Skating on the Holidays

On the day before Christmas, I went with my uncle, aunt, and cousin to skate at the Squaw Valley Olympic rink. Only my cousin and I intended to skate; she is an figure skater, while I use hockey skates. We took the gondola up. I cannot call it a cable car, since 'cable car' indicates something else to me as a San Franciscan. The gondola which was packed tight with a melange of nationalities, including Russian who were either temperamental or merely sounded that way due to the harshness of the Scythian tongue. The gondola scaled the cliff over the houses until it became vertical and swang over the precipice, then dipped slightly, and went over the next precipice. I am profoundly glad that I do not have vertigo, but the tiniest touch of dizziness while staring down at the candid abyss is quite thrilling.

Once we arrived at the open air ice rink, I rented some K2 hockey skates, which were too soft to do proper crossovers, as well as locked in terms of the top fastener, although my inability to skate backwards is entirely my fault. I handed over my camera to my uncle and aunt, but few of the pictures came out, through a combination of sun and ice. Fortunately, I have upgraded to a digital camera, despite lingering Luddite tendencies (the dislike, rather than the smashing), so the surviving pictures were quite sufficient. As my cousin and I circled the rink, always in the same direction - I would have expected that the direction would be changed after the zamboni had smoothed the ice - we had a nice chance to chat. My other, older cousins had a chance to play together up at Tahoe, but this one was too young, and my parents too wearied, to enjoy this experience.

That night, Dad and I went the 9:00 Christmas Eve carol service, which involved candles in a cup and no communion (although Christ the King Lutheran does not celebrate communion as often as the Episcopal Church). Pastor Chip is a good preacher, but his sermon was middling in content as well as delivery. After three other services I can't fault him on weaker delivery, but I can understand why Won Jae Hur, the interim pastor at my church in San Francisco, chose to have guest preachers throughout the Advent season.

Christmas Day itself is a matter for the family alone, so I shall say no more about it.

On the feast of Stephen, or Boxing Day, we breakfasted late but well. I once again went to Squaw with my cousin. Instead of going to open air rink at the top of the mountain, however, we went to the minuscule rink which is part of the Resort at Squaw Creek (over dinner, my brother explained who owned which bits at Squaw). At first I forgot to specify hockey skates, and the apathetic Russian teenage attendant gave me figure skates - I had forgotten that guys who do not skate regularly use generic ice skates, not hockey skates. After two changes of skates, I finally found a pair that suited me. The circumference of the rink was restricted, but I could adjust to that circumstance. The scarring of the ice, however, was so severe that more than one person remarked that the skating was better outside the rink than in it. I tried skating on the inside of the rink rather than the periphery, but it was not much better and it was much tighter - I'm a hockey player, not a figure skater! My cousin took little girls in hand and became absorbed in teaching them. I did a fair bit of skating, but I also watched the Squaw Valley dog sled take off. The dogs were barking and bouncing up and down, but once the signal was given, they disappeared in a flash. We supped that night at the Six Peaks Grille at the Resort, which was considerably fancier than the places I favor, but it was delicious and filling, and what more can you ask of a good meal?