Datebook: Monday, November 25th ~ 2007

At the Thanksgiving table of life, the ice-dancers will always be sitting at the kiddies’ card table in the corner. Oh, we get a tablecloth and real napkins, but the china doesn’t match, and a few of the chairs are a bit wobbly. Tanith and Ben, and the new extreme lifts, seemed to be changing that forecast a bit, but the new event coverage doesn’t bode well for pairs or ice-dancing. Case in point, Vise and Trent just had their Quad throw ratified at a Grand Prix event. Good luck finding a news source hailing this history making accomplishment.

As a journalism teacher, I am always shaking my head at the missed opportunities that writers pass when they go to the competitions. It is the standard to go to the winners and ask how they felt about their skate; but it is also so predictable. It’s like asking me if I want nuts on my hot fudge sundae.

There are so many more interesting stories out there.

Every skater at a regional or sectional competitive level has made a decision on the path his/her life will take, and it has more to do with what will be given up than what will be gained. The gains are really measured on an individual scale, and, like my weight, should not be the subject of scrutiny or comparison.

This is a sport where children move across the country, where families physically divide to support the skating enterprise, where homes are mortgaged, and where injuries come at you fast and usually on 1/8 of an inch of steel. There are a plethora of Hallmark and Lifetime movies out there, skating in circles on the ice with stories to tell.

My students tell me, “We are a society that only cares about the winners,” and I shudder to think this might be true.

I tell them, “Yes, we do care about winners, but we have not forgotten to take notice of the journey—that is the most interesting part. If we truly only cared about winners there would be no televised sporting events; there would only be scroll lines with end scores running at the bottom of television screens.”

Maybe this is the real disappointment I have with televised figure skating competitions. Those selected for airtime typically are from singles events, and plans are very rarely altered to take in the best skates of the day from pairs and ice dancing. Those two disciplines are generally never featured. Well, unless there is excessive bloodshed or loss of consciousness.

My students still bemoan the challenge of finding a good story. I tell them (and The Powers That Be--if they cared to hear my opinion) that it really isn’t that difficult; they just need to shift their focus a bit. For skating, what happens on the ice is always just going to be about having a good skate or not, on that one given day. That is the filmed version. There has to be more to the written story.

When President Kennedy died in the 60’s, thousands of journalists descended on Washington to write pieces for their papers about the mourners and the great tragedy of our nation. Jimmy Breslin, a Tribune reporter, probably epitomizes the evocative dignity of the man in his piece, “It’s An Honor” in which he interviews the gravedigger for the President’s final resting place.

I think we need to look for some real stories out there with our skaters.

And the real stories are what happened before they take their guards off, and after they put them back on.

We need to recognize that life can be fun and interesting at the kiddie table of life.

Mombo

LIVE FROM WAKE FOREST - Saturday, November 17th ~ 2007

As I posted at the begining of the week, I'm not sure who really enjoys these competitions. They are such emotional roller coasters and to paraphrase William Carlos Williams, 'so much depends on shiny medals on the staggered podiums.'

The weather turned cold at the end of the week and the rink seemed to get even more arctic. Guests at the Hampton Inn started bringing the decorator pillows from the beds in their rooms to sit upon so they wouldn't meld to the metal bleachers in the Forest Rink.

All of the events were well-attended but even the judges commented that the Junior Free Dance was a spectacular event. The remaining five teams brought their best game to the ice and laid down the gauntlet so to speak. At the end of the event, no one could predict the winner or the order they would fall. And sadly, with such high level skating, only four teams could advance to Nationals although all five clearly had earned the right to go. So the ending was a bit bittersweet, but what a tribute to what ice-dancing has become--a powerful sport that is embraced by a group of dedicated athletes who will continue to make the run for the gold a challenging event.

The competitor's party is to be held at the complex with promised games of Soccer and Dodgeball, food, and a DJ--but by the sounds coming from rooms on the second floor it seems like many decided to keep their twenty dollar ticket price and party at "home". Since most of us have cars to pack, or planes to catch at breakfast time, I'm hoping the celebration can be contained to one or two rooms.

