Ice skating

You would think growing up in the Midwest that ice skating would have been something I did at least occasionally while growing up. Nope. The very first time I ever went ice skating was about 7 years ago for my birthday. In Florida. In June. And it was a lot of fun, even though wearing jeans and bringing sweatshirts and jackets into the rink felt really strange since it was 90 degrees outside.

So this afternoon, we are going ice skating with some friends. Outside. In Florida. I think they have a tent set up over the temporary rink to keep the sun from melting the ice too much, but I'm really curious to see how they can pull this off. Granted, it's only supposed to hit mid-50's today (bundle up, kids!), but my scientific mind is telling me that's still too warm to keep ice frozen. We'll see...

UPDATE: It was cool (pun intended) to ice skate with palm trees and flowering bushes and fountains right outside the tent. The ice was not affected at all by the Florida sun. And how might I know that, you ask? You guessed it, I wiped out. Yep, about 20 minutes in, I caught my toe and pitched gloriously forward, landing smack on my knees. Of course I got right up and brushed off and kept skating through my tears, but I have come to the conclusion that I am much too tall to be skating safely - it's a much longer fall for me than the kids and I could really hurt myself. Then everything would fall apart, so it's in the best interest of our family and the world at large if I become an observer of ice skating rather than a participant from this day on. At least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it! Now, please excuse me while I hobble to the kitchen to get some ice for my aching knee - and yes, I do catch the irony there!