It is merely coincidence that "ice" is a theme in the last two entries. The ice that is today's subject relates to a wonderful experience.
On New Year's Eve weekend, a friend and I went up to Big Bear, my first time, to meet some other friends. I tried skiing once when I was in college at Mount Snow in Vermont. Not terribly parentically to me at the time, a short-term boyfriend of mine had moved on (without my prior knowledge; my consent was academic) from me to one of my classmates and roommates, and they were essentially together on that trip, so I was already feeling less than, spirited. Besides that, it was incredibly cold and I spent most of my time on the ground on the baby hill, while my friends were more advanced and elsewhere. The experience did not thrill me. So, here I was thirty years later on another baby hill. This time one friend stayed with me, and promised me I would not fall if only I followed the instructions. I did do better than the last time. Skis are lighter and more aero-dynamic and they separate from one's foot easier, if needed. But I still fell. The rest of my friends, though they said they were not great, were of course on the more advanced hills. This time I was more spirited. I actually was able to move a little before I went down. I think with a little practice, I could actually become a competent skier. But, I was sore the next day, and I decided that with the enormous crowds that posed safety danger when I did fall, I would do something else in Big Bear during the day, before we all joined up in the evening. My travelling companion and I drove around the little town and by one of the sort of marinas on the lake, we heard someone with a bullhorn announcing a boat tour. This is unusual in December and January. There are usually no boats on the lake that time of year, because of ice. But this boat, with a large paddle wheel, was a new addition to the community, of only about six months. She was Lady Liberty, with tables and chairs and wine and snacks, run by a few men, still excited about the future of their burgeoning business. They would be the first to run a tour during the winter months. And it had been sanctioned by the harbor master, so along with a fewfamilies, we took the tour. The whole thing was wonderful, the weather, sunny, though chilly, being the only boat on this big lake made me, at least, feel a special connection with the nature we viewed, and a bit privileged to be seeing the homes of the rich and famous (like Kevin Costner) along the water's edge. But perhaps the most fascinating part of it, was watching the boat crack the thin veneer of ice as it moved out into open water. Each swoosh of the boat created a new natural canvas, with ice shards looking indistinguishable from gleaming glass. One of the boat's owners was taking pictures as the boat broke the ice, as was I, hoping for that most amazing picture. One I really loved. It was as if the shards were on blue black velvet, even though the water was actually clear that day, that is what came out on camera. A lake of crystalline shards. I did a painting of that shot. I often talk to friends about these moments that happen in my life, and I am sure in many other's lives, but to me these are moments which reflect what Paradise must be. The photo captures the essence. The painting in its poor way does the same. At least doing the painting extends the feeling. I thought I'd share it, although my photography of the painting does less justice to the event than even the photograph. But maybe it will bring moments of your own to mind.
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