Datebook: Thursday, February 1st ~ 2007

This is the cool down period of ice-dancing. This is the time we think about new programs, new music, and new costumes. And where we finally have to meet the challenge of the Junior and Senior OD for next year—folk/country.

What does this mean? Folk/Country? Is this Tanya Tucker meets Joan Baez? Is this Caribbean Steel Drums blended to bagpipes? Are we going to be watching Riverdance and Flamingo?

Frankly, I am a bit worried. The best advice we have ever been given was to find something that the kids like to skate to, something they identify with, something they can make their own and let them skate what they feel.

I can’t see them flowing to “Puff the Magic Dragon”, “Up, Up, and Away” or “California Dreamin” (Folk) anymore than I can see them twizzling to “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy”, “Honkytonk Badonkadonk”, or “Earl” (Country).

So what are we all in for next year at Lake Placid? I don’t just mean the skaters, I meant us, the audience. Some of the music possibilities are frightening but then imagine the costumes. Uh-oh.

I know, I had you at “Lake Placid”.

But face it.

It is coming up as the next big event for most of us who are not going to Colorado Springs, Germany, or Japan. With the flip of the calendar today, Lake Placid is now less than six months away. Reservations have to be made, Tums have to be purchased, the NASDAQ has to prepare for the surge in crystal purchases.

And a larger problem for me, I have to decide about a puppy.

I haven’t discussed my other life much, since it often seems like there is no other life that is not somehow tethered to an ice skate.

But, I am a “dog person”.

This is a bit more than just a lover of canines.

I used to show dogs. I bred two litters but hated the selling part so I gave that up and became a dog handler at dog shows and then became an AKC dog show judge.

Being a dog show judge was never a problem until my daughter started competing in ice-dancing. At skating competitions the decisions are made by a panel of judges. At dog shows the winners are selected by one judge.

One judge standing in the middle of the ring pointing her finger.

One person leaves happy and about 150 leave thinking the last time you had your eyes examined was by T. J. Eckleburg between East and West Egg.

So it has become a bit harder for me to hand out the purple and gold ribbon. I would like to be able to elevate some second mark scores but I am stuck with the technical marks only. Anyway, my new judging plan is that I won’t accept any assignment unless it is warm, exotic, or has good shopping.

So my husband asked, “Why is your next assignment in Cleveland then?”

I hesitated answering of course.

Cleveland is neither warm nor exotic, and I am going to be at a cattle palace—probably not a shopping Mecca.

“Whoa,” he said, “I feel like two worlds have collided.”

I sighed. “Well, Nationals are going to be held in Cleveland in two years.”

“And what, you’re the scout?”

“No. I don’t know. It seemed like an omen when they asked me to judge in Cleveland, maybe symbolic.”

He doesn’t answer this of course, anymore than he will ever tell me what a cloud shape reminds him of. Any mention of symbolism usually sends him to the garage in search of a hand tool.

We have raised Great Danes for many years but in October we lost our last one who was only four years old. Danes are gentle giants but alas, they do not live long—typically seven years. I would like to think that this constant heartbreak is why my daughter is not a dog person but I am not sure. She carries a lint roller in her purse and seems to get goose bumps when animal hair clings to anything she is wearing. And she wears black, need I say more.

We, (meaning I) are trying to decide what type of dog to get after so many years with the Apollo of dogs, and when the best time to get a puppy would be.

I need to balance potential puppy training with skating schedules. Summer would seem ideal except for preparation for Lake Placid, Lake Placid, and the recovery from Lake Placid.

“Why don’t you stay home this year and just let her go on her own?” my husband queries.

Statements like that are defined in the dictionary under “When time stands still”.

“I could never do that.” I sputter.

“Why?” asks this meat and potatoes man I married.

“Well,” I am almost speechless as so many answers try to funnel from my brain to my mouth. “I don’t know, it’s about karma and sending in good vibes and auras, it’s about how we all support each other, the moms, who sit in the stands afraid to watch, but needing to watch.

“We’re almost like a family” I finish quietly. “I can’t “not go” to Lake Placid.”

“Why don’t you find a hotel that takes dogs then.”

“We can’t “not stay” at the Golden Arrow. We always stay there.”

He looks at me.

“It’s on the lake,” I continue. “It’s symbolic of the turmoil and chaos that vies within our skating souls.”

He goes to the garage to look for a wrench or a screwdriver.

Mombo