Ice Skating


Generations of kids sitting on the bench and digging their skates into the wood does some damage!


But it did make a great place to hang my skates while I was taking my boots off.

My childhood home was down the street from the local ice skating rink and many happy afternoons were spent speeding on the ice with family and friends. When I was twelve my family moved to a different town and I have only been back to the rink a handful of times since then. I don’t think I have skated at all in the past three years.

But on Sunday I found my old ice skates and today was too beautiful to waste so I headed down to the rink. Benefit #709 of living in a small town: I got the rink all to myself. (Aside from a pigeon that eyed me from the rafters.) Plus the ice was pristine, no one had been on the ice since it had last been Zamboni-ed.


An empty rink.


A not-quite-so-empty rink.

Thankfully, skating is like biking in the sense that once you learn the skill you don’t forget it. I was particularly pleased to discover that I could still skate backward without falling on my head.

I skated until my feet became uncomfortable from being cooped up within the confines of figure skates and then I headed home. On the ride back I stopped at an intersection while I waited for a snowplow to go by. Both guys in the snowplow smiled and waved at me. I am guessing they have passed me before on one of my travels!