But he’s doing a real crummy job this year, calling in sick at times and running over the ice with a roto-tiller at others.  Might have to fire the lazy slug and put more effort into the rink myself.

   Can’t recall without looking (ain’t about to go looking, neither) if I’ve ever posted anything about my backyard “arena”. So let’s pretend I’ve yet to mention anything and state “I built an ice rink in the backyard. And Jesus and Zambonis, etc., etc…” This is the fourth winter we’ve had one in and the third actually constructed by myself.  Giving our Lord & Savior his props, he gave unto us the first rink – a gift of torrential February rain over a large, frozen swath of the lawn. Christ may be lazy as fuck this year, but that first natural rink really put a taste for skating into little Jack.  Thank you, Jesus! But I beseech thee to please heal my current rink, goddammit…

   Why am I all over Jesus?  In a sense divine intervention made me lackadaisical about ice; until this year I had to do precious little upkeep on the rinks. As long as it stays cold you can count on the heavenly sun and beatific winds to smooth out the bumps/lumps (caused by Satan) and skate cuts (caused by skates). The aforementioned first rink was an all natural path frozen pond which lasted over a month in great skating condition. The second, Frank-manufactured rink, was a 20’x30’ example of human enterprise, as well as poor planning. It was a ghastly eyesore of retro-engineering: extra boards nailed here, rocks crammed under there and water filled 18 inches deep on one end just to get 2 on the other.  But that was a great cold winter and the snow I had to shovel actually helped my lad really get into skating – he’d try going as fast as he could for the thrill of slamming deep into snow banks…the Lord helps those who help themselves.  

   Last year’s tarp arena was more ambitious. But at 24’x48’ it had only minor leveling issues and upkeep was again minimal.  It got buried under storms a couple of times but running the snow blower across it cleared it handily. We skated mainly at night, ‘cause brain-freeze and frostbite is where it’s at, then let the Hand of God smooth the ice during the day shift.  Between ice out back and hills of sledding snow out front, last winter kickethed the proverbial ass and all the neighborhood was covetous of our blessedness and junk.

    Things changed this winter.  We’d been forsaken or something. Plagues were sent unto us – repetitive blankets of snow which kept it from freezing solid even as the temps collapsed. There was a week straight with the air less than 20° and the ice was no more than a fragile Eucharist floating on the winy pond of Nazarene blood. I couldn’t get on it to shovel so I sent kids to do it, so desperate for salvation I forgot this primary Commandment:  Thou Shalt Not Send Kids to Do Anything. Ever. By the time Jack and his friend finished the rink was a complex filigree of slush trails punctuated by upthrusted plates of broken ice. The Devil had taken their minds and un-idled their hands because Jesus was off on a working holiday keeping the ocean wet in the fucking Bahamas. 

   It was obvious Christ wasn’t coming back so I can drop the metaphors.  If it wasn’t slush ridges making skating improbable then it was crevasses and craters created by me in my newly reaffirmed atheism. Turns out it’s not a good idea to put a lot of water over ice to drown the lumps. The new water freezes funny, encasing air pockets which collapse as you skate over and rip your foot off right below the knee. There were glimmers of hope; a warm week which melted everything, offering the chance for a slick new re-freeze.  Then hope’s glimmering head got bludgeoned with a shovel, it’s carcass festering by the swing-set as the water began freezing just as a January twister decided to fill the rink full of leaves and twigs and tree limbs and trash and rocks and god-diddley-damn flying monkeys and fucking scarecrows. Sigh.

    I really don’t want to go on.  Suffice it to say by last week we finally had a nice rink. We put in two months worth of skating into a few days.  Then, go figure, came the “Great Big Armageddon Nor’easter of Twenty-Ten”.  That was a heck of a lot of rain for a snowstorm, which in turn led to a heck of a lot of rink slush when the snow finally came by.  Looks like Jesus came back. 

    Next year I’m figuring on turning the front yard into a luge run. But I won’t be looking to heaven for help.

 Next Week:  What happens when you loosely strap two cats together with bungee cords…