by Pam Gross
It was a vaguely familiar feeling—a feeling of freedom experienced a lifetime
ago. Motion. Speed. Wind. Excitement. Small but present danger. Oh, yes! That
same exhilaration that comes with competence. I was doing it! I was
rollerblading on the boardwalk at Seaside, Oregon, on a glorious late summer
afternoon. Two miles of flat, smooth pavement, sunshine, ocean air. I couldn’t
help my smile; it was as ridiculously relentless as a yellow happy face. My body
moved with relative ease and a modicum of grace. Push, glide, push, glide—don’t
lift the feet so high. Swing the hips. Oops! Too much push means too much glide.
Let’s get more control here. Up and down! Up and down! Miles and miles—every
once in a while picking up the scent of a cigar as I once again whizzed past my
husband reading Tom Clancy on a bench.
Getting tired, I informed my husband that on the next pass I wanted to
stop.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be ready.”
Stopping was not a skill I had mastered at that point. As I approached him, I
slowed to a more manageable speed. He stood up, swung his arms wide, and
enfolded me in a great hug.
“I am your stopping post,” he whispered.
I thought, Yes. What a wonderful metaphor. You are my safe stopping
place.
I sat for a while on the bench enjoying the moment. Some teenagers sauntered
past, talking quietly among themselves. The last, a young man of about thirteen,
looked admiringly at my skates, bent down, and murmured just so we could hear,
“Cool blades.” Then he picked up his pace to catch his friends. My husband and I
said in unison, “Cool blades?” And we laughed.
Then the sunset zealots began converging like football fans on Super Bowl
Sunday. I hoisted myself off the bench to make the most of the fading light. Up
and down, push and glide. Lost in the exquisite rhythm and the elegant air, I
almost missed them. But out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed a bicycle surrey
pulled up close to the boardwalk. Four women nested there comfortably in that
distinctly female way of companionable silence. I thought they were completely
absorbed by the inch‐by‐inch disappearance of the day, but as I moved past,
almost out of earshot, I heard the soft call of support: “You go, girl!” To
acknowledge, I signaled a “thumbs up” and continued on.
Now, whenever I put on my skates, I hear the young voice saying, “Cool
blades,” and I smile. When I think of my husband as a safe stopping place, I
smile. When I recall the soft call of support, I smile. I’m sure glad I didn’t
take seriously those people who predicted, “Rollerblade? You’re nearly sixty!
You’ll kill yourself!”
Kill myself? I’d say I was perfectly alive that day on the boardwalk.
Looking ahead…
The routine of what might be called the safe, predictable life has a way of
wearing down wives and husbands. Too many years spent in that same office with
the broken air conditioner, mowing that same lawn with the crabgrass that never
goes away, scraping the ketchup off those same dishes, and making the same
lunches for seemingly ungrateful children can leave married couples bored and
restless. What’s the solution?
One answer is to open your mind to the possibilities around you. Learn a new
skill… study a new subject… take on a new hobby… pursue a new adventure. Think
about what you’ve always wanted to try, then do it. You may even find yourself
rollerblading down the boardwalk—and loving it.
- James C Dobson
From Night Light For Couples, by Dr. James
& Shirley Dobson
Copyright © 2000 by James Dobson, Inc. All rights
reserved.
“Cool Blades” by Pam Gross. © 1997. Used by permission of the author. Pam
Gross is president of CareerMakers, a life planning and career management firm
in Portland, Oregon. She is the author of Want a New, Better, Fantastic Job? and
can be reached at either (503) 297‐6689 or pam@careermakers.com.
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