Pure Imagination

I have a wonderful young friend. He is nine years old with an amazing shock of curly red hair. He's creative, funny and fun, and he just happens to be a skater who is competing Freestyle 2 and whose favorite jump is Salchow. He calls me "Mrs. Allison" because he's polite like that. I call him "Master Jack." 

We got to spend some quality time together at the 2020 US Figure Skating National Championships in Greensboro, North Carolina this past January - what now, in this time of pandemic, seems like a lifetime ago. Jack got to meet some of his favorite senior level skaters, like Madison Hubbell (you cannot fault his good taste), as well as Nathan Chen, among many others over the course of the weekend. 


He sat in the stands absolutely transfixed, watching every edge and every nuance. He was absorbing it all like a sponge; I was impressed. 

One day, on the way to the arena, Jack and I were talking about what skating might look like in the future - not in the near term, but a hundred years from now. Jack pondered my question, came up with a few ideas and then we both promptly forgot amidst the excitement of all that was going on around us. 

Enter COVID-19 that turned our worlds upside down. Like all kids, Jack was coping with school at home, not being able to see his friends and not being able to skate. I sent Jack a letter with words of encouragement; in return, he sent me a lovely letter written in his best cursive. We were now officially Pen Pals. 

Recently, Jack's been skating again on limited sessions, like just about all the skaters who have rinks that have been able to open. In chatting with his mom, I remembered Jack's and my conversation and I asked if he would be willing to use his creative talents to tell me, in words and artwork, what he thought skating in 2120 might look like.
Master Jack gladly responded with his insights:

"I think in 100 years, skating will have septuple axels and salchows. 

There will lifts in pairs where the male jumps in the air while lifting his partner.  For costumes, I think ladies will be able to wear two piece costumes and boys will be able to wear shorts. 

In dance, I think there will little rockets on the back of their skates to make them go even faster.  

Possibly back flips will be allowed in competition.

For all skaters, I think they will have the ability to have fireworks coming out of their skates. I think we will be able to have all events in outside arenas where the temperature is controlled.  There will be fireworks during every event, and the fireworks are what will play the program music."

I won't be around to see if Jack's predictions come true, but somehow I don't think he's that far off. At least I hope not. Because what comes from the pure imagination of a child is often our future. I certainly hope so.

Post Script:

July 17, U.S. Figure Skating did something remarkable. In the midst of the continuing pandemic, they brought us skating again - and hope - by presenting the first virtual competition ever attempted: The Peggy Fleming Trophy. It wasn't live, but it was skating - and a glimpse into what our future may be, at least for awhile. With so many lows of late, it was something that got us all excited about how today's technology could bring us back together via watch parties, Twitter and Facebook, to enjoy and critique this very unique event. It took a lot of work, imagination, and skaters willing to put themselves out there in front of a virtual judging panel with just a scant few weeks of training after being off the ice for months. They became the Alpha adopters - the vanguard of what skating might become. There were no fireworks (though there may have been a few rockets on skates involved for some of the competitors), but this new world was something we certainly wouldn't have predicted ...just like my buddy Master Jack's vision for the future. 

You know, he may be on to something.

What Matters Most - Life In The Time of COVID-19

Photo courtesy US Figure Skating.
Purchase of masks helps support Memorial Fund.

It's been more than a year since I did a blog. I thought I was done, but apparently I can't escape - particularly when life has dealt us challenges unlike we've ever experienced before. If we survive this, let's hope none of us - in whatever time we have left on this "mortal coil" - will ever have to experience anything like it again. 

Which brings me to this new musing.

There's a new "normal" now that's a bit different than the one I talked about in 2009 when I first started sharing my thoughts about life on the edge of skating, though some things seem to never change. Like the mysteries of giving birth for the first time, this chapter that's unfolding before us does not come with a set of clear instructions. We read, watch and listen to experts, but then we are pretty much left to figure it out for ourselves. The phrase, "We're all in this together," while true in the universal sense, sometimes seems awkward and discomforting during a pandemic. 

I could go on with a diatribe, but we're all doing that in our own personal-planet lives. This is meant to be an observation of what seems to be happening in our molecular world of ice, and how we might be able to apply it to the bigger picture of life on a decidedly different edge. 

