He said that we could come anytime . . . that his was a “community rink.” We arrived and two high-schoolers were there, shooting pucks at a net. Anna was undeterred–“I can use the other side of the rink. They won’t mind.”
And they didn’t.
She practiced and practiced, skated in circles and tried her new favorite trick: reaching her leg back as far as it would go.
When did those legs get so long and so strong?
I would not be here, outside on this cold afternoon, if she wasn’t here–this one who is all serendipity.
Memories come back like a flood–those winter afternoons when I would walk the mile down to our neighborhood rink with my skates flung over my shoulder. It was a sweet hour of solitude after the school day. I loved the sound of the blades on the ice–I loved twisting and turning the figures over the rink. I would stay until the shadows were long and my fingers were numb. A small therapy.
And today, thirty years later, I am here with her, the one whose eyes peek out from under her brother’s too-big hat. I am taking it all in. This day, this child, this hour, this life–oh it is all gift.