I started skating when I was in fourth grade- my mum had taken lessons as a kid, and decided to get back into it. I have never been very good at it- I am probably the least coordinated, least graceful people you will ever meet- but there was something so liberating about gliding down the ice, and I was hooked. Before skating, my participation in athletics was mostly limited to school PE classes and rescess soccer games, generally involving me playing goally so that I wouldn't get in eeveryones way. So to have discovered a sport that didn't involve getting whacked in the face with a leather ball was a bit of a revalation to me.
I know it's a bit cliché, but being involved in the sport has taught me alot about life. It has tought me about determination and perserverence in pushing myself to get that new jump or spin. It has taught me not to judge myself based on the skills of others- My best skating friend in three years younger than me and two levels ahead of me. It has tought me to learn from my mistakes, to ask for help if you need it. It has helped me to manage my time better, juggling between homework, skating, social life, and sleep. I could go on forever. But that would probably bore you...
By far the most important thing that it has tought me is that there is always a place that you belong. I can be having the worst day of my life, and someone will always be there to smile or say hi to me. Maybe it is because my Mum and I are so involved with the rink, but it does seem that the people there are more like family than friends. many a time someones parent will offer to give me a ride if my mum can't, or the other way around. The coaches have been my mentors for many years, and I look up to them with the utmost respect. I went to the annual summer camp as a counseler for the first time, and it was a very enlightening experience to be 'the coach' for a whole new generation of skaters. I can only hope that they can look up to me in the same way that I have looked up to the current coaches.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
2. Kyrie
Kyrie Eleison...
For some, this song evokes a religious significance, for others the embarraasing memory of bad eighties clothes and good eighties music.
For me, it symbolizes freedom- although not through religious redemption or teenage rebellion.
Last summer, my sister, dad, and I took a road trip down to California. We were planning on taking the long route down to Berkley for a unicycle convention, and meet my mom there a few days later. So we meandered down through the Oregon Coast, stopping at what seemed to be every cheesey tourist attraction possible. My dad spent long hours recounting how he had taken a similar trip with some school friends when he was in his twenties, and kept rambeling on about how much everything had changed. In a desperate attempt to survive the aurderous journey, my sister and I turned to music. Being two years older, she had total control over the playlist, and she was going through an eighties phase at the time. So for three days I was trapped in a sweltering car, listening to Guns and Roses, Queen, and the uplifting voice of Kenny Loggins. And amazingly, after a day or two, a strange thing happened- I actually started to like it...
We stopped at the seal caves in Oregon and admired the great seqouias' that crowded almost onto the road in California, but with a little Mr. Mister stuck in my head, I wasn't bored any more. So whenever I am feeling bored and depressed in the dead of winter, I listen to this song and it reminds me of the amazing time I had in California last summer.
And hey, at least it was before her John Mayer phase....
For some, this song evokes a religious significance, for others the embarraasing memory of bad eighties clothes and good eighties music.
For me, it symbolizes freedom- although not through religious redemption or teenage rebellion.
Last summer, my sister, dad, and I took a road trip down to California. We were planning on taking the long route down to Berkley for a unicycle convention, and meet my mom there a few days later. So we meandered down through the Oregon Coast, stopping at what seemed to be every cheesey tourist attraction possible. My dad spent long hours recounting how he had taken a similar trip with some school friends when he was in his twenties, and kept rambeling on about how much everything had changed. In a desperate attempt to survive the aurderous journey, my sister and I turned to music. Being two years older, she had total control over the playlist, and she was going through an eighties phase at the time. So for three days I was trapped in a sweltering car, listening to Guns and Roses, Queen, and the uplifting voice of Kenny Loggins. And amazingly, after a day or two, a strange thing happened- I actually started to like it...
We stopped at the seal caves in Oregon and admired the great seqouias' that crowded almost onto the road in California, but with a little Mr. Mister stuck in my head, I wasn't bored any more. So whenever I am feeling bored and depressed in the dead of winter, I listen to this song and it reminds me of the amazing time I had in California last summer.
