icy. Many accidents happen here. My friend Kurt broke his leg here last year. If worst comes to worst, you can always take your skis off." With an elegant turn she took off around the corner and was gone. I wished I had not wanted skis so badly for Christmas. Starting to snowplow, my knees were stiff and locked tightly in fear. The round edges of the skis would not dig into the ice, and I went faster and faster. The trees closed in on me. How could I ever avoid them? I remembered that my girlfriend's father had told a story of skiing in Norway.

"When the hills got too steep," he had said, "we would take the poles between our legs and practically sit on them. That surely slowed us down."

It was worth trying, but the poles would not dig deeply enough into the ice to break the speed. I saw myself crashing into the trees, my limbs all mangled. My last bit of pride vanished and, sitting down on the skis, I managed the rest of the narrow road. To my relief Susi had done no better.

Gretl waited for us where the road leveled out into the meadows. She was worried that she had done the wrong thing in sending us down this dangerous run and greeted us with a sigh of relief.

"Stick it out. You will like it better as you get more experience. I will teach you to side-slip when the terrain gets too steep and the snow is hard." She continued to tell us about her skiing trips with friends in Switzerland.

"There are these long runs over glaciers where you think you have all the room in the world. But there are crevices, and we had to rescue one of our party who fell into one. The scenery is so beautiful with all the lofty peaks. And the apres-ski with friends is a lot of fun."

We knew we were too young yet for trips to Switzerland, but it was something to look forward to.

We followed her down the slopes, and the snow got sparse. Finally, we had to take the skis off and carry them through the meadows dotted with yellow and lavender crocus. We reached the streetcar, which offered standing room only. From the stop we still had another seven blocks to walk. Exhausted but proud to have done this expert run, we decided we would try again next year.