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Kacey and I left for Wildwood at around 9am after I lost two hours of my life crossing Philadelphia. We talked during the ride out as we always seem to in a combination of catching up and diving into the question of “how are you?”. At Wildwood, we parked and popped enough quarters in the meter to give us 90 minutes of time or so and we went up and down the boardwalk. 11am struck and the National Anthem started playing where upon everyone stopped except us and we kept walking. We noticed everyone had stopped walking and felt like we should have too, but, having already broken the apparent reverence of the moment, continued.

We went to the beach and I failed to fly my kite and Kacey kicked at the ocean. We got boardwalk food and returned to Philadelphia.

There is a world-passed quality to Wildwood after Labor day as the piers are closed during the week days, 1/2 the shops are boarded up and the demographics skew decidedly older. Kacey and I were rare chunks of youth but there was a dignity present that isn’t always there such as the day after Christmas in some retail places or an area where the carnival has just passed. Wildwood knew that it was done for the season and it faced it gracefully.

What wasn’t graceful? Me on the ride home. While I was off low carb I figured I’d indulge a bit and purchased fried Oreos, something I never had and consumed four of them. About 20 minutes into the car ride back I felt nappy and my breath stank of fry oil. My head bobbed and I hit the good morning strips on the side of the road. I did this again a few minutes later and let Kacey have the wheel. Friends don’t let friends eat fried Oreos.

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A friend indicated she wished to go ice skating, and I, not wishing to look like an idiot, immediately took on myself the task of gathering as much skating experience as I could muster.  Mike and Kacey offered to take me skating and we went to IceWorks in Aston, Pa for me to lose my skate-ginity.

The first step was getting skates.  Since I normally wear a size 14-15 shoe and was told to get snug skates, I got a pair of size 14 skates that appeared to be made out of Caribou leather and bone.  Lacking a jackhammer or marlinspike, I forced them onto my feet as best I could and made my way onto the ice.  At this point, I didn’t know how one was supposed to skate but having one’s ankles canted at 45 degree angles didn’t seem like the right way.  I made a lap and felt like my ankles were on fire so I got another pair of skates, this time a size down.  Somehow these went on much easier and I began ice-walking with enough sucess that Mike mocked me for ice-walking instead of ice-skating.  Thanks, Mike.

After my second through fourth lap, I gained the ability to glide for very, very short distances, and having already fallen (my first fear) got to face my second: Being terrified of cutting a child in half.  I see it perfectly in my mind’s eye, I’m gracefully gliding, possibly looking over my shoulder giving someone a devil-may-care smile when an innocent child reachs for his or her mother, falls, and descends to the ice.  I look forward, see him or her, and not being able to stop, cleft the youth in twain and become the Solomon of the ice.

After a few more laps, I felt that I could go short distances without staring at my feet and for about 30 feet of every lap could talk with Mike or Kacey as they passed.  During one such lap, a child fell in front of me.  Knowing I couldn’t stop in time, I attempted to stear around, and did, so much so that I was now going backwards.  In my attempt to face forward, I fell and fell hard.  I stayed on the ice for a moment and was able to make out the outline of my keys, fitbit, knife, and change in my pocket in screaming pain receptors and learned quickly that there’s no reason to bring yours keys with you onto the ice.

I hurt, my Fitbit was shattered, my pants and shirt were wet, but today, I killed no children.  Victory.

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Suzie and I woke up late or at least well rested and packed our things to return home.  The weather was faultless in contrast to the two previous days and the ride to my house was unexceptional.  Our only calendar item for the day was to meet up with Ben, Kacey, and Mike and have dinner downtown.  We changed into fancy pants clothes and our chariot was SEPTA.

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Ben in Motion

Ben lives in Philadelphia and his hallmarks are a mix of sagacity and paper folding.  Here he passes in a blur.

Dinner was at Buddakan, a Stephen Starr restaurant that was my first big kid dining experience some 12 years ago when Paul Dickler took myself and other students here after an Foreign Policy Research Institute presentation.  I had finished that meal with the chocolate pagoda and have spent the time since counting the seconds until I could again eat a tiny chocolate house. I said less than I normally do as the geometry of the table prevented me from dominating the conversation and a small grin kept creeping over my face.  It is nice to be nice to nice people.  Merry Christmas.

The rest are in photos.

On the way back, I ran into my high school men’s choir coach who asked me to join his choir.  I desperately wanted to say “yes”, but not right now, Garry.  I have a few things to take care of.