And hey, at least it was before her John Mayer phase....
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
1. Nachos
I know, I know, it sounds random. And weird. But I do have a reason.
When we were younger, my sister, older cousin, and I would go to my grandparents house for a week or two over the summer. It was always the same. We would spend lazy hours reading Farley Mowatt books, playing in the sprinkler, and riding their horse Casey. One summer, when we got sick and tired of doing nothing, we convinced our grandma to go into town and get us one of those inflatable boats. She returned an hour or so later with a red, white, and blue raft-like thing. My sister, determined as always to terrify me, promptly coined it Speedy. Not only was I scared of the name, I was convinced that it would carry us under the bridge, (which couldn't have been more than 6 inches off of the water) and into who knows where. Being hungry by this time, we decided to make nachos for Lunch. My grandma gave us each small tin pie plates, and we filled ours to the brim with chips, olives, tomatoes, onions, and of course a life-time supply of cheese. We put our respective culinary delicacies into the oven and waited impatiently for the cheese to melt. We then topped them with dollops of sour cream and canned salsa, and raced out to the awaiting boat. The three of us shoved on life jackets as quickly as humanly possible and crammed ourselves into a boat meant for one person at best. We spent the rest of the afternoon trying every possible way we could think of to make it remotely comfortable, although it was futile. So we finished our nachos, my nose crammed into the back of my sisters life jacket and my cousin balancing precariously on the bow of the boat. But we had a blast doing it. Many years, holes, and rolls of duck tape later we are on to our fourth, (by my count anyway) speedy. We are now lucky if we can fit just two of us onto the boat, and my grandma has become to arthritic to really play with us anymore. But, in spite of the years, nachos remain a summer tradition I will always love.
When we were younger, my sister, older cousin, and I would go to my grandparents house for a week or two over the summer. It was always the same. We would spend lazy hours reading Farley Mowatt books, playing in the sprinkler, and riding their horse Casey. One summer, when we got sick and tired of doing nothing, we convinced our grandma to go into town and get us one of those inflatable boats. She returned an hour or so later with a red, white, and blue raft-like thing. My sister, determined as always to terrify me, promptly coined it Speedy. Not only was I scared of the name, I was convinced that it would carry us under the bridge, (which couldn't have been more than 6 inches off of the water) and into who knows where. Being hungry by this time, we decided to make nachos for Lunch. My grandma gave us each small tin pie plates, and we filled ours to the brim with chips, olives, tomatoes, onions, and of course a life-time supply of cheese. We put our respective culinary delicacies into the oven and waited impatiently for the cheese to melt. We then topped them with dollops of sour cream and canned salsa, and raced out to the awaiting boat. The three of us shoved on life jackets as quickly as humanly possible and crammed ourselves into a boat meant for one person at best. We spent the rest of the afternoon trying every possible way we could think of to make it remotely comfortable, although it was futile. So we finished our nachos, my nose crammed into the back of my sisters life jacket and my cousin balancing precariously on the bow of the boat. But we had a blast doing it. Many years, holes, and rolls of duck tape later we are on to our fourth, (by my count anyway) speedy. We are now lucky if we can fit just two of us onto the boat, and my grandma has become to arthritic to really play with us anymore. But, in spite of the years, nachos remain a summer tradition I will always love.
The Little Things That Make Me Smile
I have had a hard year. My grades have been better, my best friend hit her head and couldn't skate for six weeks, and my grandpa died 11 days before Christmas. It took me a while, but I am slowly bouncing back, and in the process learning how many things that I have to be grateful for. I go to a good school in a nice neighborhood. I have neighbors so close they feel like family. I have too many friends to count. So I will try my hardest to post something that makes me smile every day. Most of it is just memories- little things that would mean nothing to someone else. But I hope that in sharing the little joys in life with everyone else, I open their eyes as well as mine to how lucky we really are.
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