Gotcha! I'm not not skiing in the Alps, not visiting Swedish friends, not even on vacation at all.
When I moved to New York in the summer of 1975, fresh out of graduate school, I looked for a place to rent that was about half-way between Utica where I would be working and Syracuse where I had other commitments. I found this place in Canastota - a small two bedroom A-frame. It was fairly new, novel, and just the right size - even with two dogs. Most importantly, the rent was reasonable.
I lived there for one year, until I bought an old farmhouse just south of Oneida. It was in this A-frame where I saw my father for the last time, where my best friends from high school (and my goddaughter) swore they would never toboggan again, and where I burned much midnight oil designing courses and writing lectures as a new assistant professor.
It was a good year, and I grew up a lot.
I can look back on many happy memories and am truly a fortunate man.