At least I'll have my cow bells to ring on the drive home if I start feeling sleepy.

Mombo

LIVE FROM WAKE FOREST - Friday, November 16th ~ 2007

This is was a day that I questioned why I didn't put my daughter is some calm and easy sport--like bull-riding or high cliff diving.

Skating after all, has all those colloquial attachment phrases, "On thin ice", "the ice is slippery", "it's a slip and slide world out there".

Okay, maybe that last one was a toy from the 80's, but it seems to fit.

Yesterday, during the 5 minute warm up, my team did a move that could have been in "The Cutting Edge", for now I am calling it the Petro-Gregory fall, you know the principle, fall, slide, knock the wind out of you, head-butt the boards and make as much noise as possible so that the ceiling vibrates.

Then there is the moment of silence as we all wait to see if there is movement.

Then there is the mom hanging over the boards.

Then there is the slow rising of tangled arms and legs and the crowd cheering that the zam doesn't have to make a new sweep.

And then there is two minutes left in the warm-up until they skate first.

The resulting skate was not their best, but like all our skaters, they would all try even if they had a broken arm or a few cracked ribs.

What was truly amazing, though not surprising, is how supportive the competitors and parents are in these situations--for we have all been in them. The skaters truly care for each other--they admire and respect the dedication each one brings to the ice, and the parents are just as compassionate.

That is the real story at Easterns, and I suspect it is just as true at the other venues, Ice dancers cheer for their competitors, and join their parents in sharing the ups and downs that each goes through.

I suspect you wouldn't find that at a rodeo or on the hills of Acapulco--but it probably would be less tumultuous!

Mombo

LIVE FROM WAKE FOREST - Thursday, November 15th ~ 2007

Although this a huge complex with go-karts, restaurants and shopping, the two ice-rinks are housed in the center with a snack bar area and fifteen tables. This is where parents, skaters, and coaches wait for each event and for results—so it starts to get a little crowded and close between competitions and practices. Luckily, I just bought that new Secret deodorant from Walgreens that used to be available by prescription only—the marvels of science.

We don’t have the famous Juice Bar that they have at Coasts but we do have our own Smoothie bar with special “add-ins.” I ordered a strawberry-banana and requested a “calming” add-in that allowed me to sit and smile and watch what was happening without feeling anything. The owner told me that he couldn’t add vodka to my drink but that he had seen a few other parents with their own flasks walking around taking a hit or two. That is definitely packing right!

My daughter would tell you that I am an emotional person, I cry at most movies, MasterCard commercials, and posters for lost dogs. So I am no good at these events where only four teams go on. After Novice dance there were more tears than smiles since seven teams go back home and start training for next year. Most of us had smudged mascara which is why my daughter allowed me to clean a stain from her dress (don’t use a Shout pad without testing the area) and re-stitch a snap that had fallen off her dress. After an hour of wetting, threading, and clipping, I managed the task without sewing the dress to my sweater.

For the Junior CD, we came armed with cow bells. This is, of course, related to the Saturday Night Live skit and a reminder of Kaitlyn Weaver and her mom who are now ringing bovine bells for Canada (and in Paris as we speak!) Some of the Pacific Coast kids made signs for our Eastern teams for a “Little More Cow Bell” so we are trying to be accommodating. I take this to mean we have to always have a bit of humor to what ever is happening in our lives.

Mr. John Corona brings a GPS system into the rink after each day’s events and then plugs in a restaurant type and he is given several recommended selections. We then form a caravan that bobs and weaves through the streets of Wake Forest to arrive at the dining establishment with a merry request for a table for eighty. I have been blessed to be seated with Joan Branella and her daughter Liza for the past several days and have laughed through shrimp scampi and whatever the house special was the first night. The Farrell/Fishpaws joined our merry band and again proved why ice dance is the premier discipline in the sport—we have the best people who still remember to celebrate the victories, celebrate what it took to have the opportunity to perform but not win that day, and most of all, to take heed of the fabulous journey either way.

