We Are Family

I am going to St. Paul for Nationals. This decision did not come easily since our skater is not competing. On the other hand, all the stars aligned with nothing critical scheduled for that weekend at work, with excellent airfare, tickets and company offered by a good friend who won tickets in our auction benefiting the Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson's Research. 

Kismet.

I posted on social media that I was going and it was like opening floodgates. Suddenly, everyone of my friends responded. From fans to coaches, skaters and media people the replies were the same. "That's so exciting! I can't wait to get together!" 


That got me to thinking.

I'm an only child. Growing up, I was primarily raised with adults who were in the entertainment industry. I didn't have siblings, though I did have a step brother and sister I saw infrequently and for very short periods of time. My family world revolved around my parents, their friends and their friends' children. I had my friends at elementary and secondary school, then at university. They all came and went with the wind and I understand that. Lives change; interests change. 

It may surprise some of you that I am somewhat of an introvert. Yes, that is greatly at odds with what I do for a living; it is, however, something I learned at a young age being raised in a media family. When you are home, you can be yourself. However, when you are in public, it's Show Time! You're "on," no matter what. 

I mention all of this only because it puts in perspective the amount of surprise I felt with the reaction I received to my simple statement of attending my 14th US National Championships, and only the second without a "horse in the race," so to speak - the first being St. Louis when we attended because it was an Olympic year and we were in the first alternate slot. Tickets had been purchased and we wanted to see how different the vibe was when skaters were laying it all on the line for a trip to The Mountain. This made me realize that I was now a member of a like-minded, occasionally (okay, more than occasionally) dysfunctional family of people who look forward to this frozen reunion in places that are many times difficult to reach, are always expensive but are undoubtedly exciting and certainly fun. Like all families, there's that weird member you could do without seeing, but for the most part it is a time to renew acquaintances and recharge the soul. 

A good friend of mine, whom I don't see nearly enough, posted on Facebook today:

 "I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them . . ."

No truer words have ever been spoken when it comes to skating. Everyone I have met, interacted with; those I have kept close and those I have let go, have all taught me something - not only about the sport, but about myself as a person. I have grown a lot in the past 27 years of being on both the inside and outside edge. 

So, I will pack my bags, my hat, scarf, boots and heart and head to St. Paul. After all,  I cannot think of anything better than having another chance to laugh, drink wine, cheer and hug. For those of you whom I will see at the Xcel Center in a few weeks, consider yourself warned: I'm that "crazy aunt" who will happily hold you close and give you a kiss, whether you want it or not. After all, we are family.

See you in St. Paul!

Dear Universe....

"Dear Universe,
Thank you for letting me live out my dreams since I was five years old. I know you're thinking there were other unfollowed follies in these 30 years of mine, but figure skating has always been my first and foremost love. So, I thank you.
Sincerely,
Me"

My son recently posted this on his Instagram and Twitter accounts for all the world to see. It not only made me very proud, it was corroboration that all those frozen moments of the past 26 years were worth every second. Not that I didn't already know, but to see it in print - to see the image and emotion of pure joy behind the words - actually took my breath away.

It also made me stop and think about what this sport can really mean to  skating parents like me as we transition into our new "Normal."   

Many of my son's contemporaries have now left competitive skating. They have moved on, but many have not moved out. I follow on Facebook and Twitter; I marvel at what they are still accomplishing - some without national and international titles; most without realizing the Olympic dreams they harbored since childhood. They have taken their passion for skating in new directions that will do nothing but improve the sport for the new generation coming to the ice. We have many who are touring the world doing shows, either with companies or on cruise ships. Their travel photos and posts of the places they've been and the things they've seen are better than I could have imagined.

Some have moved on to working as professional skaters and choreographers for companies who are exploring alternative movement on ice. It's exciting to see their creativity as they defy convention and push the boundaries of what we thought could be done.

Several skaters have moved directly into coaching and are bringing along exciting new singles and teams. A few have chosen the path of commentating, replacing the "old guard" with a freshness born from understanding the system as it is now because they've been there, done that and they can communicate it in a way that makes sense.

And certainly, there is immense pride in those who took the discipline of practice and competition they learned in skating and applied it to becoming scientists, researchers, doctors, lawyers, accountants, nutritionists, trainers and teachers with the same passion and dedication they exhibited in their years on the ice. 

