16 January 2011

Flying Low to the Ground

After supper, we all piled into the van and headed off to the Eighth Street Ice Rink. Yep. That's right. For all you people who live in basketball land, that's a hockey rink. H-o-c-k-e-y. It's a hockey rink, because it's outside. The intrepid people who live in our town (and others across the fine state we live in) just poured water on the frozen tundra, and kept doing it until a rink formed. Then, they periodically plowed the snow off the ice. Magic.

Tonight we were lucky. No one else was in sight. The rink had just been cleared with a zamboni and dusted with fresh snow. The girls were in skating heaven.

Two rinks to fly across and no one else in sight. The curly-headed girl just needed us to know that her toes were numb because her feet were growing out of her skates. She didn't really expect anyone to do anything about it because that would have taken precious time away from what really mattered - skating.

She was skating! You can see the joy on her face. She was not falling down. Much. She was almost flying she was going so fast!

Please don't hate us, prairie-dwellers. We know you pay big money to strap on skates and glide on ice. But up here? It's free! I can't even believe this is the first winter we have done this since we've moved up here. We must be learning how to live up north. The curly-headed girl was quick to inform us that this ice is safe. because there is no water underneath it, just grass. It's amazing: They know how thick the ice must be before it's safe. It's inherent knowledge, just like knowing which way is north.

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