Like virtually everything, skating came to a hard stop in late February or early March, depending on where you live on this planet. What was promising to be an exciting third year of the quadrennial cycle leading up to the 2022 Olympics evaporated in a nanosecond. The ice was figuratively, and literally, pulled out from under us, leaving  nowhere to turn. People were frozen in strange places, many far away from home. Some found solace through sheltering in place with friends, becoming unwitting roommates for more than three months. Most found themselves alone with their thoughts and fears; forced to examine themselves in a way they may never have done before. 

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair,”

~ Charles Dickens.  Tale of Two Cities  

Winter of despair? Definitely. 
Spring of hope? Nope. 
Summer of enlightenment? Stay tuned.

The encouraging thing is that we're a resilient lot. Brilliant and resourceful, coaches, clubs, skaters, choreographers, contemporary and ballet dancers, and personal trainers discovered Zoom as a way to further development, and to keep enthusiasm from waning in the face of - well - no faces or places to train. 

A massive disadvantage suddenly became an unexpected boon to learn from people they would rarely, if ever, have a chance to access during day-to-day training preparation. Those who had the resources and willingness to take a new path, found a brave new world - and a way to stay connected.

Now, with rinks in our 50 seemingly different and individual country-states here in the U.S. starting to sputter to a start - and with the future of a season still uncharted but most likely unexplored territory - it is incumbent on all of us to step up, and back, to take a bird's eye look at the horizon. 

As a parent of a now-professional skater and choreographer, my goal is laser focused: to love unconditionally and non-judgmentally; to be there to bolster and encourage. By truly listening, we came to the realization that our bottom line hasn't changed; the love of what's been our lives for more than 32 years is still there. 

But like all love, it's challenging us to find new paths. Being able to navigate the changes, being flexible, encouraging and supportive is the foundation of the "emotional home," the safe place we spent years constructing in this sport. Sharing that has been the greatest gift.

Life in the time of COVID-19 is allowing all of us to continue to build to our strengths,  and make sure we supply a solid foundation. Our greatest challenge isn't having to  wear masks - or possibly not having a "normal" skating season. Frankly, that's the least important out of all this. What's important is staying on firm, supportive ground and not sinking into a mire of mental quicksand. That's our newest test. That's how we'll survive, and thrive until we find our footing again. Just being there and present is truly what matters most.     

Sightseeing

 

I am packing for San Jose today. I leave for Nationals early this coming Thursday morning. And like the last few, this is another year when I can be a cheerleader since I have no "horse in the race." However, this year is the Triple Crown, the World Series, the Indy 500 of skating because it is the end of the quadrennial and that means only one thing in in skatingdom - Olympics! 

It's always a time for me to get somewhat teary-eyed remembering back, oh nearly 30 years now, to those first forays onto the ice. How quickly that time has gone. 

I don't mean to sound maudlin at all. I wouldn't trade a moment of it. In the early years of competitions, it was fun and games. We'd go to the rink, warm up, skate, go out for pizza and go sightseeing. Even if it was somewhere close to home and a place we'd been many times before, we'd find fun things to do. 

Somehow, that all changed when things got "real." Not real in the truly real sense; real as most skate parents perceive real to be. 

For a way-too-long time, sightseeing at competitions - both non-qualifying and qualifying - became something like this:

• Map out how far it is from your hotel to Starbucks
• Look at the practice schedule
• Map out how far it is from the hotel to the practice rink
• Figure out the time between getting from practice back to the main rink
• Map out how far the main rink is from Starbucks
• Figure out if you can bring Starbucks into the main rink or do you have to bolt it down outside, or find a way to sneak it in
• Look on line to find where you are sitting and how far away it is from the nearest bathroom
• Find out who you are sitting near because you may need to move
• Calculate how many laps you need to do around the concourse to get some modicum of exercise, then not do it
• Find the nearest cafe that sells wine in the arena
• Look for a restaurant close by so you are sure not to miss a moment of official practice ice
• Look for over-priced essentially junk food on the concourse because there isn't time to go out for a real meal (oh those Nachos..)
• Buy souvenirs from the vendors that you end up throwing on the ice, never to be seen again

I mention all of this because if you are a relatively new skating parent, or even a skating fan, I'm mapping out what your reality may be. I know some of you are sitting there saying, "Oh no, that's not ME. I love to get out and see the sights." Okay. I believe you. I used to say that, too. I still do. And, I'd like to say that it has changed. Sadly, it has not. 
Yes, I do get out more now that I don't have a competitor, but when I go to Nationals, most of my best sightseeing could be categorized more as sightings. 