As parents, what more could we ask of the Universe than to see our children follow their passions and make it their lives? I guess the only other thing we could hope is that they see it, acknowledge it and say thank you. It makes us realize that, in some small way, we did something right.



An Open Letter to My Son on the Occasion of His 30th Birthday..

 

There are many things you know, many you remember, and some you may not. But on the occasion of your 30^th birthday, it seemed like an appropriate time to share with you 30 very special memories:

1.       I had eight miscarriages between you and your sister.

 

2.       I had a tubal pregnancy and emergency surgery.

3.       You were supposed to be “twins.” (Looking back now, I can’t imagine having two of you – identical or fraternal.) I lost one six weeks into the pregnancy. You were tenacious and hung in there. Thank you.

4.       I was confined to bed for three months after you decided to shift. I begged the doctor to allow me to work through World Cup on Aspen Mountain. When the event ended, so did that stint of working for Aspen Skiing Company. The upside was that I learned how to crochet; it’s a skill I’d like to relearn when I have the time, and inclination.

5.       You were going to be named Gregory. Your sister chose your name.

 

6.       After having one Cesarean, because Gwen was quite comfortable hanging out, I was going to try to have you in the “normal” way. Like everything in our lives, “normal” is how you define it. Apparently, for me, that meant another C-section.

7.       In the delivery room, I lost a lot of blood and they nearly lost me. I remember hearing general chatter go to hushed whispers. I remember seeing a white light. I also remember thinking this was not how this story was going to end.

8.       When they put you down beside me, the only clear memory I have was looking at your hands and saying to the doctor that you had remarkably long and slender fingers. At that point, I thought you might play piano. I was correct about the musicality, just not the instrument with which you would create it.

9.       During a short hospital procedure , to the amazement of the doctor and two nurses, instead of crying you fell asleep on the table. That was the start of your being able to sleep almost anywhere and at any time, a trait that has served you well.

10.   You (mostly) slept through the night right from the start. When you didn’t, I’d sit in a rocking chair and sing a song I made up for you.

11.   You never had colic. I learned from having Gwen six years before that Mexican spices and breast milk are a lethal combination.

12.   Both you and your sister had chicken pox – TWICE. As you get older, remember that because you’ll need a shingles shot when you are my age.

13.   You hated (and still hate) peas and tomatoes, which always made me wonder if you were switched with another baby in the hospital. Same could be said for your sister and her taste. Apparently I failed you when it comes to pedestrian veggies, though you recently taught me to like Brussel Sprouts.

14.   You were blonde. Sometimes, you still are.

 15.   For years, you worked on a “condo” made from a large box that was stored in the garage of our friend Laura in Denver. It was quite intricate, with wall paper, furniture and – oh yes – curtains. I would never criticize your curtains as a guest in your home. That would be impolite.

16.   Your favorite books were “Good Night Moon,” and “Where the Wild Things Are,” but you also loved Dr. Seuss, and anything that had sounds, like “Smelly Jelly, Smelly Fish.”

17.   Your sister used to be merciless in her teasing. I told her that when you were big enough to whip her tail, you would be best friends. Moms are smart like that.

 

18.   I still have the ONLY Halloween costume I ever made by hand since my favorite response to you and your sister, when you’d say, “So?” was, “No I don’t.” Actually, I don’t. I do wish I still had your red felt crab claws from the costume I made you when you were Sebastian in “Under the Sea.”

19.   Costume boxes that started out for Halloween but turned into so much more for you, Aaron and Gwen. It became a constant source of amusement.

 

20.   I still have your derby hat from “Big Spender,” and the leather one from your John Denver version of “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” in the Aspen club shows.

 

21.   I still have your “Happy Feet” bejeweled neck tie from the Silver Circle opening.

22.   I still have most of your collection of masks, like the one you personally “negotiated” the price during a visit to Chicago when we visited an international fair on Navy Pier. You were so proud of yourself for haggling the price.