Cow bells will be ringing!

Mombo

LIVE FROM WAKE FOREST - Wednesday, November 14th ~ 2007

Today I accomplished two of my goals for the week: I ordered Sweet Tea with dinner and completed an almost split position climbing to the top tier of the bleachers. Although we only had one practice for the day, we spent five hours in the rink watching the marathon that has been imposed on the Novice Ice-dancers: they started with official practice, then warm-up, then CD competition, then FD practice.

Eastern Sectionals does have something that the other regions do not have—Kristi Yamaguchi in the house—okay she left before ice-dancing—but she was in the building watching singles for a few hours with the same smile and youthful vivaciousness that held the world captive fifteen years ago.

The open judging system is in hibernation at this event--after judging the crowd waited almost forty-five minutes for the results to be posted—on the inside of the glass facing the rink in the accountant’s room—this might prove to be a major distraction for the practice rink after some of the premier events such as Senior Ladies (or any of the ice-dancing groups of course).

With a little free time, I enjoyed the balmy 80 degree weather—it seems more like San Diego—sunshine, and fall foliage and drove into downtown historic Wake Forest. There are some beautiful shops—don’t miss The Cotton Company filled with local arts and crafts, and an incredible Victorian Tea Room. The area is beautifully rural, with wide streets and houses enhanced with wrapped porches and porticos.

Wake Forest seems to be the Mecca of strip malls but they place them over the crest of the hill and in the distance of the main road so travelers can just see the tops of the buildings and maybe just the top half of the Target logo—this is the tasteful intrusion of urban growth and development in a region that values the land. Another thing they value in this region is the selection of automobiles—I’m talking car dealerships the size of some small countries—I’m talking red-lights at the change of model—seriously my directions the first night to get to the rink were something like this:

“You get back on Rt. 1 North, you go up the road a spell past the Ford Rangers to the second light, which is the start of the F150s—if you go too far and see the Mustangs, you’ll have to turn around at the next cross-over, but that’s up a piece by the Explorers…”

Anyway, tomorrow is our first competition day and I’m starting to feel a little weak in the knees and I’m really hoping Sweet Tea doesn’t counter balance the needed benefits of Xanex!

Mombo

LIVE FROM WAKE FOREST - Tuesday, November 13th ~ 2007

This week, Mombo is blogging from Eastern Sectionals.

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Well, I found out the reason Map Quest only allotted five hours for a 350 mile trek—the speed limit in the south is much higher than in the northern hemisphere where we are plagued by the complications of population and a quest for survival. With the posted limit being 70 MPH, most drivers ratchet up their odometers to readings in the triple digits—and I guess to add increased PCS scores they talk on cell phones, text-message, and smoke cigarettes while switching hands and driving lanes.

This changed my plans a bit of having some in-depth conversations with my daughter that ranged from—“why don’t you go out with that cute guy you met at the party and forget the one that tried to treat you like a used Whopper (Jr) wrapper—please- No one puts Baby in the Corner, to this new hot fashion of mixing black and dark blue (not navy of course and nothing brighter than royal!).

Between the speeding Prius’ and tractor trailors around us, and my daughter bringing her extensive CD collection and Ipod that she connected to my sound system, most conversation centered on our Nancy Kerrigan-like commentary on the driving around us….”did you see that couple…I don’t think they were even connected to the road.”

We arrived in Wake Forest around six and checked in to the Host hotel, The Hampton Inn, around 6:00. Our luggage cart made the desk clerk ask if we needed a monthly rate. We quickly ventured out to find the ice rink which is about 2 miles from our hotel.

The Factory Ice House is an amazing complex that houses an indoor soccer field, several Karate schools, a dance studio, a full gym, a music studio, several restaurants and juice bars, and two ice rinks. There is also a go-cart track attached on the side. So, yes, I know what you’re thinking, we might be able to get some of the parents together later for a little bit of fun that I call DodgeBall.

