We went to watch the grandchildren at their ice skating lessons. What a thrill to see them skating. Brooklynn wasn't real enthused about going back for a second lesson, but with the help from one of the teachers, she made her way across the ice.




I have been thinking a lot about skating the past few weeks. As a child, I spent quite a few hours in the winter days in a pair of skates on some ice. One winter, we rode the snow mobile to a friend's house in East Newport and spent hours and hours playing a made up game, using a partially deflated ball, and the frozen pond. We would stop long enough to have a bathroom break, a cup of hot cocoa, and then return for more hours of fun. I remember vividly the black and blue knees and shins I sported that entire winter. I would wear those bruises proudly if only I could do it again. I also remember one winter, skating from Bantons cove, (now Vic Firth) all the way out to Route 7, by the Paradis'. It was a sunny, clear winter day, and we skated and skated, then turned around and skated back. I wish I could do it again. I remember one of the last times I skated, on the pond down the road. We were going to play tag, and I was it. I had a brand new pair of just sharpened skates. I dug in the tip, took off, and immediately caught a tip, and did a chest flop onto the ice. I went down so hard, it knocked the wind out of me. Now my knees are old and worn, and I swear they have Rice Krispies in them when I walk up stairs. I can't jeopardize my ability to walk for a few spins on the ice. Oh, to be young again. I am thankful that my friends got to see me perform the last time in NH. Maybe I can live it all again through one of the grand children.