Nationals is an annual family reunion on steroids (not the USADA kind; we don't have to pee in a cup - well, at least not on purpose). While you would like think you can escape from  the arena, chances are you won't even make it out the door. I rarely make it from one section of seat signs on to another on the concourse without getting stopped by another skating family, a skater, former skater, coach, official, friend or fan. I'm as guilty as everyone else when it comes to this. I have my friends whom I stalk at Nationals. We've even been known to text, Tweet or Facebook to find one another. 
"Where are you?" 
"I don't see you."
"Look up. Im' in section 108."
"WAIVE!"
"I still can't find... Oh, I SEE YOU now!" 

It's a game we play every year that allows you to either see your favorite family members - or avoid that crazy relative you can't escape if they corner you. 


So, as I pack for San Jose, I'm grateful that I've "been there; done that." If I see the light of day, I'll count my blessings. If I make it to their fabulous art museum again, I'll consider myself lucky. The good thing is that I KNOW where Starbucks is and how to get to my favorite restaurants quickly. The rest? I'll map it out when I get there.

As we do our sightseeing in the SAP, all I really want to do is see our athletes do their best, no matter the outcome. Good luck to all who are looking to earn their way to PyeongChang. If you make the team, it will be a sightseeing trip like none you've ever imagined. 

Madison Chock and Jeremy Abbott - Photo by NBC

Pentimento, Kintsugi and The Art of Figure Skating

I am a huge fan of CBS Sunday Morning. I have been watching it for decades. I've found their stories wonderfully informative, entertaining and thought-provoking. This morning, however, watching a piece by Faith Salie on "How Art Can Help Shape Your New Year's Resolutions," I had an epiphany, of sorts. 

First, let me say that I have a mostly-unused university minor in art history. I say "unused" the same way I say "algebra." While I served as a trustee of our Fine Arts Center with great reverence and pride for three years, it required me to use my knowledge of art about as much as I use algebra.

Anyway, in her piece on New Year's Resolutions, Ms. Salie used art to make a very good point; one that was not lost on me as I start to pack my bags and get ready to head to San Jose for the U.S. National Figure Skating Championships where our new Olympic Team will be named. From the depths of my schooling, Ms. Salie reminded me about two of my favorite things in the art world: Pentimento and Kintsugi. 

A Matisse drawing with erasure marks.

CBS NEWS

Using her words, here is the definition of Pentimento:

"This past year, I learned two life-changing ideas from the world of art.One is "pentimento," which I first encountered when I saw a drawing by the artist Henri Matisse. 

As I got closer, I could see that Matisse had sketched over and over and didn't entirely erase his scribbles.

A friend explained this is called pentimento, which is Italian for "repent" -- to regret, to change your mind. Matisse, a master, left his stumbles for us to see, and the ghosts of his mistakes inspire us to strive not for perfection, but for creation."

Mind blown. A master left his stumbles for us to see, and the ghosts of his mistakes inspire us to strive not for perfection, but for creation. Hmm..

Then there was this from Ms. Salie on Kintsugi:

Kintsugi -
filling in a ceramic's cracks with gold.
C

BS NEWS

"The other notion is "kintsugi," which is the Japanese method of repairing broken ceramics with gold.

The idea is that the cracks of something are part of its history and should be kept visible, even shiny! It's the art of embracing damage while making something whole.

An object becomes more beautiful because of its flaws." 

Wait. What? Repair something broken with gold, embracing the damage while keeping it visible, and even shiny because the flaws are beautiful? 

Ms. Salie continued her piece with this observation: 

"What if we consider kintsugi and pentimento in our New Year's resolutions? The word itself, "re-solution," suggests we return to our shortcomings, chronically trying to solve ourselves again and again." 

