Author: Susan Viebrock

That SWOOSH you hear is the sound of some gnarly skier passing you, hair flying, on one of Telluride's double black diamond bump runs. The tap tap tapping of her keyboard is that same woman running a business. She is also somebody's Princess.

When you tuck in your daughter at night, do you – or did you – tell her fairy tales about handsome Prince Charming riding in on a big white horse to sweep her away to a distant castle, where he will wed her and worship her for all eternity? The "Cinderella Syndrome" occurs when well-meaning parents set up unrealistic expectations for their precious little girls, high hopes which became unrealistic in the post-"Mad Men" era of feminism. That's when glass ceilings replaced glass slippers – or at least cause them to be tossed into a box and stuck at the back of a closet. Gone but not forgotten.

Let's play a game of subtraction. When the subject is Telluride, we are talking only two degrees of separation. Case in point: Clint and I were strolling up Broadway en route to our New York digs, when I decided we might want some books on tape for a drive to Pittsburgh. We have passed that Barnes & Noble many times, but never stopped in. Who wants to carry books onto an airplane when the Internet delivers? The sign at the entrance to the store announced a book signing: British ocean rower Roz Savage would be on hand to sign copies of her just released "Rowing the Atlantic: Lessons Learned on the Open Ocean" (Simon & Schuster).

The posted time for Roz Savage's appearance, 6:30 p.m., was in direct conflict with the Michael Palm Concert Series, a house concert in support of the non-profit Classical Actions, which taps into talent from the world of classical music, jazz and Broadway to raise funds for AIDS-related services. We were to be guests of part-time, longtime Telluride locals Steven and Judy Gluckstern. Arriving late was not an option.