Christmas with bells on

I’ve never been a graceful skater. While other people twirl and pirouette to “Swan Lake,” I do repeated swan dives into the ice.
I started skating when I was about eight, the theory being that when you start ‘em young, there’s a shorter gap between the kid and the ice than when they’re older.
In the years since, the distance between me and the ice has grown, though I’ve had no trouble covering it via the swan dive method, or the pratfall method, or the trip-over-your-feet-and-take-down-loads-of-people-with-you method.
So it surprised me when the event organizer at my local rink requested that I skate a special routine for the holidays.
He was asking all the gals who showed up regularly to perform a Christmas dance on ice. He said it was about spreading laughter and good cheer.
I mentioned that there was a pretty good chance of me ending up with both feet above my head. That didn’t seem to fit with what the event was trying to promote.
“That’s the ‘laughter and good cheer’ bit,” retorted the organizer.
So that’s how I got a pair of felt antlers, a piece of paper with rehearsal dates, and a cold feeling in my stomach that had nothing to do with the fact that ice rinks are chilly.
The rehearsal director insisted that everyone dress for their parts. So when I showed up in a winter coat with antlers jammed on top of my hat, she gave me a stern talking-to in front of the other reindeer.
Reindeer, it turns out, are supposed to be lithe, sleek, and elegant. In my heavy coat, I looked like a Zamboni.
The coat had to go. So did the thick mittens and hat. Only when I was reduced to a long-sleeved shirt and leggings was the director satisfied. At least she didn’t make us wear tutus.

As the other reindeer glided and spun through the practices, I made sure my teeth chattered in time to the music.
On the day of the performance, the director, in a fit of inspiration, attacked our antlers with a hot glue gun and stuck little bells up and down the sides.
They looked pretty. They sounded lovely. But the moment we started to get into our routine, I heard a jingly sort of “dink!” sound and looked behind me to see a bell on the ice.
As we continued skating, doing lunges and toe loops and spins, we heard one “dink!” after another until the rink was littered with bells.
We were shedding them like the swans in “Swan Lake” shed feathers, unless I’m thinking of the wrong ballet.
The audience was crying with laughter. The director was crying, period. Coming off the ice, we reindeer definitely looked sheepish.
Looking back on it, though, skating with my friends was a pretty good Christmas present. And I even managed to come to a stop without crashing into a wall.
The paper with the practice schedule ended up in the recycling. The antlers ended up in the trash. And I guess whoever drives the Zamboni ended up with the bells.
Now, whenever I listen to “Swan Lake,” I remember that performance. And every few notes, I can almost hear a “dink!”

Copyright 2024 Alexandra Paskhaver, distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.