Without even knowing it, Faith Salie just summed up everything about figure skating. The fact that only three men, three women, three dance teams and one pairs team - a GRAND TOTAL OF FOURTEEN ATHLETES - will represent our country at the XXIII Winter Olympic Games just mere weeks from now is important, but not totally the point. 

After San Jose, there will be many who will feel imperfect, cracked, flawed or perhaps broken - either in their own minds, or made to feel so by those around them - because they were not "perfect." It will take awhile for them to look at what they did, the hours they trained and the art they presented to realize that the gold they may not have collected this time, on this frozen canvas, does not mean that what they did to get there should be dismissed or discarded. Whether they  choose to continue to create, or move to another discipline in life, make no mistake about this one very important thing: What each one left us with was their personal form of art. The gold may not have been there for the crowds to see atop the podium, but it was - and will be - forever in their hearts. Despite critics; despite the crowd, these artist-athletes were chosen to exhibit their works because they earned their place in the grand gallery of San Jose. They may have left flaws for us to see, but in doing so they presented heart.  

"But we'll never be perfect, so perhaps our re-solutions can involve being humble enough to shed light on our cracks -- and brave enough to repair them visibly. Maybe that's a kind of time travel in which we make peace with past and future at the same time."

Words  for all of us to consider, to live by, and to use as part of our re-solution heading into San Jose, Ms. Salie. Thank you for helping bring clarity to our flaws. Happy New Year. 

Advice to the Lutzlorn and Things I Won't Miss at U.S. Figure Skating Championships 2018 This Olympic Year

I have been spending a lot of time in the role that seems to suit me - being a small, green and war-weary trooper who everyone seems to think offers sage advice. I'm not quite sure how I achieved such revered status and respect. I don't seem to get it from within my four walls (which are appropriately decked out with lush padding), so I'll just go with it out there in cyberspace. I guess that, along the way, I somehow earned my scars and stripes.

Which brings me to my week. 

I have been in contact with no less than three skating parents who, if their ridiculously talented kids do what we know they will in San Jose next week, will be faced with the task of summiting  Mount Olympus for the first time. 

There are so many questions; so many financial concerns; so much fear and trepidation surrounding:

• How do I get there
• Where do I stay
• How do I pay
• Can I cut costs
• Will I see my skater
• Should I get tickets
• Is it safe
• I don't speak the language
• Can I drink the water
• What if I get sick

(and so on, and so on, and shoobee doobee doo)

I guess because I'm old and green, I'm supposed to know. 

So, I've been trying to answer all the questions and allay the trepidation. I've been  networking my  parent friends with my legion of wonderful Korean friends who have been there for us since 2008 when they discovered my skater at the Grand Prix Final. I cannot tell you how truly special these girls - now women - are to me. Actually, they are way

beyond special; they are part of my worldwide extended family that spans many continents, countries and cities. I have learned so much from all them over the years. The laughs and the stories we share are some of my most treasured memories. When I put out a message on Facebook for help, my Korean family answered the call immediately. I am so grateful.They jumped in with lodging suggestions, offers of assistance in Seoul and at the Games; transportation ideas. I had an instant South Korean travel and guide agency at the ready. How special is that to have those kind of friends halfway around the world with a 15 hour time difference. They were answering me in real time. I'm convinced they don't sleep, but then neither do I, and I adore them!

Which leads me to the second part of this blog. 

Here are the things I won't miss as I wing my way west to San Jose on Thursday and prepare myself to cheer on our athletes: 

• I won't miss any event after I arrive for which I am gratefully ticketed
• I won't miss another opportunity to sit in the Lutz corner (force of habit)
• I won't miss saying hi and hugging every skater, judge and coach I know
• I won't miss hanging with my Tweeps and Facebook friends because they are special
• I won't miss attending the Hall of Fame party
• I won't miss helping out at Friends of Figure Skating brunch
• I won't miss, as a Gold Sponsor of Destination PyeongChang, the Olympic Team Sendoff
• I won't miss seeing my son because we both know how important it is to be there to support the next generation of gladiators who will glide into the most breathtaking experience of their lives with one of the greatest responsibilities they have ever shouldered - that of representing our country with the best they have to offer as athletes, no matter what the outcome
  

The last thing I won't miss is what my competitor parent friends are going though now: The sick-to-your-stomach feeling of knowing, and not knowing, that all your love, support, time, money and life has come down to a few moments on a frozen surface in the U.S. that could lead to another frozen surface half a world away and in front of a worldwide audience. 

