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“It’s a strange world of language in which skating on thin ice can get you into hot water.”

The morning is still and quiet. I don’t even hear the birds. The house is dark. I like it that way. It feels cooler. The humidity is thick. The sky is clouded and hints at rain. It is another hot day at 79°.

On my dance card for the week I have uke practice tonight, a lesson tomorrow and a concert on Friday. The music this week is love songs of the 60’s. On Friday night I have a play. It’s a busy week.

The dogs are asleep on the couch. They do not love the heat, especially Nala, the boxer. Her short muzzle means she overheats more quickly and pants. When that happens, I put on the AC to keep her comfortable. Right now, though, she is deep asleep and snoring just a bit.

When I was a kid, we had watermelon seed spitting contests. I never won. It was the same with cherry pits. I just didn’t have the technique.

Every kid I knew had a bike, roller Skates, ice skates and a sled. The bikes had back brakes and no gears. The roller skates needed a key. The ice skates only needed to be laced tightly. The sleds were wooden with metal runners. Most had a rope tied to the front so the sled could be hauled up the hill. I remember the rope got icy. My sled had a wooden steering bar across the top. It sort of worked. My ice skates were white. Every girl had white skates. Each skate had a single blade. Balancing was the key to skating. I fell a few times before I figured that out. My bike had a metal basket on the front. It had a long license plate down the back fender. I got the plate at the police station. Things fell out of my basket when I hit a bump. My roller skates were tightened to my shoes. A strap went across the top of my foot. Sometimes your shoes came loose from the skate bolts while the strap stayed attached. I’d have to lift my foot high into the air with the dangling skate and walk to where I could sit and put the skate back on. I loved the sound of the skates on the pavement and the tingling on the bottom of my foot.

I still have a pair of ice skates and a wooden sled, but I use them for winter decorations. I also have a bike I used to ride all the time, but I can’t remember the last time I did. I have a pair of rusty roller skates with no key. All of them are quite valuable to me. They are the holders of memories.

This post first appeared on Keep The Coffee Coming, please read the originial post: here

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“It’s a strange world of language in which skating on thin ice can get you into hot water.”