The Last Run

I follow the children down the mountain, swooshing slowly from side to side in a gentle run, all the better to admire them. How did they become so elegant, so effortless, in their graceful carve down and round and down to the bottom? Only a few short years ago I despaired that they would ever get down the bunny hill in one go, and now they pass me in a confident arc and a buzz of laughter and conversation.

We were up in the Laurentians last weekend as Val Saint Come, and the day was magificent. Minus 16, said Erik, checking the weather forcast at 7 am. Great day for snowboarding! And it was. The sun shone all day, the snow was crisp with just enough powder and no ice, and the mountain was relatively quiet.

We ride up together, enjoying the feel of the air as we get higher up. It changes the sound. It's as if everything is amplified. We pause at the top to admire the view - the forest which stretches out to all sides, ad the clear vastness of the sky. Then we are off, down through the dark stand of trees, across the sparkling path of snow. Sometimes we ski and board down together, conversationally. Other times the children and Andrew - filled with adrenaline and competance - leave me behind in their wake.

Left to my own devices, I enjoy my own time on the hill. Admiring them as they vanish with laughter, knowing they will wait for me at the bottom. I take my time, composing poetry in my head as I make broad sweeps of the mountain, listening for the scrape of the ski edge as I turn, following the carve of those who have gone before me down this same stretch of mountain.

There are diamonds underfoot, and I want the run to last forever. I could ski down forever at this pace, but it's blue dusk and the last run. As I reach the bottom, gliding to a halt beside pink cheeks and glowing eyes, I look forward to the next time.

Run

I heard from a friend I haven't seen for years over the weekend. It was great to hear from her, to hear about her life over the past 12 years or so, to reconnect, and I look forward to finding out more about what she has been up to.

We were in the navy together. The last time we spent together was the summer of 1995 in Quebec City where we worked together at the Fleet School. I haven't thought much about that summer - the last summer I spent in the navy as it turned out - for some years, but hearing from her over the weekend unleashed memories that showed up unexpectedly this morning on my morning run.

Quebec City was where I finally gave in to the coaxings of friends and took up running with them, going (over the course of six weeks), from a out-of-breath in five minutes runner to a 10-12 K every other day runner. That has stayed with me, though I am more a slow 3K in 20 minutes three times a week runner now. And as I ran with the dog this morning along the wet pavements of Glengarry, past the sheep grazing in the pasture, past the growing wheat, and around the puddles into the pink sunrise, I recalled vividly the morning runs of 15 years ago.

We lived in the Old Quarter of Old Quebec City, a fabulous place for a bunch of mid-20's naval officers. We would get up early, and run west along the road through the lower town. Up, up, up all 398 rock cliff steps of the Cap Blanc stairs we'd go until we reached the plateau where we could ease into a long run across the still dewy Plains of Abraham and back to the old city. The last leg was a pleasant downhill finish through the steep cobbled streets of vieux Quebec, the city glowing beneath us, and the St. Lawrence sparkling in the distance.

That's what I was thinking about on my run this morning.

Boarding

There was a PD day for the school yesterday, so I took the afternoon off and we went skiing/boarding. It's the first time the kids have gone with us and without an instructor, so I wasn't sure what to expect. I figured an hour would be good, and if we got two hours we'd be doing really well.

Four hours later, on our last run down the hill under the night lights, we called it a day. Grace - the youngest boarder on the mountain by a fair margin - had been jelly-legged for an hour; Erik had just done a spectacular face plant; Anna was still raring to go with the persistence only she can muster; Andrew is very competant on the slopes and I expect his biggest problem was slowing down enough to ski with us; and I had done so well until a moment of hubris on our last ride up when I mentioned out loud to Erik how impressed I was that I had managed to avoid falling once, and immediately afterwards fell getting off the ski lift. Guess I was getting jelly-legged too.

Snowboarding

It's the week between Christmas and New Year, I'm off with the kids, and we've taken to the slopes.

Mount Rigaud is only a 25 minute drive away, and though a small mountain,

it's perfect for the kids to practice the art of snowboarding.

Grace got her first snowboard this Christmas..and her first lesson...

Nanny was with us too, watching the action from the warmth of the ski chalet, but venturing out for a photo.

And after snowboarding....when our  cheeks were rosy and our eyebrows frosty...

...big cups of hot chocolate all round.

Easter Football

It was the Nielsen "Killers" against the Nielsen "Giants" at yesterday's breezy Easter football game. On the sidelines, fortified with glasses of red wine, spectators cheered indiscriminately for both teams. The Giants made a strong start, but the Killers had a couple of seasoned players who made it tough to make much progress.The dogs were no help whatsoever.

The game ended when the youngest Nielsen brought out bubbles and half the players out on the field abandoned play altogether.

Which was not such a bad thing for the other players who had not realised how much energy it would take to play against these youngsters.

The torrential rain last week made for sodden fields.

Which then froze solid.

Leaving a glassy surface.

Which we turned into an ice rink.

Skating across a pond - hey, anyone can do that if it's cold enough. But how many people can claim to skate across their fields?

The kids were playing hockey using golf clubs. Perhaps I should introduce them to the real thing. I'm thinking I'm not a true Canadian Mom if I don't let my kids play hockey!

In her master's steps...

Good King Wenceslas has never been a favourite Christmas carol of mine, until this year, when I heard the magnificent Barra MacNeils version, and found myself transported to a medieval forest with a benevolent king.

(Bear with me here - I haven't lost it - I know Christmas is over.)

I must have listened to it a hundred times over the holidays, but recently, snowshoeing, I was reminded of it one more time.

Apparently, the dog was feeling hard done by. After bounding ahead for the first half of our trek, she suddenly decided enough was enough, and fell in behind Andrew.

-

Page and monarch forth they went

forth they went together

through the rude wind's wild lament

and the bitter weather.

Get Up and Do Yoga!

I got a letter from the school the other day saying that the monthly skating activity they do as part of their wonderful physical fitness program throughout the winter was being cancelled because of a new requirement that all students and teachers must wear CSA approved hockey helmets at all times while on the ice, and the school felt it would be too difficult to ensure everyone had one.

I’m not against safety, but I did think that the current school policy of ensuring all kids in grade 3 and below wear a helmet of some kind (bike helmets, which most kids have, were fine) was quite satisfactory already.

I was taken aback by this new development which bothers me on so many levels, that I can feel the rant start to take form in my head whenever I think about it.

But what really bothered me that night was that I had strayed from my usual routine and instead of finding the letter at 5:30 pm, when I could have dealt with the bubbling feelings of frustration by doing something productive like cleaning the bathroom, I found it at 10 pm just as I was heading off to bed.

So I lay in bed, unable to sleep, which is highly unusual for me. The clock struck 11 – then midnight. I couldn’t believe something so minor was keeping me from my rest but there is nothing like a problem you can’t solve to keep you awake to the wee hours.

And as I lay there in the darkness I heard a voice inside my head.

And it whispered Get up and do Yoga.

I haven’t done Yoga in 10 years, so the suggestion came as a surprise, and I ignored it. But the voice persisted.

Get up and do Yoga.

It’s midnight, I argued with myself. But the voice was determined.

Get up and do Yoga.

I had to admit, there was a strange appeal to the idea.

Get up and do Yoga.

So I did.

In the semi darkness by the light of a moon, quietly not to wake Andrew, but not quietly enough not to wake the dog whose cold nose only momentarily distracted me, I did the Mountain and the Warrior – which is about all I remembered.

And then I got back into bed, snuggling next to the furnace I married.

And fell asleep.

Hitting the slopes