23.   I still never hang clothing on the rear hook in the car behind the driver’s seat after I smashed the car on the way to Pueblo Invitational. That was your second-ever competition. You got an ear infection and were sick as a dog but you wanted to skate. I had been up with you all night and we even stopped outside of Monument at a rest stop where you tossed your cookies and I considered turning around. We stopped in Colorado Springs looking for the old World Arena and I saw the International Center. Thinking it was the arena, I parked and we went in to find out it was a convention facility. As we were pulling out, we were hit by another car. It was Valentine’s Day. When we got to Pueblo, I had to call Allen and tell him about the accident, something that was not easy since he had roses delivered to our hotel room. Funny that, all these years later, I now work next to that building at The Broadmoor. I think about it every time I walk outside.

 24.   Having you take me through my basic dance tests was a highlight. I remember judge Virginia Mount watching stoically as we skated by. You came just above my waist and it was everything she could do from laughing – not at your ability, but at my lack thereof.

25.   Pueblo Invitational Solo Dance when you were seven or eight. Aspen Skating Club competitors Gary and Ozzie were standing in corners signaling “One Two Three – Four Five Six” as your dance coach Lisa Warner and I sat on the floor laughing so hard we were crying because you appeared to be dancing to music playing in another rink.

26.   Ice Dance and Pairs. Ice Dance and Pairs. I’m happy you are still friends with at least one of those partners. I don’t know how teams do it. I bow down to Meryl and Charlie, who we saw for the very first time at Junior Olympics when they both were no bigger than a minute.

27.   Drives every weekend from Aspen to Colorado Springs, then flights when Allen started working for the airlines so we could get the benefits.

28.   Planes, trains and automobiles. Fighting over map directions (pre GPS and Siri) and redefining “Terminal Entrance” when we couldn’t get out of the airport in Philly on the way to Wissahickon.

29.   HSBC bag from Junior Nationals in Buffalo that was redefined by Jack Courtney as “Holy S#!T Buffalo’s Cold” when we went from warm to a foot of snow overnight. That was also the start of the now famous “Go Alexander!”

30.  People don't realize that you have an oh-so-not serious side that you graciously share with us. As you continue in your journey, do more of this.

 

 We have been around the world and back; been to two Olympics and countless national and international competitions. It all happened because when you were four you saw Robin Cousins skate at a show in Aspen. That was the beginning of this amazing journey that is far from over. Thank you for that.

Happy Birthday, Jeremy. You are the SON-SHINE of my life.

Love, Mom

Dream On

I’ve been off line for a number of reasons – almost too many to recount and none of which are relevant to you, except the fact that my home computer (Big Bertha) has crashed the motherboard so I’ve been a bit of a rudderless ship since October’s last post. To the people who do care, thank you for your notes and comments.

I’ve also had writer’s block. Some of this is due to the stress of the holidays; some due to my computer failing and not being able to blog effectively from my much-loved tablet. Also, there just hasn’t been a lot to say lately. In my mind, I was fully expecting to start my newest blog – you know the one where I could finally tuck away Erma and unleash Anthony? I was really prepared. I’d been sitting and thinking for months (actually, for years) about what to say.

However, that was not to be, at least not yet. With yet-another season to go, and having to shelve so many unexplored topics, this new situation of "Last Season: Part Deux" has found me continually coming up empty on new, appropriate (aka: PC) subject matter. 

I even stopped dreaming about skating. I didn't take that to be a bad thing, actually. The worst part about it was that skating was replaced with night frights concerning work and other non-skating-related topics. Nothing frozen even entered my nightly subconsciousness until last week when tickets were purchased, hotel reservations were made and flights were booked to Greensboro.

Understand that my dreams have rarely been about competition – at least not about events my skater is doing. They usually involve some form of me skating somewhere - usually outdoors, which is my favorite thing in the world to do. But the last two weeks have been decidedly different.

It all began again with a dream involving a very large arena that somehow morphed into a cruise ship. It had something to do with people who had taken my seats and refused to move. While we were arguing, things shifted and suddenly everyone was skating at half time of the Super Bowl in the middle of the field. (Don’t ask.) 


The next one had to do with skating in Russia and being an official at a competition where the federation began removing the boards and turning off the lights before the events were complete, leaving the last skaters totally in the dark to finish their event. 

That was followed by a dream about a show at our old rink in Aspen that somehow combined with a test session and a hockey game, all at the same time. 

