On the Ice

     This morning, while walking the dog, I saw again a sight first seen last week:  a parent out skating on Thurston Pond while pushing a stroller.  There was no tearing around as we passed this time, unlike the mom from last week, pushing her stroller as fast as she could.  Today’s circuits of the pond looked peaceful, bordering on pensive.  Getting the stroller off the ice afterward seemed a bit tough, but the dad muscled it off the pond neatly enough and was last seen taking off his skates for the walk home.

     Someone else was out on the ice at the same time as the dad, a woman dressed all in white—pants, jacket, form-fitting head covering.  She looked like someone from a spy movie, dressed for winter maneuvers.  She didn’t follow the same looping path as the dad, sticking strictly to the very perimeter of the ice.  She also wasn’t wearing skates.  Just running shoes.  White.

     She didn’t move like a military type from a movie, though.  She just sort of shuffled along, which makes good sense, given that she was locomoting on ice without benefit of skates.  As Rascal and I left the pond, the woman was shuffling along the sidewalk toward Georgetown.

     The person who made us kids happiest to see out on the ice was our grandfather, our mother’s dad.  When we went to our cottage in the winter, our car full of skates, we practically held our breath when we came around the last curve.  Was Grandpa out skating on the canal?  Please, let Grandpa be skating.  I wonder if he had any idea how excited we were to see him outside waiting for us.   

     If he was on the ice, we put our skates on as fast as we possibly could.  The process including lacing help from Dad if we were lucky.  Skates never felt quite as good as when Dad pulled the laces tight for us.  Then we’d hop down off the dock onto the ice and skate. 

     If Grandpa was already outside, he would already have shoveled a clear area for us.  If not, we’d make quick work of it.  Unlike the lake, which could freeze with a bumpy, bone-rattling texture, the canal froze smooth, making for easy skating.  We’d keep at it for hours.  And, all the while, Grandpa would skate with us.  He was one wonderful skater and one wonderful man.

     The beginning of the week did not include any skating.  The ice may well have been perfect.  The temperature was not.  Wind chill brought the perceived temperature down into the minus twenties.  Our doggy didn’t care about the frigid air.  He may never have been cold in his entire seventeen years.  We’ve certainly never seen him behave as if he were cold.

     The rest of us felt there was a decided nip to the air, and kept dog walks and other forays into the out-of-doors as brief as possible.  After Rascal’s morning outing on the coldest day, I dove right back under the covers and stayed there.  Were it not for having a dog, I might not have come out from under until spring.

     The whole state of Michigan hunkered down for a few days this week, due in part to snow, but mostly because of the cold.  This, plus an NPR program about board games yesterday, got me thinking about happy times spent playing games indoors.  My favorite folks to play with are my sisters-in-law.  I remember one board game, in particular, called Farkle.  They’d brought it to the cottage with them, and explained it to me.

     All I remember about it, though, is that you had to roll a five to initiate play.  Failing that, you said, “Farkle,” and it was the next person’s turn.  My SILs had a great time doing whatever it is you do in that game after you roll a five and start playing.  They completed the game, a matter of some ten thousand points, and I never rolled a five.

     Another night, another summer, we played games on Mackinac Island.  Businesses restock their supplies after hours, when the passenger ferries are done for the day.  Because motorized vehicles are not allowed on the island, the deliveries are made by horse-drawn conveyances.  Our hotel was directly opposite the ferry landing.  The games we played on the island involved laughter, warm breezes, and the unhurried clopping of horses’ hooves, as we made memories together.

     The plan is for the SILs to come this way again this summer.  We’ll be out and about during the day and hunker down together in the evening.  It will be great.    

24 January 2025