by Marlena Elias
January 6, 2001

It was Christmas time 1969 or 1970 and I'm in the backyard of our house at 19249 Serene Drive, around 4 o'clock in the afternoon. It's snowing and the light is starting to fade, but I don't care because I'm trying to make an ice rink on the cement patio. There is so much snow on the ground (that's the beauty of lake-effect snow) that I have to keep shoveling my rink area. There is such an amazing calm and quiet that it doesn't seem real. The houses in the neighborhood are all turning on their lights and with the falling snow our neighborhood almost feels like it's encased in a snow globe.

My fondest memories of my youth are during the winter. Snow suits, boots, mittens, scarf, hat, and red cheeks. In South Bend, you could always count on one heavy snowstorm a year; a school closing, snowman building, angel-making snowstorm! Sledding down the hill by the Haney's house on my Flexible Flyer, oh man that was living!

On the day I was trying to make the ice rink, it's almost impossible to describe the beauty of the back yard. Everything is blanketed in snow and as pristine as can be. The trees and the bushes are all white and as dusk is turning into evening, the yard has the most amazing pearly gray glow. I was all by myself, with snow falling all around me, in awe of the magical stillness of evening. In a house filled with noise and chaos the quiet of the outdoors was a miracle.

So there I was armed with a hose and a shovel, ready to take on the challenge of making a skating rink. Does it get much better than that as a kid? I can still feel the cold and the wet of the outdoors and I can't help but smile. How perfect to be a kid with nothing better to do than build an ice rink. As we get older and don't take time to enjoy something as beautiful as winter, I think we forget about how much fun it is to play in the snow. I think we envy the lack of responsibility and carefree joy that comes with being a kid playing in the snow.

Occasionally one of my brother or sisters would come out and ask me what I was doing. No-one understood. They looked at me as all teenagers look at younger siblings with an expression that said, "how cute, you're trying to make an ice rink". With sheer determination I willed the ice to freeze, just so I could prove my ability as the Zamboni Queen. I stayed outside until it was time for dinner, asking God to please make it 20 below zero outside so I could have my rink.

The next day I was almost afraid to look outside. It was still cloudy, but the snow had finally stopped. I stepped onto the patio and under the blanket of snow was my ice rink!!! Yeah! It didn't matter that the ice was bumpy and almost impossible to skate on, I had made ice! I defied my detractors and achieved my goal! TA-DA!

I strapped on my ice skates that belonged first to Cathy, then Mary, then Rita and finally me. I wobbled, I lunged, I fell, I got up; the order varied but usually the same outcome: I always ended up on my teezy. I didn't care, I did the unthinkable. I made ice for an ice rink in our back yard. It didn't matter that I couldn't skate; the important thing was that I had a goal and I succeeded in achieving that goal.

When I think back on all my attempts at crazy "kid" ideas, the outcome was usually failure or occasionally disaster. For one incredible childhood moment I succeeded. To this day, the memory of my ice rink and the beauty of twilight on that particular winter evening is like a hot cup of cocoa with whipped cream (minus the burned tongue), glorious, exhilarating and ultimately satisfying. <EM>