a chair , adults who ’ d hauled out their ancient blades , sparsely dressed teenagers debating the merits of burps versus farts , the woman whose toque looked just like a sundae . One man remarked , “ This is my first time on skates since my stroke .”
One family sat out and nibbled on snacks , silently watching our small Zamboni restore icy perfection , this slowmoving miracle as mesmerizing as gazing into a campfire . A meditation . Sometimes I hit the sweet spot and got freshly flooded ice all to myself , such as on Christmas morning .
My return to skating has been my debut on outdoor ice . Growing up in rural Saskatchewan , I always skated at the town rink , even soldiering through ten years of slippery progress as a figure skater . Despite my pinchy skates — bought used from a basement shop in Regina — I soaked up laughter and music , and afterward spent a few nickels on Hickory Sticks or gumdrop rings . ( Never a licorice pipe ! Ew !)
When I devolved into an unruly teenager , I stayed afterwards for the hockey game , the two activities separated by supper at the rink . We ate in the same general area as the curling ice — a sensory universe all its own . Rowdy games of five card stud . Volunteers churning out unequalled homemade fries in cardboard tubs . Steam and smoke from the sizzling griddle . The tempting aroma of onion rings . Cigarettes poisoning the atmosphere . Muffled shouts and gentle clunks from the curling rocks colliding like tectonic plates on the other side of the viewing glass .
Even without artificial ice , my childhood skating season felt luxuriously long . Calgary ’ s outdoor ice season is remarkably short , interrupted by the exhalations of the occasional chinook .
So I ’ m ready to nab it . Poised to inhale the clean , bracing air , arriving during school hours to avoid the crowds and blaring music . Evergreens block most of the wind . After about twenty laps on a chilly day , my fingers will warm up . After forty , I ’ ll unzip my jacket and flap my mitts from my fingertips . Ninety-nine is typically my victory lap , when I imagine a flag draped across my shoulders as the crowd roars . Although counting laps propelled me through my first year of skating , last year I didn ’ t need to count at all . I ’ d made it back onto the ice , and now I was free to enjoy the scenery and let the numbers float into the frosty air .
Sheila Bean taught with the Calgary Board of Education for seventeen years . Since retiring , she has taught at Stampede and Jube schools and has dabbled in journalism ( her previous career ). The skating rink awaits .
news & views WINTER 2022 | 49