JB's Warehouse & Curio Emporium

Ice skating and I have a strained relationship. Skating was not a skill that ran in our family. Pictures exist of Dad in full hockey gear from a stint in a mid-60s recreational league in either Leaside or Kirkland Lake. He claimed that he wore Alex Delvecchio's skates for a few games after a teammate found a pair lying around, making me wonder how easy it was to swipe an NHL star's equipment from Maple Leaf Gardens in those days. My problem was my feet. Within a quarter of a lap around the arena, my feet cried uncle. Compared to that pain, falling was pleasurable. Skate size didn't seem to matter, resulting in as much time off the ice as on. Every year, my elementary school had a skating party. Early on, my parents would buy me skates and we'd go to at least one or two other rec skates a year. When it became clear skating was a once-a-year attempt, Dad arranged for hand-me-downs from other teachers. After a few years of this, I resorted to sliding on my boots. ...

Taking advantage of the recent Arctic blast, I headed down to High Park on Sunday to check out frozen-over Grenadier Pond with the Psychogeographers. A highly effective sign. Skaters weren't cheek-to-jowl as they would be at Nathan Phillips Square (which proved a relief to one member of our group who was adjusting to being on skates). The long laneway cleared out to connect the main skating area with a smaller area to its north. Several shovels were left on the pond to clear out areas, creating new lanes, snow islands and oxbows. Not being a proper rink, the ice was on the choppy side. Walking on boots proved no problem, even if I did fall on one slippery patch. Still, you could shoot a hockey puck around, such as this one from the rare "Famous Communist Dictators of the 20th Century" series. The main skating area. I imagine the view would have been fantastic from the houses in the background. Also note the blue skies and reflection of the bright sunli...