Being excited, scared and so incredibly proud thinking that you could see your kid march into that stadium wearing the mantel of Olympic Athlete - that is truly priceless.

Jeremy Abbott taking photos during Opening Ceremonies in Sochi

While I will miss being in PyeongChang and being with my other family, I won't miss that feeling of being a competitor's mom at all. I will revel in my memories of Vancouver and Sochi while I cheer for all those who represent us proudly and so well.

It's not easy being green..either from nausea, or from being Yoda.
See you in San Jose.


(This blog is dedicated to our Team Leader in Sochi, Kathy Slack. May you smile down on all of us. We miss you terribly.)

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!

Blast Off...

 

It’s that time again. The season has begun. With it comes a cacophony of voices similar to the screeching sounds reminiscent of Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds.”

Skating boards are aflutter. Social media hangs on every tweet or post. The flock has returned to the nest and they are looking for the next new leader to take them, in wedge formation, headlong into infinity and beyond, or at least into this second half of the quadrennial leading to 2018.

Now that I’m on the outside looking in (or is it the other way around), I find myself concerned for the fledglings in the flock. Up until now, they have flown somewhat under the radar, protected by Regional competition and the occasional foray into the wild blue yonder – meaning across one border or another to sample what it is like to fly in the Jetstream; to test their wings.

However, once they’ve come of age, once they’ve landed at Nationals and earned their position in the wedge, the air becomes decidedly more rarified. The scrutiny becomes more intense. There are many people offering advice, observing, criticizing and pontificating based on every scrap of video posted on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and YouTube.

The cacophony rises and falls with every practice, every run-through and every warm up competition at a local rink. New leaders are chosen and discarded by the minute, by the jump; by the spin; by the music or by the belief that a coach will somehow bestow magical flying powers to boots and blades and mystically infuse the chosen with interpretive talents yet to be observed.

Silly.

Let’s come down from the clouds for a moment. The fledglings are just that. For the most part, they are young. They may have athletic prowess that seems beyond their tender years, but they don’t have the flight time, or the experience with the tremendous amount of pressure born of unreasonable expectation. Sure, some will shine – for a while. Some will soar. Some will be grounded for mechanical failure. Some will, unfortunately, crash and burn. Learning to fly takes practice; it takes time to hone your skills as the pilot of your internal and physical ship.

My hope for this season is that those who place sometimes inappropriate pressure born of unrealistic expectations find within themselves some level of tolerance for those learning to navigate the sometimes not-so-friendly skies. After all, you’re not the pilot. You’re not the co-pilot. You're the flight attendant. So, like those of us who have lived this for so long, fasten your seatbelt, observe the no smoking (from your ears) signs, and if the oxygen mask drops from the ceiling, take a DEEP BREATH.

It’s going to be a long and bumpy ride to PyeongChang.

Make sure you know what the flock is going on before you blast off.

 

Thanks for the Memories..And So It Goes

Rewind to August 18, 2009:
"Welcome to "Life on the Edge," a place we have lived for more than 20 years of being figure skating parents.

By way of background, we are both professional communicators. We have spent our lives either reporting or promoting other people's lives. We have been observers and chroniclers; we have been students of many aspects of life - particularly the peculiar life of figure skating. What started as an avocation has become a vocation. What started as a diversion has gone through obsession and into observation.

We are on the final pages of the biography our skater has written during his competitive adventure. But we are just beginning to write our autobiography - where we have been, what it has taken and what roads we have yet discover as we reach the denouement.

Warning: Unless you have a crystal ball, do not attempt to write the ending. Like us, just sit back and enjoy the ride, and hopefully the writing."

January 27, 2015:
That was 207 blog posts ago. That was nearly six years ago. The "final pages" now read more like 27 volumes of the encyclopedia of skating.

