Monday, December 15, 2014
Word of the Week - 41
From 1940 until 1966, Pasadena was home of the Winter Garden, a vast-seeming, free-standing ice rink that briefly served as location for a live weekly music-and-ice-skating tv show called Frosty Frolics. That was around 1951. I think it must have run a bit longer than the one year, for I remember it, and Your Hit Parade, as family viewing. Frosty Frolics was likely the inspiration, however wrong-minded, for my one attempt at ice skating. Weak ankles, my neighbor and friend Susie Miller declared. That I went on, not too far into the future, to dance en pointe never quite erased the sense of failure brought on by ankles that wobbled. My very first time, yet my inability to achieve instant perfection kept me from trying again, even wanting to try again. I also never learned to ride a bicycle.
There is, I swear, something about emotions that accompany the onset of Christmas that bring up memories, welcome or not. For the moment I trust that these thoughts of, if not humiliation, then certainly not triumph have come to be acknowledged and released. They've been taking up shelf space for far too long. I still wobble, only now I wobble better. I have become the definition of wobbling.