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Hay peores cárceles que las palabras.

Nuria Monfort


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🦋 Ice-Skating

In 1997 (or thereabouts) I bought a pair of ice skates. Ellen had recently learned to drive and gotten a car, which made getting to a rink easy, and was excited to take up her childhood passtime; I had never skated before (and had always been a lousy roller-skater), but was game to pick it up -- 5 or 6 years of seeing people roller-blading merrily by had made me feel like learning.

I didn't get very good at it over the course of the two or three winters I tried to; and eventually in the Wollman rink at Central Park, I fell down and hurt my knee badly enough to make me not want to try any longer. (This knee injury also played a major role in stopping me riding my bike, an activity that I had a lot more invested in.) So the last time I skated was, very roughly, in 1999.

But I would give anything to have Sylvia grow up less physically timid and awkward than I did; so when Ellen suggested that we take Sylvia skating this winter I thought it sounded good. This morning I pulled my skates out of the garage and we drove on over to the South Mountain Arena. And it was alright. I skated around the rink several times without falling, and with getting a moderate speed going and the gliding that I like, instead of stepping/walking on my skates. I held Sylvia's hand going back and forth along the edge of the rink. Primarily I just felt pretty comfortable; when I am able to say that at the end of the day I have a sense of accomplishment. (This may speak more to my general level of comfort than to anything else.)

Sylvia's first time on the ice went pretty well. She only wanted to stay out on the rink for short periods -- holding Ellen's hand and the wall, or my hand and the wall, or at one point my hand and Ellen's hand. She and I practiced falling down and getting up a few times. Her ankles seem pretty strong.

posted evening of Monday, December 26th, 2005
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