LJ Idol Week 2: Uphill, Both Ways, Barefoot
Having been the victim of peer pressure from a source that I will not name *cough*clauderainsrm,*cough*, I have decided to waive my bye week and post an entry in this week's LJ Idol. Here goes!
The hill was snow-covered, steep, and scary.
Our toboggan perched precariously on the small ledge at its top, while our father made sure we were all safely aboard and that he had hold of the rope to steer us down. He sat at the back, I sat between his legs, and my younger brother sat between my legs, his feet tucked under the curved front of the toboggan. Once my dad had assured him that all was well, he pushed off and the fun began.
It was a lot of preparation for a ride that only lasted a minute, but it was worth it every time. Down the slope we would all go, faster than the wind, more speedy than race cars, than speeding trains, than Superman. There was a long field after the hill ended and sometimes the momentum carried us almost to the end of it, to the soccer pitches standing icily erect, nearly to the road. The longer the journey across the field the bigger the success of the toboggan ride. We judged it even better if all three of us had managed to stay aboard.
That rarely happened. One of us was usually left rolling in the snow, teeth suddenly ice cold from the flakes that made their way into our mouths, left breathless, panting, and hilarious, with energy only to lie on our back, wait for our breathing and our heartbeat to return to normal, to stare at the winter sky. Falling off was nearly as fun as the ride.
Despite my father's care and skill steering his children safely downhill, occasionally we'd hit a bump in the terrain, the toboggan would lurch and spin wildly, flip upside down, and all three of us would be thrown afield, helpless on a slope where other sledders were careening by, our need to recover from the fall a distant second to the urgent necessity to get to our feet, get out of harm's way, our of danger's path. Our father was lightning-quick at gathering up kids and sled, dragging us to one side, pulling us to safety. Once done, we'd clamber back up the hill, our steps an effort in the deeply piled cold, and we'd prepare for another descent, the roller coaster ride that was tobogganing in Ontario in the early 1970s.
The hill backed onto a recreation centre attached to the high school I would later attend. Since I've become an adult I've driven by the hill a number of times, and can see that hill is too grand a word for the gentle slope that is there, the gradual incline where I spent some of my happiest childhood hours, feeling like I was atop Everest.
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This is my entry for week two of therealljidol. Voting, I believe, starts at 9:00 p.m. on Friday, October 30, and I will be posting a link for votes, and begging madly for you to vote for me.
I don't do dedications very often, but this one's for my son James, who is sick with H1N1.
The hill was snow-covered, steep, and scary.
Our toboggan perched precariously on the small ledge at its top, while our father made sure we were all safely aboard and that he had hold of the rope to steer us down. He sat at the back, I sat between his legs, and my younger brother sat between my legs, his feet tucked under the curved front of the toboggan. Once my dad had assured him that all was well, he pushed off and the fun began.
It was a lot of preparation for a ride that only lasted a minute, but it was worth it every time. Down the slope we would all go, faster than the wind, more speedy than race cars, than speeding trains, than Superman. There was a long field after the hill ended and sometimes the momentum carried us almost to the end of it, to the soccer pitches standing icily erect, nearly to the road. The longer the journey across the field the bigger the success of the toboggan ride. We judged it even better if all three of us had managed to stay aboard.
That rarely happened. One of us was usually left rolling in the snow, teeth suddenly ice cold from the flakes that made their way into our mouths, left breathless, panting, and hilarious, with energy only to lie on our back, wait for our breathing and our heartbeat to return to normal, to stare at the winter sky. Falling off was nearly as fun as the ride.
Despite my father's care and skill steering his children safely downhill, occasionally we'd hit a bump in the terrain, the toboggan would lurch and spin wildly, flip upside down, and all three of us would be thrown afield, helpless on a slope where other sledders were careening by, our need to recover from the fall a distant second to the urgent necessity to get to our feet, get out of harm's way, our of danger's path. Our father was lightning-quick at gathering up kids and sled, dragging us to one side, pulling us to safety. Once done, we'd clamber back up the hill, our steps an effort in the deeply piled cold, and we'd prepare for another descent, the roller coaster ride that was tobogganing in Ontario in the early 1970s.
The hill backed onto a recreation centre attached to the high school I would later attend. Since I've become an adult I've driven by the hill a number of times, and can see that hill is too grand a word for the gentle slope that is there, the gradual incline where I spent some of my happiest childhood hours, feeling like I was atop Everest.
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This is my entry for week two of therealljidol. Voting, I believe, starts at 9:00 p.m. on Friday, October 30, and I will be posting a link for votes, and begging madly for you to vote for me.
I don't do dedications very often, but this one's for my son James, who is sick with H1N1.