That however, was what was going on in the rink, as eleven dance teams skated around and through each other during an “open” session. While teams avoided collisions and skated five steps of their programs, workmen constructed the judging platform on the side-center for the judges tomorrow. What slowly dawned on the parents was there was very limited seating. Each corner held several benches on elevated platforms and there were several concrete structures that might be termed “stadium seating”. I attempted the Herculean bleachers but discovered that there was a 26-inch rise from one seat to the next, making you feel upon reaching the top that you should plant a flag of your country.

The host club has done a fabulous job of making the skaters feel welcome—there are photos of the competitors on the walls (wow, this is a hard event in all levels!) and the free prize is a backpack that is obviously top shelf.

We went back to the hotel under cover of darkness and I practiced taking deep breaths as if I actually did Yoga instead of watching it in passing on television.

Tomorrow it all begins.

Mombo

Datebook: Monday, November 12th ~ 2007

It seems that skating is ubiquitous. We cannot escape it, even if we try.

Last night, cocooned on the family room couch, we watched the early summer release of “Licensed to Wed”. Eight minutes into the film and a skating magazine appeared on our non-plasma surface, with the protagonist’s admission to having worshiped the triple axel careening Brian Boitano when he was a youth of nine.

For a moment, the juxtaposition of life outside of the skating rink collided with the knowledge that, well, there is no life that does not connect, in less than 6 degrees, with an ice surface.

This is a bit frightening because in these moments that I fear we are all held captive, I want to branch out and try something new. This has led me to get on a bus to Ohio to make a basket last month, to planning to join a Bunko league in January, and putting some serious thought into reviving some of the lost arts of the seventies and eighties and resurrecting macramé.

Unfortunately, that too is related to skating, if only symbolically, as everything typically hangs by one small thread.

Okay, so I’ll admit it, I’m feeling a bit frazzled.

We are leaving in less than 48 hours to attend Sectionals, a 325.28 mile trek that MapQuest has now listed as a 5 hour and 20 minute commute. This seems just a bit presumptuous of the divining driving instructors—and a bit fast, and it already sets up standards that have to be met before we even check in at registration.

I seriously want to know, does anyone really enjoy competitions?

The skaters should be thrilled to go out there and put into practice what they train for each day, but, a competition is only one day on the ice after all. And one day on the ice is like watching Deal-Or-No-Deal—who knows what is going to be in the case on that given day.

On Tuesday my daughter called and told me:

“We had our worst free-dance run through of all time today. It was really bad—we only did two of our seven elements.”

This gave me pause, as some other ghosts of Free-Dance-past TiVoed through my memory—the most recent being this year’s Lake Placid Ice Championships where my daughter’s two falls resulted in scores that were lower than the combined sum of my social security number added together.

But, as a mom, you find the positive spin to put on the slippery subject.

“Well, it’s good to get that out of the way so you don’t have to worry about it anymore!”

This is not logical and she is very kind not to point this out. She was able to laugh it off because it is aberrant of their normal skating and it was only at practice. This is proven two days later when she calls to tell me that they have had their best run-through of all time and their coach and fellow skaters were moved to tears and cheers.

I respond with a witty, “There you go! Now you’re ready,” which of course, if I followed my earlier logic would mean they have rid themselves of the worst and now the best of performances.

Parents therefore, due to lack of predictability of what can happen while on the ice, cannot enjoy any competition into which their child is entered. I had to take a sympathy Dramamine after reading the results from the Ladies Free Skate at the Cup of China—all but one, one, of the ladies fell multiple times, making the podium a bandaged and bruised mess.

Coaches cannot enjoy competitions—certainly not ones like Sectionals where dreams are made, or broken, in a matter of minutes. For all the medalist there are double or triple the number who will not continue on, giving their credit card numbers to strangers in a back room at the arena for National reservations.

So, as we venture forth this week, to the three locations across the country (sometimes apparently breaking the sound barrier) remember the hard cold facts. None of us are going to enjoy this. In fact, they should just schedule the adults for a colon cleansing while they wait for practices to add some enjoyment.

But, we will all get through it. We may have a fever blister and a knotted twine turkey on a hoop at the end of the week to show for it, but, we will get through it.