Last night, however, was one of the most wondrous dreams I have ever had. I was outside in the mountains. There was a glistening lake that seemed to go on for miles. It was beautiful. I donned my skates and glided across the vast landscape. I visited with famous skating friends along the way, all of whom were reveling in the extraordinary beauty of the moment.

 Isn't that what skating is really all about? It's the beauty of the moment that captures our minds and imaginations. 

So, I'm putting Anthony away for awhile longer and in favor of all the wonderful memories this sport holds for me - not just from the last 25 years of competitive skating, but for all the years I've truly loved it. 

Me at Rockefeller Plaza 1952

 And my wish for all of you in 2015 is, even if things are not what you imagined, that you never stop dreaming, too. Have a very Happy New Year.

Something in the Water

Technically, it is still summer - at least that's what the calendar says. Here in Colorado, we're getting a taste of fall. Leaves are starting to take on a different hue; the grass is no longer growing like a Chia Pet. There is even a dusting of white stuff on top, and I'm not talking about my hair (I don't think). Life is slowly starting to go into hibernation...except in one place.

Yes, it's "THAT" place and "THAT" time. 
It's yet another season of Baubles, Bangles and Beads.Another season of planes, trains and automobiles - of hotel rooms and finding a nearby Starbucks. And another season (for some young parents and coaches) of Darth Vader Dads and Dragon Lady Moms.

For me? I guess it must be something in the water, but you know what? I'm still here. I'm paid up with Ice Network. I'm stalking Twitter for early season competition reports and videos. I'm applauding the young ones who are the next generation of excitement. I'm hoping they develop tough skins in this millenium of social media prophets and pundits, and that parents help them understand that success does not always come in gold; occasionally it is humbly but proudly displayed in black and blue. 

Now, in my 25th year, I'm mapping out "Final Season - Part Deux." It's somewhat of a curtain call, if you will, for this quarter-century skating mom who still loves our insane sport more than any other. What I'm finding this time around is:

•  I'm not as frantic (though my son might disagree)
• I'm not as fanatic (though my husband might disagree)

I'm simply resigned and I'm ready, though I won't deny that I was hoping this year to be writing like one of my writing alter egos - Anthony Bourdain - and speaking with "no reservations." Alas, however, I'm still working on my PC skills  for one more season as my other alter ego, dear Erma Bombeck, when all I'd really like to do is occasionally verbally (S)MAC(K) someone -only in the literary, and not literal, sense.

I'm not a cynic about our sport by any means. Coming into this year, the exciting part for me is that there's a whole new generation of skating parents out there I haven't met;  a lot of fresh-faced, young and enthusiastic skaters who will be the next generation of brilliant athlete/artists. With all great luck, good coaching - and a lot of dedication, hard work and passion - a privileged few will get to experience the thrill of representing our country at international competitions, Worlds and Olympics. 

However, there is no "Easy Button" to get there. Scotty can't beam you up. There is only a long, winding and often (pitch) forked road with lots of detours and potholes.

So, to those parents, and young coaches, and new followers of Life on the Edge of Skating, I offer up again a blog from 2010. It was far and away my most read blog. I suspect there was a good reason for that. If you just starting out, take time to read 

A FEW CHOICE WORDS OF ADVICE 

understanding that I am not a reporter, but more of a Yoda figure who has been there, done that for a very long time, and who wants parents to understand they are not alone in what they are experiencing, though - like snowflakes - each life, and each situation, is unique. 

For me? Here I sit. Nothing's changed, other than age, time... and just about everything else. It must be something in the water. That's the only explanation why I'm still here. 

I'm grateful for that.

 

Post Script:

Those of you who have followed me for a long time will understand the picture above.

The rest of you will learn, in your own way and in your own time, 

the art of making lemonade. 

The "YoYo" Paradigm Shift

Skating certainly has its highs and lows - kind of like a Yo Yo at times. It can string you along for awhile; it can move smoothly for quite some time before taking a twist and turn that is totally unexpected. 

