So, after my usual multi-year gap between trying new things, I decided to try out skate skiing Friday. I skied, miserably, from '87 till '94, adopted snowboarding in '97 (still love that, just hate driving) and was looking for something that could be done in town when we have the luxury of new snow. Friends are doing it, say it's a good workout and warn that it's not easy. They definitely got that last part right. Still, a two hour lesson with a very patient teacher at Eldora gave me all the information I needed. I am not ready for skate skiing.
I watched people gracefully gliding by. They looked so serene, even with the elevated heart rate. I figured out how to get the skis on and considered that an accomplishment. There were brief "aha!" moments over the course of the morning, but it was mostly me stomping and slipping and getting really tired. I felt sorry for the other student in our lesson, since he was way more advanced, but then again, he had to practice going up hills later in the hour and I got to continue shuffling back and forth on relatively flat ground. Maybe I should consider myself lucky. Vicky, my instructor, did mention that those with any previous classic xc experience usually take to skating more easily, so I will definitely give some thought to taking a lesson in that next time. For now, I'll stick to what I know. At least till Wednesday when I break out the new snowshoes.
Let it be known that there are few official holidays that I look fondly on, much less look forward to. Halloween would be one exception, because I enjoy the chance to use the artistic muscles that are pretty much wasted at my desk job, and like the idea of being someone or something other than me for a night. Winter solstice would be the other day of the year that gets marked on my calendar.
I spend much of my life (when not stuck in my cubicle) outside, so the movement of the sun has both practical and ritualistic meaning for me. When I leave work, I usually do so on a bike and, at this time of year, I leave with a heck of a lot of extra baggage, including leggings, headband, gloves, and as many lights as I can attach to myself or the bike. I don’t mind the weekly recharging of batteries or the negotiation of slippery bike lanes, but I do know I let loose a little sigh of relief in late December when I know I can start counting the tiny increments of daylight added on from this point.
Besides “on bike”, “in garden” is my other likely location when the weather is reasonable. While the growing season ended a few weeks back for me with the pulling up of the remaining carrots, I like to acknowledge this return of the light with a nod to harvests past. Tonight’s dinner was a veggie pot pie I made with some of my carrots and the farmer’s market corn that I froze in September. I also drank the token glass of dandelion wine that I bottled many years back; it has passed from dessert wine to just plain dessert, the sugars are so prominent.
I can only light one candle for tonight in this house of clumsy felines. I used to light a bunch to encourage the sun to move itself along a little faster, but one is good, too. I guess this is really the beginning of my new year. From here on in, things are getting ready to grow and the sky is a shade lighter for each ride home. It doesn’t really seem like there’s ever a real end to my year, other than the ceremonial purchase of a new calendar. But if this is the time of year that I’m expected to take stock of the past handful of months, I can do that.
The past year hasn’t seemed all that different from others. I had some good plans in the beginning: paint the house (inside), develop more control and less fear on the bike, travel to the Galapagos, put at least one new bed in the garden. Some of these I managed, sort of; others got bumped to the bottom of the list. As long as I always have the list, I’m OK with having put a few off. I did a few things I hadn’t planned on, too, like travel to Telluride for my birthday, join forgiving friends on new trails in Waterton Canyon, Ned and over the Divide to WP, and get my first concussion in years. For the next handful of months, I have some new ideas and will keep working at a few old ones. I don’t like to plan too far out – the element of surprise keeps things interesting.
Thanks to everyone who’s been part of my latest trip around the sun. For those who’ve moved on or made major changes to their lives, I wish you the best. To those who’ve passed on (pets only this year), you are missed. Outside of my small life, I think a lot of people are looking for a little light in the gloom right now. Hopefully, come this time next month, we’ll start to see the pendulum swinging back a bit. I definitely won’t pin all my hopes on a new president (our mess is too big and the hole is too deep), but at least it’ll be something different. Cheers!
I flew back east for Thanksgiving this year, the first time in twelve years. I figured I’d see some relatives, meet up with my one remaining friend in the area, and take the usual stroll down memory lane. Any time I visit the place I grew up, I feel obligated to go back to those places that had made the strongest impression on me as a kid. One reason I do it, I’ve learned, is because, no matter how much you believe that those places that meant so much to you must mean at least as much to someone else, they will eventually find a way to pave over your childhood.
This time it wasn’t so much pavement as grass. Now I would normally look on grass as an improvement for most locations, but the public pool? My mom and I were driving by the building that was my middle school and her high school and is now part of the city vocational school. I took a quick picture since I realized I’d never bothered before and then I glanced across the street at the park where my friends and I had once collected unfortunate tad poles. As we turned the car around and drove back the way we’d come, I asked my mom to stop. I thought I must be having one of those false memories. Shouldn’t there be a chain link fence on the left, surrounding a big pool? It cost a quarter to get in. There was a changing room. We used to go outside the fence to catch the ding dong cart (think rolling ice cream/candy mobile). Where the hell was the pool?
There wasn’t a trace. No fence, no building, not even a sink hole. Just smooth, green grass and a survey marker. I never had photos from the State Pool (that’s what we called it; I have no idea what its official name was). There were no cheap, point’n’shoot cameras around then and we were too busy getting buzzed on Lik-M-Aid and daring each other to go off the high dive. I have no tangible proof that the pool was ever there, or at least nothing other than a tiny white line of a scar on the inside of my right arm. That’s where it smacked the water one of the few times I did jump off the high dive. It was a pretty big feat for a kid who couldn’t open her eyes under water and had to hold her nose, too (I still do), and, in a moment of panic, I must have just left that other arm out there. I would have liked to see the height of that diving board now. I had already seen that my old backyard wasn’t nearly big enough for us to have done all the things in it that I know we did. I wanted to look up (over?) at that diving board and think, “That’s what I was afraid of?” But the diving board was gone, along with all other evidence of that part of my past. Another lesson learned too late. Take pictures of your favorite places now. One day you might go looking for them and find just a lawn.
Yes, that was the high temp for the afternoon yesterday. And that was without factoring in wind chill. Sounded like a good time for a walk to the grocery store. There was a cookie baking frenzy in the house for most of the morning, so I don't think I really knew what the zero meant till I went out to shovel the landing. One pair of pants was not enough. After adding a few layers, I headed down the sidewalk in search of oatmeal and mushrooms. The interior of my nostrils attempted to freeze solid and I had a brief flashback to New England winters waiting for the school bus. Good memories.
Not many people out for a stroll Sunday. I passed a tree full of the puffiest robins and starlings I've seen in a while. Each one seemed to be two thirds air and one third very cold bird. As much as I hate cold, I love the smell of snow and the squeaking sound that my boots make in the frozen mess on the sidewalk. I can handle a short walk in the sub-zeroes with that kind of entertainment.
By the time I got back, I felt compelled to start another round of cookies just to warm the place up, but I was already feeling overwhelmed by the sugar in the room and settled for tamales instead. Not great for heating the house, but good for the body if you dump enough salsa on them.
The next morning, the radio announcer mentioned that it was -9 degrees. Still, a beautiful morning.
