4am: It has now been almost 3 weeks here in Utah. My hands are all chappy from the mix of dry weather and constant sanitation practices, sometimes they bleed-don't worry on those days I wear gloves-, burns taint my once lovely arms, I fell asleep while using the Sundance bathroom yesterday, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I am a die hard romantic @ heart. I am sarcastic and sharp at first glance, but at the end of the day I am just gooey.  I think there is something so romantic about my life at this moment {and no it is not some hot man, and yes I live with my parents....that's not it either!}. I get up every morning at 4a, by 4:15a I am out the door for a dark yet serene drive. I am the only car on the road, and while I am awake, the day is not. I usually drive in silence, deer dot the roads, the snow glistens as my headlights shine around the mountain curves. It's only been 3 weeks but the routine is set: I turn past the Sundance sign and pull into the upper lot, I brace myself for the temp change, get out, lock the car, and take a deep, chilly mountain air breath. I waddle to the kitchen door, taking care not to slip, then I turn on the oven to 300 degrees,  clock in, button the crisp, white chef jacket and tie the apron just so, pull hair up, wash hands, and then the magic happens. The mixers whirling, flour's in the air, there's a faint clanking of pans from the other kitchens, then the intoxicating smell around 6:30a, as the croissants are taken out of the oven, the chocolate has melted, and the dough for tonight's rolls is already in the proofer {it's a hot little steamy box for breads and pastries to help them rise quicker}. The hours fly by as the kitchen gets louder, the ski crews come and pick up the pastries for up the mountain, security strolls in for their daily bowl of fresh granola and a Mello Yello, the banquet staff comes down to harass us {they don't know our names, they just call us all bonita, and howl when we walk by}, and if we are lucky, we won't see the kitchen mouse, who has evaded all manners of trapping. There is scrubbing, and suds to handle to flour that escaped, a quick mop, and then the jacket is off, the time card is swiped again,  I walk out, and somedays, it is the first daylight I have seen. Hours from now, it will all start again......and on most days, I can hardly wait for my 4am.