We have lived the Yo Yo life for 25 years now.The names even seem somewhat like subtitles to the various chapters of our lives:

• Man on the Flying Trapeze - Start learning sidestyle with this simple mount.
• Double or Nothing - A breakaway that goes around twice before landing on the left finger like a trapeze.
• Reverse Trapeze - Looks like a Trapeze but is something else.
• Under Mount - Simple fronstyle mount.
• Over Mount - Under Mount the other way round.
• Over and Under - A simple trick combining the two mounts.
• Braintwister - A fundamental trick from Undermount.
• Barrel Rolls - Great effect, infinite underpasses.
• Split the Atom - A Braintwister but with one more underpass.
• Atom Smasher - Split bottom mount followed by tosses and underpasses.
• Mach 5 - Split bottom mount trick that makes the yo-yo seem like it is floating still while the hands are spinning.
• Pop N Fresh - Split bottom mount trick involving a lot of "pops". Hence the name.
• Boingy Boing - Split bottom mount rhythmic trick.
• Spirit Bomb - nice trick using the Wrist Mount
• Chop Sticks - string tricks, that are done between the fingers of one hand.
• Folds - a loop of string is folded around the yo-yo. Very nice effect.
• Double Green Triangle - a not so difficult variation on Green Triangle
• Triangle symmetry - A very good looking trick for freestyles
• Kwijibo a difficult trick consisting of many hops 

During the past quarter century, we have been tossed and turned. We've been toyed with, tested, beaten and battered; sometimes we're completely unstrung.  

Has it always been fun?

Recently, I've resembled all of those things, and usually within a "New York Minute." First, I'm feeling loose and carefree; the next I'm defining my experience as shackled and constricted. 

But when it comes down to the final definition of Yo Yo, you can choose to feel like 
Randy Jackson and use it as an intro to a diatribe on what's right or wrong with something... ("Yo-yo, listen up..)

OR...you can choose to use it the way we do in our family..

     Y-you're

O-on

  Y-your

  O-own

 

Paradigm Shift: 

"A theory or a group of ideas 
about how something should be done, made, or thought about."

  

Remembrances of Things Past: Confessions of a Hoarder

I admit it. I am a bit of a hoarder. Not as bad as the TV show, but I do have years of memorabilia to sort through. There are trophies, scrap books, clippings and all the accoutrements that come with being a skating parent. There are literally more than 150 old VHS competition video tapes, countless photos, dozens of lanyards and credentials - and boxes of travel folders, hotel reservation confirmations, boarding passes, Starbucks receipts and  - of course - credit card bills. Yes, they are all still tucked in some nook and cranny, some file folder or even old suitcases in either my closet, office or garage. It's a lifetime in the world of competitive figure skating, and one that I look back at with great love and reverence - as well as a bit of confusion as how this all came to be, back in a cold rink in 1990 in Aspen, Colorado during an ice show as we watched the great Robin Cousins skate and this little face turned to us in amazement and said, "I want to do that."

It is now quarter of a century later. I thought I was going to able to abandon my seat in the Lutz corner (for those of you who are uninitiated, it is the place you will find more than 90% of skating moms at competitions) and take my rightful place front row center. I thought I would figure out where I was going to put all this "stuff" so I could start the next, few chapters of my life. I figured it was time to stop hoarding and clean my skating house.

While sorting, pitching and packing, I came to an epiphany of sorts. All the photos - boxes and boxes of them; all the videos, old music cassettes (who

remembers those?), competition medals, test certificates, chaperone credentials, ticket stubs,years of costumes and other memorabilia were actually representative of the really what is really important: Favorite trips, favorite rinks and cities; favorite competitions over the years. Certainly, those mattered. But what is truly the MOST important thing in this quarter century of frozen moments is all the friends I've made along the way. If it were not for skating, we probably would never have gone to some of these places nor met any of these people. Whether they are around the corner, the block or the world, they are the most important part of my collection.

So, I'll  happily hoard my friends. I hope to keep them long after the music stops and the ice is resurfaced and the lights are shut off in the arena. 

  But along the way - starting very soon - look for me in the bleachers or standing by the glass (in a Lutz corner, of course) at some of my favorite past non-qualifying competitions; not to have "Remembrances of Things Past," (well, maybe a little..) but to look into the eyes of the new young ones coming up in the sport while I remind myself about how it all started, how far we've come, and still how far there is to go - in whatever direction life leads us. And, along the way, I hope to surprise a few people, see old friends, make new friends, encourage some young skaters and their parents - and in the process create new memories.  After all, skating is a family. And family is everything.