If I had a crystal ball, I would not have predicted the end quite like this. Certainly, we have had more than a fair share of comedy and drama. We've had cornucopia of life experiences that played out very publically, and also extremely privately.

Through my blog - which truly has been more of a journal of our journey - I hope I have given you a different perspective of competitive figure skating. If you are an observer or a fan, my wish is that you now know more about what it is like to be a skating parent. If you are a parent, I hope you found some universal truths in my musings. If you are a coach, I hope you understand parents better through what I've written; that you  learn to respect us - and that we, in turn, learn to respect you. We both have to earn that, you know. It is not a right just because we are who we are.

So, as abruptly as I began, I now end. My E Tickets are retired. My washing machine life goes from whatever "normal" is to a new setting. Life on the Edge of Skating has been a ride. We can only wait to see what's next. Thank you for joining me on this wild and wonderful ride. I'll see you soon, though. I'm not just sure how or when, but I'll let you know right here, and on Twitter, too. I promise.

Allison Scott

A NEW RELATIONSHIP

Dear 2015,
I know we just met late last night, but somehow I find myself attracted to you. I hope this isn't too forward of me; after all, it's only been a few hours. I'm going to take my chances, though, and let you know how I feel. If this ends up unrequited, so be it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

The first time I saw you, it was from a distance. Surrounded by people in Times Square, you were resplendent. All eyes were focused on you, including mine. I was tired. My last relationship - the one with 2014 - was exhausting. On so many levels it was fulfilling, but somehow incomplete. Seeing how many bright faces were focused on you last night, I thought to myself, "Self: Maybe it's time to let go of the past and look for something new. You learned a lot from 2014. He was a tough taskmaster. But there's something fresh and exciting with this new 2015. Give it a shot."

Change is always difficult, 2015. For those last few seconds before you dropped into people's lives, including mine, I was reluctant to let go. Clinging to what's familiar is always easier than taking a deep breath, opening an unfamiliar door and walking in. There's comfort in what you know. But, familiarity can breed complacency. There was nothing more 2014 could offer our relationship. Looking at those millions in Times Square who were celebrating your arrival, I felt perhaps they knew something I didn't.

My loyalty to 2014 made me turn away. I thought to myself, "Self: You invested so much into this relationship. Is it fair to be so fickle and give it up so quickly in favor of a handsome new face? You don't know this 2015. No one does. You might want to think about this."

So, I thought. I remembered. I laughed. I cried a bit.

The next time I saw you was about an hour later. You'd left your fans in New York reveling in the streets and rife with anticipation. They were filled with the promises you hadn't yet made. They were ready to march with you without question. You were on the move and I was drawn to follow, but somehow you'd disappeared from view. I found myself feeling uncomfortable and anxious. You didn't even know me and you'd abandoned me. I was going to  be stuck with 2014 for another year. I started to panic. I couldn't face 2014 again. I wanted to move on.

At that precise moment, exactly an hour after first witnessing your arrival, a text message appeared on my phone. 
"Happy New Year!"
The number wasn't familiar. 
"Happy New Year to you. Who is this?"
For a moment, there was no reply.
"I'm just a friend. 2015 will be spectacular. I wanted to share that with you."
 "Thank you, whoever you are. I hope you're right."
The text fell silent. Once again, I was alone and in search of you. Now, I was more than curious. I was intrigued. I had to find you; I needed to know more.

Exhaustion overtook me. I must have fallen asleep. The next thing I knew, it was nearly an hour later. My door flew open. A frigid breeze blew into the living room. Outside, the Christmas lights in my courtyard created back lighting; a mystical halo effect that seemed both ethereal and somewhat surreal. Was I dreaming? Could it be you?

The clock struck Midnight. In the distance was the sound of fireworks. Two glasses were raised. A kiss was exchanged. 

You may call me fickle. Maybe I am. But I've lived life on the edge for so many years, taking on this new relationship seems normal, somehow. Let's walk together for about 365 days and see how it goes. I won't make any promises. I know you won't either. It's all about the journey, really. We'll find the destination soon enough.
With Love,
Allison 

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.