May luck and good skates be with us all!

Mombo

Datebook: Monday, November 5th ~ 2007

As the trees lose their greenery and slide from golden orange to cinnamon red, the days slip through the open door of November to the major events of the month—Sectionals.

We have made our arrangements—we committed to making the seven hour drive instead of flying, thereby allowing carte blanch to my daughter’s shoe bag, makeup case, and bevy of coats. This will also ensure that she is well-rested as she has never lost the infant-like quality of falling asleep as soon as she is buckled in. It will also require the use of Windex when I get home to remove her toe imprints on the windshield where she will rest them as she finds her sleep number on a heated Volvo bucket seat.

But we are in distraction mode until then.

I am doing this by looking at catalogs for Christmas presents that I have yet to buy, and she does this by real shopping and watching documentaries and reruns of Project Runway on television.

Tomorrow she is going to New York with a friend and her mother. I am willing to pay the inevitable costs in the terms of cash and probable credit card expenditures just to keep my daughter in the company of these strong women. I used to hope I filled that role--former state trooper, current teacher/administrator, writer, but moms lose ground easily with the most trivial of things—getting a Fox Terrier and a perm in the same year put me in blackout miles. The mom traveling with the girls tomorrow is a lawyer and coincidentally this is my not-so-secret occupation wish for my daughter.

Oh, admit it. We all have those wishes for our kids. We want them to be healthy and happy and fulfilled but we realize that is easier if they are armed with the best education and profession.

Last week I clipped the employment section of our newspaper again (I do this quarterly) that was listing 15,000.00 sign on bonuses for newly hired pharmacists who would then earn $120,000.00 in their first year.

“That’s amazing,” I told my daughter.

“It sounds so boring, don’t you just count pills all day,” she replied not even glancing at the newsprint.

“Well, I’m sure that’s part of it, but…think of how many jackets you could buy with that salary.”

That makes her pause for a moment but she shakes her head. She is still looking for excitement in the world.

“You know, even working undercover for ten years, most of the time I just did paperwork and ran meetings. Boring stuff and not that much money. Excitement is overrated.”

This would be a viable argument if she did not live in the world she does.

“My life is exciting.”

“I know it is, but even so, you tell me how tired you get skating every day and training so hard.”

“But it’s exciting.”

I want to tell her this isn’t the real world. That skating is not a reality life. It is this little microcosm that we have allowed to exist where parents pay half or one-third of their annual salary to people who tell them little and promise them nothing so their children can be judged at events that have innate biases built in. And we do it year after year in some distorted version of Pavlov’s dog, but in our case it commences with the sound of the chosen Compulsory Dance of the year. I want to tell her this, but I don’t.

“I know it is exciting, but ice skating doesn’t last forever,” I say instead, feeling very Wendyish to her Peter Pan.

She looks at me oddly for a moment and then replies, “Do you know how old Albena and Max were at the last Olympics?”

I considered this for a moment and then held onto the countertop in case the room really was spinning and then reached for the One-A-Day for Women vitamins because I momentarily saw spots peripherally—an obvious B12 shortage.

I then realize I can’t hope to reach her a week after going to SkateAmerica where she watched Meryl and Charlie skate magically to “Beneath the Sea” in their exhibition and Tanith and Ben execute a brilliant Free Dance. And with three versions of “Sexy Back” at the same exhibition, even I have been humming it all week with the frightening potential that I might bust-a-move in public.

Still, there must be a time to broach the concept of life after skating, it’s not like they’ve all been transfused with blood that renders them Skateford Lives.

So, I tried a little psychology on my daughter. As she was falling asleep, I whispered the words, “Patent Attorney… Patent Attorney… Patent Attorney” three times as if I had taken up residence in Oz, hoping to plant the subliminal message in her mind.

I knew it didn’t work at breakfast this morning.

“Mom, I don’t know why, but I’m really thinking I’ll look at those Tory Burch patent leather flats when I go to New York tomorrow.”

Like I said, distraction mode.

Mombo